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#and so little of it really had anything to do with the overall plot

lucyandthepen · 8 months

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salted caramel | lmh ( m )

you hadn’t been aware that mark’s jealousy followed the rules of baseball — three strikes, and he snaps?

read the first part here!

pairing: barista!bf!mark x reader verse: college!au rating: r warnings&tags: unprotected sex, mentions of creampies (although not an actual one), hickeys, possessiveness and jealousy, exhibitionism, sort of phone sex in conjunction with said exhibitionism, oral (m!receiving), mark has an understated but unending obsession with mc’s stomach, tummy bulges, we always love an implicit bigdick!mark, donghyuck is kind of a little shit and basically he has to cross a few lines for this “plot” to get to where it gets word count: 20.3k

a/n: this is a bit rushed and panicked because I basically wrote it in a feverish 2.5ish days… i’m so sorry that the pacing might be a little off, especially since I can never tell if it’s actually too fast or not. this is also unedited and unbeta’d but oh well because i never edit my stuff before posting and just re-edit when I re-read! regardless, i hope it’s something that you can enjoy, and i couldn’t pick between sweetest bf ever!mark and hottest mf ever!mark, so i guess you get a little bit of both!

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

You should have noticed it the first time, but in your overall defense, you find most things that you take note of about Mark Lee to be more on the highly positive and greatly endearing side — or, maybe, you just have a tendency to paint him in that kind of light.

You can’t really help it; he’s still got that halfway shy, softly adoring look in his eyes whenever he sees you, which is more often now than ever before, and you just can’t do anything but reciprocate, if only to see his eyes grow a little brighter. You wonder if Mark’s aware that if this were a Shakespearean scenario, you’d easily fall on your sword for him without question, for as long as he asked, but you don’t think there’s any pressing need to remind him — not with the way you spend most of your free time figuring out ways to be with him. You’re certain he should know, what with the fact that every time he looks at you, even just a glimpse, your gaze is always on him, ready to make eye contact whenever he turns his head — something he often acknowledges with one of those signature blushes that spread like wildfire across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears.

It also should be unmistakably clear that you’re head over heels for him, given how at least once a week, he’s got his face buried between your legs in an attempt to hear the thing he wants you to say the most (see: his name, in varying pitches and decibels) — but if he doesn’t notice then, you can’t hold it against him; Mark’s mouth is so attentive that you doubt his mind is anywhere else apart from what inch of you his tongue is going to meet next in that moment. At least, that much is true for you.

He should at least know, what with you waiting for his classes to end so you can walk to Starbucks for his afternoon shift; you even race the twenty-minute distance to the Department of Mathematics, still holding your European Renaissance History textbook from your last lecture, just to make sure you’re there right as he gets out — a fact he has to know is an act of devotion, considering how often he finds you heaving for air and leaning your back against the brick wall outside the Accounting 150 Lab. Even his professor knows you as Mark Lee’s admirer, which is all well and good, but if you had the breath to spare, you’d correct his terminology for accuracy. Girlfriend. You’re Mark Lee’s girlfriend.

It’s a fact you don’t mind reminding him of but that you actually have to do quite often, because when you call Mark the appropriate counterpart — boyfriend — his eyes still widen, like he’s hearing it for the first time. It’s cute, just like everything else about him. You just have to wonder, at times, if he doesn’t believe you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter; you’ll just keep telling him.

You don’t have any classes with Mark this semester, which is a shame, considering your favorite pastime over the last few months had just been to stare at his side profile and wish he’d look over so you could kiss him, but the fact that you spend almost every day with him now, using that time to remind him of how much you want to kiss him and actually getting it to do it right then and there, pretty much more than makes up for your previous schedule of daydreaming.

However, hanging out with him doesn’t always mean you’re just with him; you came to learn this after the first week of the new semester, and you’ve now gotten used to the fact that with Mark Lee sometimes comes his band of tall, often loud friends.

The loudest by far is Lee Donghyuck, the mysterious figure last semester that you’d only known by one syllable, now easily recognizable (and no longer enigmatic by any means to you) by his booming voice and even more demanding personality. He’s supremely outgoing, a trait you can’t say you mind, but there’s an interesting contrast between Mark, who tends to say things after carefully considering his ideas, and Donghyuck, who seems to just burst out in fits of impulsive rambling that often leads to some kind of semi-structured debate. It kind of gives you whiplash, in a funny, slightly perplexing way.

The whole friend group likes to meet up at Starbucks while Mark is on his shift, and now that they’ve come to know you as that girl Mark didn’t teach a single thing in College Algebra to but still somehow got lucky with (something you’ve wasted immense efforts into correcting but have ultimately failed to do so), you now find yourself sitting with them, all somehow waiting for who appears to be the nucleus of this group to stop taking coffee orders and hang up his (cute, but you’re the only one that thinks so, actually) green apron.

Again, you don’t mind it; new people aren’t an issue to you, and you’re also interested in finding out more about Mark through those closest to him. You get to see the few ways they’re alike in contrast to the staggering number of things that make them amusingly different from one another. Despite the broad spectrum of their intersecting interests, you’ve come to learn, through the conversations you’ve had to sit through over the last month, that they have varying opinions on said interests. For instance, you know they’re all into video games, Japanese manga, and long-winding fantasy movies, but every conversation takes flight the moment there’s even a spark of dissent from one person — and the source, usually (and quite unfortunately), is Lee Donghyuck himself.

Today is no exception.

“Dude, you’re crazy,” Zhong Chenle practically seethes. Whether by sheer coincidence or actual desire, he’s the one who most often finds himself staring Donghyuck down, trying to bend the latter’s will into admitting defeat. Donghyuck, on the other hand, has mastered the art of looking supremely unperturbed, especially when Chenle is in the heat of his rage. “The ninth was the worst, hands down.”

“Art and rendering were so solid.” Donghyuck raises a finger, and you’re not sure if it’s to start off a list or to shut Chenle up. You don’t want to ask, anyway, too busy finding amusement in the shifting expressions of despair, rage, anguish, and murderous intent on the latter’s face to speak up. You presume that’s why everyone else isn’t stopping them — or maybe they’re just preparing their own defenses and points to raise. “Intuitive combat and flawless combo chains. The fucking open world? Which other installment in the franchise offers that much depth in the gameplay?”

“Depth? Do you even hear yourself right now?” Chenle grips his head so tightly that when he pulls his hands away, there are actual red marks across his forehead and temple, and his bangs are askew. “What kind of depth comes from cloned movesets? The character designs are so stupidly traditional too. And—”

“There’s a unique kind of beauty in familiarity.”

“The open world was a disaster,” Chenle plows on. “It was so empty, and the map was the farthest thing from intuitive. It’s quite literally the worst thing KOEI has ever done. That’s exactly why they went back to the limited map strategy in later installments. Even the spin-offs.”

“I thought the grappling and ambush systems were pretty intuitive. Ingenious, even.”

It’s a singularly amusing sight — Chenle is one insult to his pride away from imploding, and Donghyuck is just checking the dirt under his nails like he’s waiting in line to take his school ID photo. Park Jisung, one of the quieter ones in the bunch, tries to diffuse the tension by clearing his throat and going ‘I actually really liked the Age Of Calamity Zelda one they released with all the different campaigns,’ but that just goes unnoticed by either party.

“You once failed an ambush play just because you were stuck behind a wall you couldn’t scale. Don’t say shit about the ambush and grappling mechanics.”

“Unlike some people sitting around this table, I learn from my mistakes. That’s also probably why some people — not naming names — just can’t appreciate the artistic beauty that is Dynasty Warriors 9.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even look up from his cuticles when Chenle explodes.

“You’re fucking impossible!”

“Can you guys relax?” Lee Jeno, who had somehow miraculously found the space and silence in the breaths between the entire argument to doze off, opens one eye, only slightly irate. “You’re making a scene over a dead game franchise.”

“It’s not dead; they’re on hiatus,” both Chenle and Donghyuck chime in together, apparently finding a moment of unique solidarity to shoot Jeno down before going back to glaring daggers at each other. Jeno shrugs, gives everyone else at the table an I tried kind of exasperated expression, and settles back into his seat, the one eye already closing before he’s fully folded his arms across his chest.

Your eyes wander away from the group over to the counter. You’re thankful for the fact that most of the time, you just get invited to share a table with them without necessarily being trapped in the middle of a conversation — especially one as heated as the one Chenle is prolonging while jabbing his finger accusingly at Donghyuck, as if he’s trying to pin a crime on the latter instead of just explaining why Donghyuck’s opinion is ‘borne of ignorance.’ When they’re all caught up in their business like this, you end up being able to revel in your more or less unobstructed view of Mark behind the barista’s station, where he’s busy piping an extra helping of whipped cream on top of a strawberry frappuccino for a kid that’s already jumping up and down next to the pick-up station.

The biting winter had already given way to the first signs of spring, and the Starbucks Mark works at has a supremely effective central heating system that allows people to shed their coats. This works in your favor, considering Mark wears nothing but a button-up shirt over his apron while he works, and he’s got this habit of rolling up his sleeves so they don’t catch any stains. You’re pretty sure he has a second motive, though; surely, he’s aware of how the view of his arms, muscles tightening under his skin whenever he even lightly grips something, drives you crazy. You’d bet a month’s allowance he’s doing it on purpose so that you start entertaining the thought of yelling at everyone in the branch to fuck off so you can grab him by the front of his stupid shirt so you can kiss his stupid face. Or ride it.

And for some inexplicable reason, he still has the audacity to act like there’s nothing amiss. When he looks up at you right after pushing the frappuccino towards the little girl, his eyes still brighten, almost innocent in their gaze, the corners of his lips turning up surreptitiously, hiding the smile he seems to save for only you from everyone else in the room.

You smile back, but when he turns away to take someone’s order, you let out a heavy sigh and take a long sip of your vanilla sweet cream cold brew until you start reaching the last dregs of it under the ice. Your brain pretty much cries out in protest, but you know it deserves as much as a mental cold shower for entertaining the thought of asking him to bend you over the counter at five-thirty in the afternoon in a Starbucks.

Stupid Mark. Stupid brain. Stupid fucking people in the room.

The warm breath in your ear alerts you to a slowly approaching presence, but you don’t have the reflexes to turn back to its source before it starts talking.

“Got anything to add to either of our cases, ___________?”

“What?” Your palm comes up to rub your ear as Donghyuck pulls away, laughing lightly. You’re sucked back into the foreground of the conversation, but you’re just as lost now as you had been before you started tuning them out in favor of your lust. “Uh — no. Sorry. To be honest, I know nothing about… sorry, what were you guys talking about again?”

“See, that’s how normal people act,” Jeno grumbles, both his eyes flying open this time. “Instead of hosting a presidential debate about Dynasty Warriors.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re quick to add, and Jeno looks mildly amused at your attempt to still mollify the rest of the group. “I’m sure I would have liked it. If, you know, I actually had been introduced to it at any point in my life.”

“And if you had, I’m sure you’d have the taste to assert alongside me that the seventh installment was revolutionary,” Chenle sniffs, but he’s looking more pointedly at Donghyuck, who’s still ignoring him, save for the fact that he’s now looking at you instead of at his nails (which doesn’t feel like such a great upgrade).

“Nah, she’d be on my side. ___________ looks like she’d appreciate a good, scenic open world and grappling system. Right?”

“Uh…” you say smartly.

“Man, shut up.” Chenle throws his hands in the air before he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back with astounding force. “Got me so pissed off I need to pee now.”

You have no idea what the correlation is between getting annoyed and needing to use the bathroom, but even if you wanted to bring up your doubts — which you don’t — Chenle is long gone before you can get your thoughts together. It’s only when he’s out of earshot that Donghyuck leans in, almost conspiratorially, to whisper to you again.

“Actually, I think the ninth sucks too. But isn’t it kind of funny how worked up that fucker gets?”

“To be honest, I’ve never known anyone with quite your talent in riling people up,” you admit, and even though you’re not sure what kind of meaning you want attached to that, you notice that he decides to take it as a compliment all on his own, his chest puffing out in pride. “Too bad I have no idea which opinion is really right, or I’d weigh in, too.”

“Not a Dynasty Warriors kind of girl, then?”

“No one is, Hyuck,” Jeno snorts, shaking his head. “You two are the only people I know who still played that past the fifth installment.”

“Fair. I nurture a love for old franchises.” Donghyuck leans back, looking supremely satisfied at how he’s managed to tick off one of his most important ‘to-do’ points of the day. “So what’s your poison, ___________?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You a Gardenscapes kind of girl? Tekken? Maybe you like some good ol’ fashioned LoL?”

“I honestly don’t have the hand-eye coordination to play,” you confess. “I know Mark likes to play PUBG from time to time. I mostly just sit and ask questions, though. The few times I tried playing with him, I swear any normal person would’ve cried. He had to babysit me like crazy. It was a miracle he didn’t throw me out.”

“She even tries to play with him,” Donghyuck whistles lowly. “Dude, how’d Mark get a chick like you?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re way too good for that dope.” His laugh is light and good-natured. “Never thought a moony-eyed weirdo like him would actually wind up with his dream girl — which he’s called you, more than once, by the way. Fucking disgusting, but… I get it. Doesn’t make it less crazy or weird to hear, though.”

“Sorry to put you through that.” You smile, using your straw to stir the contents of your cup. A warmth spreads through your shoulders and down your arms to the tips of your fingers as you digest what Donghyuck’s just said to you, and you find your eyes trailing back to Mark, who’s pulling off his apron. His eyes are already fixed on you, and when you lock gazes, he mouths a wait for me that makes you want to squeeze the life out of something in pure joy. You settle for a soft sigh. “I guess it won’t help if I say your friend over there’s my dream guy.”

“It absolutely will not,” Donghyuck groans, faking a gagging noise that has you laughing. “But tell you what — if you ever get tired of Mark playing PUBG and ignoring you like the clown he is, I’ll find you someone else more your speed.”

“No thanks,” you snort, taking the last sip of your drink. “More than that, I’d just want to be some kind of helpful to him if I ever play with him again.”

“We can help you with that too,” Jisung volunteers. “Jeno taught me the basics. I’m sure he can teach you too.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing you’d be a better student than mister “how come you didn’t tell me I had to focus the crosshairs myself” over here,” Jeno chuckles, surreptitiously pointing at Jisung when you cast him a questioning look.

“I’m pretty good at sneak attacks myself.” Donghyuck makes a show of pretending to slice your neck before grinning smugly. “We’ll take care of you. Mark won’t know what hit him next time.”

“What’s happening to me next time?”

You feel Mark before you see him, his hand landing on your head lightly and smoothing your hair back in an idle, gentle motion to announce his presence. You look up at him, already beaming, and he returns the favor as his hand settles on your shoulder.

“We were just talking about replacing you. Both as a friend and as a boyfriend, for your poor little dream girl here who’s just too nice to turn you down.” Donghyuck lies like it’s second nature; you wonder if that’s a Finance major thing or just a him thing.

“And you’re offering that to someone who didn’t ask for it?” Mark snorts, nudging Chenle’s bag over so he can sit in the empty spot.

“She’s so caught up in your sticky little web that she can’t struggle against you.” Donghyuck feigns a heavy sigh that suggests he feels sorry for you before he puts a hand on your free shoulder, shaking his head in a convincing kind of pity. “I’ll save you, so don’t worry. Mark can’t keep his grubby hands on you forever. Whenever you need to be saved, I’ll come a-running to free you.”

There’s a tightness on one shoulder that disrupts the balance of your torso, and you find yourself leaning closer to Mark. Your hand finds its way to his knee, giving it a light squeeze under the table, and his grip loosens by a fraction. Donghyuck’s as quick to let go as he is to hang on.

“We were just talking about PUBG,” you correct, and Mark’s eyes snap to you. “I was asking for help — you know, so I won’t drag you down the next time I join in?”

“I don’t mind whatever you do in-game.” He’s quick to comfort you, even if you don’t actually need it, but it feels warm and cold “I’m just glad you wanna try it with me.”

“No, but I kind of want to learn too. So it can be fun for both of us. Also so you don’t have to keep avenging me after five minutes,” you laugh. Mark cracks a smile then, and you don’t realize his expression had been slightly harder until it softens under your gaze.

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

“No, I want to surprise you with how cool I get. And then next time, I’ll even beat you.” You turn to Donghyuck, slightly unsure. “Uh… I can beat him, can’t I?”

“If you play different teams, yeah,” he confirms. “Trust me. I’ll help you kick his ass.”

“Or we’ll both kick yours,” Mark chuckles, his grasp now tightening and loosening intermittently. He’s massaging your shoulder lightly, and you end up sinking deeper into his side. You don’t miss the slightly nauseated amusement that passes across Donghyuck’s face nor the way he mouths ‘sap’ to Mark, who ignores this comment in its entirety.

“Yo, hotpot at seven? Renjun’s asking,” Chenle announces as he returns to your table, his phone in one hand and a crumpled paper towel in the other. “Jaemin can’t make it, though. Study group or whatever shit he always says.”

“I’m down,” Donghyuck immediately replies, and Chenle’s eyes shoot heavenward, like he’s already asking for the divine strength to not sock Donghyuck in the face later.

“Can’t,” Jeno yawns, both his arms outstretched as he tries to move the sleep out of his spine. “Pre-test tomorrow.”

“Dude, it’s a pre-test,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to study if they’re just testing how much you know before studying.”

“Gotta study all the same.”

“I gotta pass too,” Jisung looks actually apologetic. “I promised my mom I’d help her move some stuff to my aunt’s place tonight.”

“Boring,” Chenle grumbles before turning to the both of you. “Lovebirds?”

“Rain check,” Mark shakes his head. “Family dinner. My brother’s home for the weekend. How about Monday instead? Most of us can’t make it anyway. At least Jaemin doesn’t have study group either.”

“If that’s even what that weirdo’s doing,” Chenle sighs, already punching in a message to send to Renjun. “Fine; I’ll ask about Monday. You guys better actually reply to the goddamn group chat. I can’t coordinate in six different private chats ever again.”

“You can put my name down already,” Mark casts you a sideway glance, and you nod immediately. “Two names, actually.”

“I’m good on Monday too. When we see each other again, I’ll bring some prospects for you to sift through,” Donghyuck adds to you, and you laugh. “Cool guys. Jocks. I know this upperclassman all the girls say is really hot. I think I still have his Messenger from when we did a group discussion last semester.”

“I’ll have Mark look at them so he can reject them all for me,” you promise. Donghyuck feigns affront before looking at Mark in utter disbelief.

“How the fuck did you snag a girl like this, man?”

“I’m pretty sure she once told me I… what did you say?” Mark glances at you amusedly. “I had some moves, I guess.”

“You mean stutter and blush in her presence?” Donghyuck can’t decide how to look at you without being even the slightest bit offensive; he just settles on incredulity. “And that won you over?”

“Most powerful move in the Mark Lee playbook,” you shrug, grinning. “Had me from the first ‘um,’ and he’s had me ever since.”

“You lucky son of a bitch,” Donghyuck snorts, and neither of you misses the slightly abashed but unmistakable smugness in Mark’s face when you lean in to rest your head on his shoulder.

The second time it happens is on that Monday, in a far more noticeable capacity. You just aren’t quick enough to read the signs, as usual.

But in your defense (again), it hadn’t felt all that significant.

“Fuck, this is spicy,” Na Jaemin sucks air in through his teeth and lets it out in a sharp whistle that’s broken by a laugh that’s not necessarily at anything funny. Maybe he’s just laughing at the sheen of sweat across his forehead that he has to wipe off with the other side of his napkin.

Miraculously, the hotpot plan pushes through, with no small amount of effort in coordination on Chenle’s part; he’d even texted you just to make sure he’d gotten the head count right, despite the fact that Mark had already confirmed your attendance twice over. Even the often elusive Na Jaemin, who always seems to have one or another study group to attend on most nights, manages to come and is currently busy mixing his peanut sauce in his little bowl with such vigor that you can’t help but wonder if he’s not trying to drown the mala-flavored strips of meat in it completely.

“That’s why I said you need a bowl of water for dipping, you dimwit,” Donghyuck points his chopsticks at Jaemin’s messy plate in a way you can only describe as nagging, even if that’s actually impossible. “You’ve got super mala breath now.”

“Don’t know about me, but I can smell yours all the way from over here,” Jaemin quips back with an easy kind of nonchalance, hastily ducking the balled-up napkin that goes flying across the table. It lands on the floor behind his chair harmlessly.

It’s nice, you think, that Mark’s friends like to invite you to their outings now; despite all the jokes they’ve made at his expense, they’ve been consistently open to having you around. You’re not necessarily the type of couple that acts in a way that disgusts people into moving to a completely different table anyway, and you allow their conversations to unfold easily without ever interrupting, so you think that this arrangement works for all parties involved.

They’re even louder outside Starbucks, you’ve come to note; the restaurant is significantly busier than the cafe anyway, filled with people on their company dinners, so Mark’s friends all seem to want to rival that boisterous energy. Weirdly, you like it, even when they’re already half off their seats and one (Chenle) is just about to strangle the other (Donghyuck). The laughter flows freely, and there’s a messiness to the whole affair that makes it impossible to feel uncomfortable.

Even Mark pipes in occasionally, offering his opinion on topics he knows much more about than you, and you can’t help but admire how everyone listens to him when he starts to speak, even if he has nothing realistically important to say. His friends might find it odd that you’d been so drawn to him, but they just don’t know that even they’re victims of Mark’s natural magnetism, also falling quiet and eager to hear his voice, his light-hearted laugh, in response to the things they say.

But even when he’s mostly distracted by conversation, there’s a part of him that continuously pays attention to you in his own way. He nudges his ginger and soy sauce bowl towards you with the side of his wrist so you can dip your beef in, even if you’d adamantly declined him giving you your own bowl of it in the first place (you’d always thought you were peanut sauce or nothing kind of girl, but one sneaky venture into Mark’s sauce proved you wrong). His hand hovers over your head when you drop your chopsticks and bend over to pick them up from where they’ve rolled under the table, making sure you’re bump-free when you resurface.

And his palms always, always settle somewhere on you, no matter what he’s doing. If one hand is busy feeding himself, the other is intent on warming your thigh, passing over the denim in slow, steady strokes. His fingers tickle your knee when you laugh, just to make you laugh a little harder — you’d even almost kneed the table at one point, much to Huang Renjun’s alarm. But the most common place for his arm is around you, fingers lightly bunched into the side of your shirt, like he’s worried loosening his grip on you further will cause you to vanish. It keeps him close to you, keeps his scent and warmth washing over you in gentle waves, so much so that you often have to remind yourself that he’ll be the target of much light-hearted mockery if you so much as lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

But it’s hard to resist it, especially when his hand seems to be intent on outlining every curve on that side, passing over your hip and dipping into your waist. The motion allows him to slowly but surely lift the fabric of your shirt, up until there’s just enough of an opening for his palm to slip under, and suddenly it’s much warmer on that side, with the light roughness of his hand grazing at your skin. His fingers always stretch apart, like he’s trying to feel as much of you as he can, and the pads of his digits have a tendency to graze the plane of your stomach — his nails sometimes even travel featherlight just next to your navel, etching out words you can’t really decipher. Like he’s writing a message just for you.

It makes you feel like no matter what he’s doing, a part of his mind is always on you.

“You guys want to see that new horror movie? The Ghost Within, I think it’s called,” Jisung asks the group from over at the other end of the table, having to raise his voice significantly to make sure it isn’t swept away by the raucous laughter from across the restaurant. “I think it’s coming out in a week or two.”

“I’d be okay with it,” Renjun shrugs, although he doesn’t look enthused. “Kind of looks like a cliche horror with all those cheap jump scares and shit, but I’m down if you all are.”

A wave of assent passes over the group in general, but you notice Mark doesn’t immediately respond. You take this opportunity to lean in and confess your stance.

“If I have to sit around and watch a ghost pop out at me from a big-ass movie screen, you may never again see me in the same wonderful light you do today,” you warn. “Remember me as I am, not as I will be, Mark Lee.”

He snorts, coughing lightly as a mixture of ginger and fishcake sticks in his throat. “Yeah — we’ll pass, I think.”

“Scaredy-cat,” Donghyuck teases, and you’re surprised that Mark doesn’t come to his own defense. There’s something romantic in him not wanting to be the one to sell you out, but you suppose there’s also a kind of chivalry in being the one to take the bullet.

“Actually, I’m the one who can’t handle it well,” you smile in apology. “Sorry. I don’t have much of a reputation, so to speak, but what elegance may be attached to my name, however misplaced, is something I really want to maintain. At least until I graduate.”

“In short, you don’t want Mark to see you scream and cry,” Chenle deduces. You can’t even find fault in him figuring it out so quickly.

“Bingo.”

“Well, we can solve the problem,” Donghyuck claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention for no good reason. “__________, you sit beside me, and Mark can sit on the far end of the row. With how dark it is, he won’t see anything, and I get to sit next to a cute girl in a movie theater. Win-win.”

“Thanks for the offer,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But it’s not a win-win if I accidentally grab your hand out of instinct.”

“It is to me,” Donghyuck winks, and you feel Mark’s hand stop brushing over your stomach. His fingers curl in lightly, almost like he’s trying to make a fist but can’t quite get to that point out of personal restraint. “Or better yet, you could do what we all think you should do and dump Mark for someone you won’t be ashamed to cry in front of. I, for one, would not even bother to comment on whatever emotions you’re going through in the middle of a movie, so what do you say? It’s a pretty sweet deal, in my humble opinion. Me versus Mark Lee. The showdown of the century, right here in Hai Di Lao.”

You’ve noticed that the more Donghyuck piles onto his little teasing rampage, the more forcefully Mark tugs you over; his fingers aren’t just skimming over your skin but have now grown into the habit of gently pinching it, as if begging for your attention. It feels nice but also a little urgent, although it’s hard for you to understand why; the whole foundation of this group is built on teasing each other until someone (Chenle) snaps and lobs a bottle cap at someone else (Donghyuck), so it should be normal for Mark to be at the receiving end of some light banter.

“Should we ask the hostess to referee the match, then?” You ride along with the joke.

“No way. You’re the one calling the shots.” Donghyuck sits up a little straighter, putting on a smug face. “Okay, pick, __________. Me or Mark; who’s got the better punches?”

You make a show of acting thoughtful, even tapping your chin to pretend considering it deeply, but there was never any doubt on your choice. Still, you can’t really decipher the sudden slowness, the light tremble in Mark’s palm as it travels to your hip, where it settles, heavy, over the curve.

“It’s a complete knock-out,” you finally announce, grinning. “Championship belt goes to Mark.”

“Man, if I had a girlfriend as straight-shooting about her feelings for me as you are about your feelings for Mark, I’d propose in a day, max,” Jeno groans, half-exasperated and half-amused all at once.

“Man must’ve saved a nation or something in his past life,” Donghyuck grimaces. “No way he deserves a girl this hot and crazy about him. Hey — got any tips on stopping natural disasters or something? I could use a sexy, loyal girlfriend in my next life. Or maybe I’ll just poach yours in this one and see what it feels like.”

“I would actually deck you, so don’t even try it,” Mark snorts, his arm now winding full around your waist. You’re flush against his side, and he uses this opportunity to do something he doesn’t often do in front of his friends: show explicit affection by pressing a light kiss just behind your ear. It tickles, his breath grazing your earlobe, and you giggle, squirming in his hold. All he does is smile and pull you in tighter.

The bill’s split eight ways, but Mark’s fishing out cash to pay for your share even before you can get your wallet out from the bottom of your bag; it’s one of those quick, instinctive moves he likes to use on you, where he pushes the money and sends the bill back to the staff before you can even protest in full, so you have to settle on thanking him by returning the earlier favor — landing a peck on his cheek, which flushes a warm and contented pink the moment your lips make contact.

You just pointedly ignore the snickers that run around the table, particularly from Donghyuck and Jaemin.

The group splits ways at the front of the school dorms; most of them head in after their goodbyes, while Chenle backtracks towards his apartment building off-campus, mumbling something about how he hopes his roommate’s in because he accidentally left his key in the bowl next to their doorway. Mark should be piling in with the rest into the dorms, but he has a habit of insisting that he take you to the subway station; you’ve long since given up on convincing him against tagging along, mostly because he looks slightly hurt whenever you try to get him to stay put. You’re not going to complain anyway; for as much as you like being around Mark’s friends, it’s even better when you have this little slice of alone time despite the hassle it brings him.

Your fingers are linked when you walk under the street lights, the campus road leading to the station entrance significantly less busy at this time of evening; it’s cool enough for you to have an excuse to press yourself into Mark’s form, and he accepts this additional burden with an immense amount of grace, his arm finding its way around you again. Two minutes later, his palm is pressed against your bare skin once more, rubbing small, gentle circles just above your pelvis.

A part of you wonders if you’ll be able to do this — lean in, flush against him — when the summer heat starts to stick, but rather than really worrying about the logistics, you realize you’re more hung up on the idea of spending this summer with him.

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs out of the blue. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he looks down at you sheepishly. “Isn’t hanging out with my friends kind of driving you crazy?”

You hum in thought before shaking your head in resolution. “Not really. Not in a bad way, at least. I like how close you guys all are — and how big the group is. It’s usually just Yeji and Jisu with me, and they’re definitely not as rowdy. The change of pace is pretty fun.”

“Yeji and Jisu,” he echoes. “Your best friends. I haven’t met them yet, have I?”

“Not yet. Jisu started a part-time job across town, so we can’t get our schedules to align right just yet.” Your hip collides gently with his. “Should I let you, though?”

“One day… I think it would be nice to hang out with a less migraine-inducing crowd for a change.”

“I’ll tell them, then. They want to meet you.” You crane your neck up slightly, lowering your voice into a hushed whisper that’s completely unnecessary. “They want to know if you’re as cute as you look in your pictures.”

Mark draws back, laughing incredulously. “How do they know what my pictures look like?”

“I stalked your Instagram and showed them,” you answer simply. He throws you a funny look that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “They liked that one with the Spider-man costume.”

“Please don’t,” he groans, passing a hand over his face. “I should have taken that down, but I didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Why? I like it.” Your hand’s the one that manages to slip under his sweater this time, fingers trailing down his stomach; you feel him suck it in for a second in surprise before he lets out an exhale.

“I can’t ever understand what’s going through your head,” he chuckles, and you think it’s unfair that he manages to extract your hand from under the fabric while his is still firmly pressed against the side of your stomach. “You saw that and still wanted to date me?”

“Mark Lee, you simply underestimate how much I adore you. It’s kind of hurting my feelings at this rate.”

You’re just a few inches shy of the circle of light cast by the subway station sign. Your feet try to bring you forward, but Mark lingers behind, just outside the curve of soft white on the pavement, and his hand slips from under your shirt. You turn, and his hand skims down your arm instead, fingers locking around your wrist. With the slight distance between you, it looks like you’re caught in motion.

“I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

“What?”

“I just look over at you and feel like it’s not real. Like you’re going to disappear, and I’m just going to wake up from a dream and see you the next day, just some other stranger who doesn’t even know my name.” He licks his lips, and you want to reach out and kiss him already, but you know he isn’t done talking. “And I’m going to remember how much I liked you in that dream, but you won’t ever feel that same way.”

“You know I’m right here, though, don’t you?” Your fingers mimic his, squeezing around his wrist. “You can feel me. I’m here with you.”

Hesitation flashes across his face even when he nods, and you notice his eyes flit down to his shoes before looking back up at you — a habit of avoidance you know he’s trying to correct. “Sometimes I have to wonder if they’re right.”

“If… who’s right?”

“Them.” He jerks his thumb back in the general direction of the school dorms. “The guys. You know — when they ask me how I got a girl like you… the truth is, I don’t even really know. They can’t believe it, and it’s so crazy to me that I still sometimes can’t myself. So I start wondering if—”

You don’t let him finish this time; it’s rude to interrupt, you know, but you also know that what he’s about to say is probably something neither of you wants to hear anyway. Your lips connect with his, firm and demanding, and his words die in his throat, melting into a soft groan that vibrates against your skin. When you pull away, you don’t create the same distance, and Mark’s hands find their way to your waist, slightly trembling.

“They’re wrong,” you murmur, a quiet strength in your voice. “So stop wondering and just be with me.”

A smile starts tugging on the corners of his mouth, and the next moment, he’s nodding in assent, in wholehearted agreement, and the next kiss you share is one he starts, far more gentle than earlier.

“Next time I catch you entertaining nonsensical thoughts, there’ll be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me?” His laugh is colored with incredulity.

“Yes.” Your tone is firm, but your grin gives away too much of the jest. “Maybe I’ll ground you for a week, or something really childish.”

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” you snort, gently flicking the tip of his nose. He scrunches it on impact. “You’d be in solitary. You must reflect on your actions and all that nonsense. Meanwhile, I’ll be out having some good hotpot with everyone else.”

“If that happens, promise me one thing, then.” He maneuvers your stance until you’re both back in the blanket of darkness, just out of reach of the subway entrance. “Don’t sit next to Donghyuck.”

“And let him and Chenle give me an earful about how bad-slash-good the first Human Centipede movie was all over again? I think not.”

“No, really.” Mark buries his face into your neck, and you hear the quiet inhale as he breathes in your scent. On instinct, your hand comes up to thread through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I don’t want you sitting there and hearing him talk your ear off about how much I don’t deserve you or that he’ll help you find someone better.”

“You know he’s just joking — and I’m just joking, right?”

“Just promise me.”

You pause, wondering if it’s in your best interest to tease him for whatever act he’s pulling, but there’s a shortness to his breathing that makes the whole situation feel weirdly tense. He’s really waiting for something — an answer. The right answer, maybe.

“I promise,” you finally say, and you know you’ve said the correct thing when Mark’s lips press a soft kiss to your collarbone, like he’s sealing in your vow.

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

The strangest thing is that it starts at a time when you’re not even actually together; if you had to pinpoint the exact moment, it probably had to be when Donghyuck had walked you to the dorm from library. No — maybe even before that. Somewhere in the time you’d spent in there, he’d thought up yet another way to push Mark’s buttons. You just didn’t really know the exact minute he’d first seen you with Jung Jaehyun.

You don’t know how Jaehyun does it; he skips half his classes and somehow doesn’t even get in trouble, let alone fail. You’d only met him last semester, but he was just about the only person who was halfway familiar in your Anthropology 120 class, so you thought you could at least feel comfortable enough to chat with him about the weather or what had happened in the last meeting. You don’t expect him to strong-arm you into being something of a literal proxy for him; the first week of the semester, you’d spend almost each lecture period gnawing on your nails and fretting over the fact that your signature for attendance looked nothing like his. By the second week, you’d already come to realize that it doesn’t matter because he had only attended one lecture — the first one — thus far and your professor was as clueless about Jaehyun’s handwriting as you. By the fourth week, you had resigned yourself to being his slightly unwilling associate for his random escapades, allowing him to copy off your notes and turning in his homework for him.

Now that you think about it, that’s probably how he does it.

You sacrifice your free time for him today, caged up in a library for pretty much the afternoon. You can’t help but resent him, not just because the whole room is stuffy and the librarian keeps passing by, clucking to remind people not to litter between shelves, but also because you’d much rather do things that are important to you — like pretending to flirt with Mark for the first time when you place your order and watching him act like it’s the first time you’re saying something so sweet to him, except he’s definitely not pretending. Instead of watching Mark’s face color that cute shade of pink and that sweet little smile pull at his mouth until he’s basically biting his lips back to stop himself from grinning, you have to bore yourself with the sight of Jaehyun trying to decipher your handwriting.

“You should really be more legible with your strokes.” He has the audacity to chastise you as if he’s the one doing you a favor by giving you constructive criticism.

“You should really come to class more often,” you bite back, although there’s no real heat to your words. You just look out the window and watch the sun sink down behind the university hospital building, wondering if there’s a chance you’ll still be able to catch Mark before his shift ends.

“Would if I could.”

“You actually fucking can,” you say tiredly, and even the way he turns the page is so impossibly slow. “Can’t you just take a picture?”

“Nah; writing it down carefully really helps my retention of this kind of stuff.”

“So take a picture and then write it down carefully.”

“With your ridiculous handwriting? I’d probably fail.”

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

Your hiss increases in pitch, and it calls the attention of the librarian over to you. She swoops in, clicking her tongue, but she’s not even looking at you. Her eyes are zoned in on Jaehyun, who meets her gaze with so much innocence it’s hard to imagine you’d wanted to smack him two minutes ago.

“Jung Jaehyun,” the librarian snaps in an undertone. The slow, punctuated way she says his name suggests she knows him fairly well — and not in a great way. ��I see you’re back in here after your probationary period.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Park.” He grins up at her, looking anything but apologetic. “I promise I won’t get in your way again today.”

“And this one—” She points to you, and you point to yourself in shock at being pointed to, and Jaehyun’s pointing at you and mouthing ‘this one’ with excessive mirth in his eyes. “Isn’t another one of those girls you plan on defiling my sacred space with?”

Jaehyun says ‘we didn’t defile anything’ at the same time you say I’m going to throw up, and the librarian just adds to the noise by shushing you on top of that jumble of words.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you two,” Mrs. Park warns before stalking away, tutting at a library assistant for wrongly shelving a volume of Encyclopedia Brittanica.

“Please, Jaehyun,” you groan, crossing your arms over the table and flattening your forehead against them. “Just hurry up. Release me.”

He ignores you, still leaning closer to your notebook to decipher your handwriting. “I would like to set the record straight and make it known I didn’t fuck anyone in the library.”

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

“Just making out.” You notice he has the energy to grin wickedly even without meeting your eye, even while he’s still scrawling on his own notebook, and you groan something incoherent and irate once again. “What are you in such a big hurry for, anyway?”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you grumble, raising your head. “That some people might want to do better things than sit here and watch you write stuff for ages?”

“No,” comes his simple reply. You bop your head onto your arms a few times in the hope that the impact will shake you out of this nightmare and you’d find yourself waking up in Mark’s arms instead, but you have no such luck. “By better things, do you mean fucking Mark Lee in someone else’s bedroom? That’s real defilement, by the way.”

“How’d you hear about that?” You squeeze your eyes shut and growl under your breath. “Fucking Youngho.”

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

He pointedly purses his lips in an effort to keep himself from letting out what you can only assume is, by the glint in his eyes, a witch’s cackle. “Almost done, man. Relax a bit. So did you guys get together — like, together together?”

You initially contemplate not telling him, but Jaehyun’s nosiness is probably going to reveal the truth to him sooner or later anyway. “Yeah. What’s it to you, though?”

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

For the first time today, you feel like Jaehyun has finally said something right. “Yeah — yeah, I am.”

“I bet his friends don’t seem to think so.”

“Is this something you know because it’s a guy thing or because you’re so nosy that you just can’t help but listen in on every other juicy conversation around you?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles. “Mostly just because I know Lee Donghyuck was giving him a hard time about it last semester.”

“I noticed that too — a bit, anyway. But it’s just banter, I think.”

“Probably. Imagine being his friend and getting a girlfriend; it’s like… the perfect ammunition for teasing. But I’m pretty sure half of the things that come out of his mouth are jokes meant to annoy.”

“What about yours?”

“I get it,” he sighs, shutting your notebook resolutely. It makes a thud that alerts the librarian two tables away, and she glares at you like you’re climbing onto Jaehyun’s lap in the middle of the References on the Korean War aisle. “I’ll set you free. Thanks, by the way, for letting me copy from you. Same time next week?”

“Or how about you look up the schedules for our classes and actually come instead of piggybacking off of my efforts and making snarky remarks about my handwriting while you’re taking advantage of my goodwill?”

“Sounds like too much effort on my end,” he yawns, waving you off as you stuff your notebook into your bag. “Later, ___________. Say hi to Mark for me. The normal way — not the girlfriend way, please.”

You stick your tongue out at him before you make a mad dash for the door, ignoring Mrs. Park as she shushes your footsteps on the marble. You’re so intent on fishing your phone out of your bag that you almost ram the door into the person standing behind it.

“Oh, fuck— Jesus, I’m sorry, I wa— wait, Donghyuck?”

“Great to see you too, ___________.” He rubs his jaw where the edge of the door grazed it. “You in a rush?”

“I was just about to go see if Mark was still at Starbucks.”

“His shift’s probably almost over. I’m headed back to the dorm if you wanna tag along.” When you nod, he starts leading the way, breaking the silence again soon after. “Were you in a study group, or something?”

“No,” you jerk your thumb backwards towards the minuscule form of Jaehyun, who’s now busy wasting time and space playing something on his phone where you’d left him. Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s my classmate who never comes to class. I was just lending him my notes.”

“Oh, Jaehyun, yeah.” Donghyuck snaps his fingers. “We were classmates last semester. He never went to class either, but I don’t know who he mooched off of to pass. You guys close?”

“Not really. I just fell into the trap of being too nice to him.”

“It’s funny,” he hums, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Jaehyun seems more your speed. On paper, at least.”

You can’t help but look taken aback, and Donghyuck laughs at your expression. “What do you mean, my speed?”

“Not sure.” He pauses, trying to find the right words to explain himself. “Someone who’d fit more into your social circles. Someone who probably likes Formula One and considers men’s health magazines to be classic literature.”

“That’s your impression of my social circle?”

“You know what I mean. People like Jung Jaehyun or Seo Youngho. I literally thought you were dating him last semester, so it was totally crazy to hear you asked Mark out.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Like… you asked him out. Not even the other way around. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” You know he doesn’t mean anything bad by it; Donghyuck has next to no filter, and something about him being unable to process your relationship is honestly a little funny. “A girl can’t ask a guy out?”

(You try not to think too hard about the fact that up until you’d cornered him in Youngho’s room, you had been praying to whatever god could hear you to convince Mark Lee to do the romanticist thing and ask you out.)

“Nah, dude. Like… a girl like you asked a guy like him out.”

“I didn’t ask him out because he was a guy like that,” you say pointedly. “I asked him out because he was a guy I liked. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else out if it weren’t him.”

Donghyuck falls quiet for a while, and only the crunching of the leaves underfoot accompanies your walk. “You really like him that much, huh?”

“I’m crazy about him.” His nose scrunches up like he’s been hit with a horrible smell, and you laugh. “Can you stop giving him a hard time? Or tone it down? I know you probably don’t like it—”

Donghyuck’s chuckle is light and easy. “I’m not teasing him because I hate it; let’s be clear on that. I actually really like that you guys are together. I’ve never seen him this happy with anything or anyone.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because he’s Mark.” A devilish grin creeps up his features as he holds the door to the dorm lobby open for you. “And teasing him is my favorite thing to do.”

You shake your head; you can’t help your amusement, but you’re not sure you fully understand this kind of friendship. You suppose if Mark is okay with it in its totality, then there isn’t much you can say to change it either.

The next twenty minutes pass in comfortable back-and-forths; Donghyuck is, as you already have learned, an expert conversationalist, and while he doesn’t aggravate you the way he does Chenle, he does manage to navigate a quick-fire kind of exchange of thoughts and information that allows you to see the speed at which he thinks. There’s barely any lag between when he digests what you say and when he responds. You suppose there’s a measure of wit in that, but it’s also a little bemusing to see someone speak without at least running it through the conscience checker every once in a while. You decide you’ve never met anyone quite like Lee Donghyuck before.

He’s in the middle of asking you what the Anthropology professor is like because he’s planning on taking it as an elective if he can when you notice a familiar figure pushing into the lobby, backpack swinging on a folded elbow.

“Mark!” The brief confusion on his face morphs into a surprised joy when he spots you on the couch, even though a bit of it lingers upon recognizing that Donghyuck is seated next to you. He walks over in long strides, and your posture straightens to meet his palm as it comes down gently against the crown of your head again; it bumps lightly, causing the both of you to laugh.

“Hey, you.” His voice is warm and fond in its greeting, and you beam up at him. “Did you have a busy afternoon?”

“Unfortunately. Did you just get back from your shift?”

“I passed by the co-op to check out the new university letter jackets. Design’s pretty dope.” He nods towards the elevator. “You wanna head up for a little bit?” You almost get to respond before your companion cuts in instead.

“Hey. Can’t you see we’re having a riveting conversation over here?” Donghyuck sniffs, making a show of hitting Mark’s shin lightly with the heel of his shoe. “Have some respect.”

“Is the conversation so riveting that I can’t take my girl for the evening at all?”

You mouth out a no, but Donghyuck’s flair for dramatics has him humphing and shoving Mark’s hand away from your hair. “Yeah, man. At least let us finish up.”

“What’s this even about?”

“How Jung Jaehyun asked her out in the library today,” Donghyuck replies easily. You start, shaking your head immediately, but Mark’s jaw slackens a little upon hearing this. Donghyuck continues loudly over your protests, and you can’t keep your voice straight because you’re adamant and yet, somehow, still laughing incredulously in your shock. “Oh, dude, let me tell you. He had his arm around her like this — and he was giving her the bedroom eyes… I wouldn’t have blamed her if she folded, honestly.”

“Mark, no,” your stupid gasp comes out as half a giggle as a result of Donghyuck trying to reenact his imaginary scenario. He’s slung his arm across your shoulders and pulled himself in, doing his best expression of a pleading dog’s gaze, which is both perplexing and hilarious. “He’s just kidding—”

“Then he got all close like this—” Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, and the view he allows himself blocks him from having to look at Mark. You, on the other hand, are still trying to resist a misunderstanding, your palms up and every part of your body that can move shaking vehemently, but you can see Mark’s face turn a violent shade of red you can’t remember having seen from him before. “Spoke all low — you remember he had that sexy, husky voice, right? ”

“He’s just messing with you,” you wheeze out, trying to extract yourself from Donghyuck’s hold, but he only tightens his arm around your neck, almost to the point where you can’t inhale properly.

“And he said ‘you’re the hottest chick I’ve ever seen—’ then you know what he did, Markie?”

Mark doesn’t respond; you’re not even sure if he can, considering his Adam’s apple is bobbing dangerously like he’s one misstep away from exploding. You laugh again, stupidly, because you don’t know what else to do; you know Donghyuck’s teasing him, and you know Mark usually takes it in stride, but you’ve also never seen the latter look so focused on anything that didn’t involve a math problem or eating you out. “No, really, nothing hap—”

You don’t even have the space to finish your sentence. Donghyuck’s too quick when he grabs your face and plants a comedically sloppy kiss on your cheek, bursting out in laughter when he pulls away. You can only sit there, probably as stunned as Mark looks, raising your hand slowly to wipe the spittle Donghyuck left behind in his wake.

“Oh, Jesus,” Donghyuck rasps out between snorts. “Your face is priceless, man.”

“Not funny,” Mark grumbles, and there’s a hoarseness to his voice that makes you feel like it’s barely controlled.

“Also not true. I just bumped into her on the way from the library. We were talking about one of her classes or whatever.” Donghyuck dramatically wipes the tears from his eyes, and you sigh, nudging him. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Man, don’t even worry. She’s downright crazy about you. Even if Jung Jaehyun had asked her out—”

“Anyway.” Mark reaches down, lacing your fingers together, pulling you up and closer to his side like he’s worried you’ll catch Donghyuck’s crazy. “If that’s all of it…”

“Yeah, yeah. You two lovebirds go moon over each other already. I just love seeing your face like that.”

Mark snorts, yanking on Donghyuck’s earlobe punitively, and the latter cries out sharply (and a little exaggeratedly) at the pain. Mark doesn’t even seem to care; he leads you to the elevator and punches in his floor. You barely have time to call out a belated ‘bye’ to Donghyuck, who acknowledges it with a raise of his palm, before the doors slide shut.

It’s a slow elevator, given that it’s an old building, and the first couple of floors pass without much noise between the two of you. You’re not unaware of how tight Mark’s grip is on your hand, but you don’t comment nor take it against him. By the fourth floor, you’re raising his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

“Nothing happened.” You confirm his unasked question, and you see a modicum of tension leave his shoulders. “He was just messing with you because he thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I know.” Even if he says it like that, there’s still lingering doubt in his voice. “Were you with Jung Jaehyun today, though? Is that why you didn’t show up?”

You nod. “He was copying my notes for Anthropology. Guy barely shows up to lectures, so he borrows my stuff. I can’t believe he hasn’t been suspended yet. Or punched in the face by the people he leeches off of.”

“No kidding.”

You step out on the sixth floor with him. Even if you already know where Mark’s dorm is, you let him lead the way, and he ushers you into an empty and dimly lit living space while taking his shoes off. His roommate barely seems to be around; you’ve seen him all of two times, and it doesn’t look like he’s here either right now. You pause anyway, listening to any signs of life just to be sure, but when you both confirm that there’s no one but the two of you, you busy yourselves with turning on the lights and plugging in the water dispenser.

You work in relative silence; it isn’t anything unusual since you’ve done this a million times, and you’ve come to learn that small talk isn’t necessary when you’re just washing your hands or opening the refrigerator aimlessly even if you know you both plan on ordering in. But there’s a weird aura around Mark that you’re not sure how to place; he doesn’t seem like he’s mad, but there definitely seems to be something off — a problem, at least, that you’re not sure you know how to ask about.

So you just try to diffuse whatever it is by completely ignoring it.

“Pizza or Chinese?” You ask, flopping onto the couch as he plugs the television into the outlet. He looks up at you, and you notice his eyes are slightly dazed, like you’ve just woken him up from a dream. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse the first time he says it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“We just had pizza, so I’m thinking Chinese is the better option. Cream shrimp? Fried rice? Not the salted fish one, though, maybe.”

You hum in assent, but when he straightens up from behind the television, you extend your arm to him, attempting to clarify yourself. “I mean, what are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.” His answer’s a little too quick. A moment of awkward silence passes where you telepathically tell him you know he’s lying and he has to come to terms with his horrible lying skills, and he sighs, crossing over to the couch and settling beside you. Immediately, he tangles your fingers together, belatedly returning the favor from the elevator and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “He didn’t ask you out, right?”

You know he knows the truth, so you decide to bat your own question back at him in an attempt at rhetoric. “What would it matter if he did? The answer would have been the same, real or imagined.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. There’s a red flush on his neck that’s only started fading, it seems. You reach out and skim your finger along the vein that runs down the side of his throat. “I know. I don’t like it all the same. I hate… even thinking about it, actually.”

“Really — nothing happened. If you don’t count the fact that I almost strangled him for keeping me there — which I’m sure you’d agree doesn’t count as anything in favor of him.”

“I heard Jung Jaehyun’s kind of a playboy.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” His head lolls to the side, and his eyes hold a sadness that pulls at your heart. “It means he really could have made a pass at you. Or you could have — I don’t know. In the end… I just worry.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your lower lip juts out, and his eyes widen slightly, his head shaking before his mouth can even work out a proper response.

“No — I mean, yes, absolutely. It’s — I mean, it’s just—” He inhales again to gather his wits, two fingers still rubbing his forehead. “I trust you, without a doubt. I don’t trust other people — not around you. Not Jaehyun, or Youngho, or—”

“Or Donghyuck?” You smile a little apologetically at his embarrassment, clear on his face when his eyes stray from yours. “Mark, you know he’s only messing with you, right? I thought it was a funny thing for you guys.”

“It’s not funny if it’s about you,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He looks up at you again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I know. I’m trying to control it. Sometimes… I don’t know why it gets under my skin. I guess it’s because it could happen — you… finding someone else. I kind of hate the thought of that.”

“And if I said I hate it even more than you?”

His gaze softens, something like relief passing over his features, but the rest of his body still holds a significant amount of tension; you know by the way he’s running agitated circles on the back of your hand. You gently tug on his arm, allowing yourself to use it as an anchor to shift your weight. Mark makes a soft noise of inquiry but says nothing more, waiting until you’ve maneuvered your body to settle on his lap.

The view is reminiscent, and you can see that the core memory you share flashes through his mind too. A small smile, still somewhat reluctant, plays on Mark’s lips, and you hate that it’s all you get right now, so you rectify this by leaning down and leaving a small, chaste kiss on them. You pull away much too soon, and his head follows in response to the distance, chasing your lips until you’re realistically too far to reach. His arm extends instead, swiftly tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your fingers close around his wrist, and your head turns, continuing the kiss against his palm — short and firm.

“Stop doing that.”

His eyebrows fly upward in questioning, his other hand freezing in its trail up your thighs. Even his breath seems to catch, and what’s left of it comes out as a raspy whisper. “Stop being jealous? I’m… I’m trying.”

You shake your head. “Stop being sexy when you’re jealous.”

The ‘what’ he seems to want to ask dies in his throat, his mouth only able to form half of the word before you interrupt, your lips taking in the rest of the syllable. When you kiss him this time, there’s a slow hunger to it; your teeth find his lower lip even before he’s able to get into the rhythm of kissing you back. You just want him to know — everything about him drives you wild, even when he doesn’t know it.

You’ll never grow sick of the taste of him, you’re sure; today, he tastes even more enticing, the hint of something rich mixing in with the stronger flavor of coffee on his tongue. It’s familiar and comforting, and it’s only when you break away, both your faces flushed from a prolonged lack of air, that you puzzle out what the taste is — the lingering aftermath of a vanilla sweet cream cold brew, one he must have prepared in anticipation of you this afternoon.

You briefly squeeze your eyes shut and thank whoever’s listening for the gift of Mark Lee.

“Mark,” your murmur, your voice much softer, intent on coaxing him into releasing his worries. “You know, right?”

His ‘hm’ is only half-there in focus, the rest of his attention on his hands, which have found their way to your ass and have started digging his fingers into the flesh beyond your jeans. You have to tilt his head up with one finger under his chin, and there’s a whirlpool of emotion in them: curiosity, desire, and, interestingly, a quiet, almost suppressed kind of anger.

“If it isn’t you,” you whisper. “Then there’s nobody else.”

You see his jaw tighten, feel his grip against you do the same, and his brow furrows, like he’s trying — much too hard, and for no good reason — to stop himself from tipping over. You don’t like that either; if he’s there, you think, you should take him over the edge.

“But if you want them to know so badly, then…” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, bringing the expanse just a little closer to his mouth. “Why don’t you go ahead and put your claim on me?”

You swear you see his pupils dilate right before he presses his mouth to your skin. With a low, almost pained groan against your neck, he latches his teeth in lightly, and you feel the soft sting, the increase in pressure the moment he starts sucking a mark just above your collarbone. There’s a wet, messy pattern to his movements, always punctuated by the sweep of his tongue to soothe your flesh. Even with that, his movements are slow and careful, still gentle in the way he’s handling you, but you feel it anyway — all of his tension’s concentrated in his grip, the way he keeps you close, hips pinned against him as if he’s worried anything less will cause you to disappear.

“Every time you worry, remember you can do this.” You pause, your breath catching in a lilt as his teeth dig in a little more fiercely. “You’re the only one that can.”

His lips detach with a soft groan, fingers squeezing your ass tight for a moment. Warm breath cools against the damp patch on your neck, and a second later, you feel his mouth graze against the few inches of skin, sensitive and slightly raw. “I know. It’s just not fair.”

You hum in questioning, but he doesn’t answer immediately; his mouth busies itself just under the mark he’d surely left, already starting up the same routine. You’d let him, and you want him to, but you want to hear his voice more. Your fingers tangle into his hair, and you use that hold to ease his head back, urging him to look up at you. It’s almost a mistake, seeing him like that — lips slightly swollen and definitely slick with his own saliva, parted just a little to reveal teeth he’d been desperate to nip your flesh with again. It crosses your mind that Mark has a mouth made for kissing — no, that isn’t accurate.

A mouth made for you to kiss.

“What’s not fair?” You ask softly. Even now, he takes his time in answering, his eyes falling close for a second; you watch him swallow, lick his lips, breathe in before he speaks, and all of those mundane things he does somehow make you lose your mind all the more.

“How badly I keep wanting you,” he breathes out, his eyes slowly opening. “And how it makes me think everyone wants you just as much.”

His hands leave the curve of your ass, traveling up your shirt, resting against your sides. He holds you like he’s careful in trying not to break you, his fingers spread wide to make sure his thumbs almost meet against your stomach, but there’s a smoldering headiness in his gaze that tells you he’s thinking a little too hard about wanting to break you.

“I touch you like this, and I think that everyone would kill to do the same.” His fingers squeeze against your flesh, inching upwards until they rest just under your breasts; his thumbs stroke the curved underline of your bra. “I think about kissing you and it feels like everyone’s thinking it at the exact same time. I look at someone next to you, even if you don’t know them, and I wonder if they want to pull you close, if they want to feel you against them just as much as I do. When I—”

He inhales sharply between his words, and the exhale comes out somewhat shaky. For a moment, he grits his teeth, jaw flexing in an attempt to keep himself in check. You worry he doesn’t want to continue — doesn’t want to let you hear it, but it feels so important that you can’t let it go. “Tell me.”

“When I think about fucking you,” he breathes out, voice barely audible. “Whenever I look at you and think about how much I want to feel you around me, feel you cum around me… I just know everyone else wants the same thing, and it’s driving me crazy because… because they can’t.”

It’s there again, flashing in his eyes — a determination that reads almost like fury.

“They can’t,” he repeats, his voice firmer. “I won’t ever let them. Never.”

You don’t stop him this time when his mouth reclaims your skin. You let his thoughts fuel the need in his movements, allow yourself to move only in reaction to what he does — the tilting of your head to give him more room, the tightening of your fists against his shirt to keep yourself steady. A surprised mewl leaves you when you feel his teeth pinch against your flesh again, and it’s harder, sharper this time, his quiet anger finally dictating his strength. You grapple for words, but they come out in weak gasps.

“It doesn’t — doesn’t matter,” you manage to whimper out. “How many people think that way, how much they want me that way. I only ever want you.”

His breathing is caught, warm, in the pocket of space just between you and his mouth; it tingles against your skin, tickles your senses into heightening. Your fingers unfurl, pressing against his chest, and you can feel his quickened heartbeat thrumming under your palm.

“God, please,” he murmurs, the soft peck of a kiss landing against your collarbone. “Please, tell me.”

“Mark, I’m yours.” There’s no teasing in how you say it; it was never meant to rile him up. It even escapes sweetness, the romanticism it usually comes with when you remind him on any other occasion. This is a promise to him, something you’re reinforcing as fact, something that can’t ever change. “I’m always going to be yours — no one else’s. I’ll never let anyone have anything that’s yours. Ask anything, take everything you want. I’ll never say no to you. Only you — always you.”

You know something’s different in a number of ways; his arms circle around you, but instead of keeping you firm and stable in his lap, they’re tight, squeezing a whine out of you, holding your torso flush against his. His face never leaves the crook of your neck, but you hear — feel — something there — a soft growl of need, of frustration that begs release. Suddenly, you find yourself off the couch; you barely have the presence of mind to wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your thighs against his sides before he’s carrying you to his room, kicking the door open and letting the rebound of the impact against his wall slam it shut behind him.

You’ve been in Mark’s room before, so there’s absolutely no need for you to take in the scenery when he sets you down on his bed. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if this were your first time; Mark’s crawling over you, his face flush and eyes sharp with hunger, and he looks so enticing that you wouldn’t want to pay attention to anything else around you anyway. His limbs cage you in, arms on either side of your shoulders and his knees just by your thighs, and you don’t really know why he’s already panting, but it just makes you want him all the more.

“Never,” he groans out, leaning down to nose against the patch of skin his mouth had worked on. “I’m never going to let anyone take you, ever. You’re all mine.”

His name fades on your lips, carried away by a moan when his mouth reattaches itself to your neck; it moves, almost frenzied, to renew the mark he’d left, make it a deeper red, a slightly bruised purple. You’re usually careful not to do anything that will require any attention or cover-up after, but Mark seems a little too far gone to care, and you realize you like him best this way.

Even with all the attention he gives your neck, his fingers are busy; they work on the button of your jeans, sliding them down with the help you offer by raising your hips. They only reach halfway down your thighs, his reluctance to come back up for air stopping him from peeling them off completely, but it’s all he seems to need for now.

Eager fingers ease between your thighs, two at once, pressing against your folds. You’re unable to spread your legs like you usually do, but this tightness makes you all the more sensitive, and you keen as his digits fit themselves into your slit. Frustratingly, they don’t move right away, and you have to raise your hips again just to get some sort of friction. Even then, Mark doesn’t take the hint — or, perhaps, the bait — keeping a light pressure against your clit without doing anything else. His focus is still on your neck, now slightly aching under his lips, and when he finally pulls away, you see a look of triumph on his face. He tilts his head back slightly to admire his work — the blooming dark patch you’re sure he’s left where your skin tingles the most.

“If I said I wanted to mark you all over, would you let me?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t ask for it?”

He chuckles, tightening the pressure of his fingers against your clit; you say something that sounds halfway between ‘Mark’ and a sob.

“I want to, so badly.” He admits, gaze still fixed on your neck. “I’d want to see you walk out of here, walk into class covered in them. I’d want people to ask you how you got them, and who gave them to you. And I’d want you to say it proudly — that it was me who did it. That I fucked you all night and made you mine over and over again.”

“Why don’t you?” His eyes snap up to you, a small smile forming on his lips. “I want to say that too. Let me brag about having you. Let me tell everyone how good you always make me feel. Then you can tell everyone who doesn’t believe you, too — how I let you take me every single time. Show me off and tell them to look at how you made me yours.”

Another laugh escapes him, but there’s more disbelief than humor in it; he seems to find it amazing, that you can just agree with what he says, no matter how strange he thinks it is.

“Show you off? If I mark you in other places, do I have to show them every part?”

“Do you not want to?”

“I want to, and I don’t.” He pauses, slightly amused, and you know he’s remembering the first time you fucked. “I don’t them to see your body, but I want them to see what I did to it. I don’t want them to look at what’s mine, but I just want them to know it is.”

“Then you can fuck me in front of everyone and make them watch you ruin me completely.”

He shakes his head, even if desire flashes clear across his features. He busies himself with actions while he mulls it over, tugging your jeans down alongside your panties and casting them aside before he straightens up. His eyes rake over your form; you’re bare from the waist down, your shirt halfway ridden up, the underside of your bra peeking out from under the hem. Again, his eyes land on your neck, and his smile widens slightly.

“Can’t.” He decides finally. “You’re too pretty for that.”

You hum thoughtfully, and he raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t move, even when you sit up, shifting yourself so you can tuck your calves under your thighs — not even when you reach out to undo his belt or tug down his zipper. He only reacts a little when your hand presses against his hardness through his boxers, the girth now easily familiar to your palm.

“What about something like this?” You ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed. You’ve started slow strokes against him, the fabric creating extra friction, more heat under your palm, and you watch his jaw clench as he swallows back a soft grunt. “Would you let them watch me do this for you?”

“Let me think about it,” he chuckles softly, and you nod, letting your fingers work to make your point. You don’t have to undress him completely to get what you want; all you need is to tug down the front of his boxers to free him, and you already have him wrapped in your palms, stroking his shaft to full hardness.

“Think faster,” you urge, and he shakes his head, slightly bemused. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t even want them to watch me jerk you off?”

“At least give me a full minute.”

You laugh lightly, whispering a ‘fine’ before you press a soft kiss against tip. He inhales sharp through his teeth, already sensitive, and you waste no time in letting your tongue flick out against the smooth head. He doesn’t need the lubrication, realistically; his precum’s already leaking from the tip, mixing in with your saliva as you run your tongue around it. All you do is make him a little messier, a little slicker, your spittle running down his length.

Taking Mark in your mouth is a demanding task, but one you’re always up for; there’s something uniquely satisfying about letting him fill your mouth, inch by inch, and watching his breathing hitch and stutter until your lips are closer to the base than to the head. What you can’t reach, your hand always squeezes around, eager to make sure he feels good completely. His expression is sublime when you draw your head back the first time, sucking as you do so — his eyes are half-lidded, and he doesn’t stop the moan that falls from his lips. His gaze is fixed on you, hazy but still able to drink the sight of you in, and you’re not sure how, but you almost feel like you could get off to watching him watch you taste him.

You try, somehow, vaguely conscious of the movement of your hips; you’re grinding at nothing at first, so your knees give way just enough for you to press yourself against his sheets. It’s slightly uncomfortable, a strain in your thighs that you’re not really used to, but you don’t care; Mark’s sharp inhale at seeing you attempt to grind your pussy against his mattress is pretty much as arousing as anything else. His cock twitches hard in your mouth, and you suck just a little harder, a little messier, your head bobbing down to meet your hand, still firmly wrapped around his girth.

The room’s filled with nothing but slick sounds and soft groans; Mark’s hand has found its way into your hair, tangled into a makeshift ponytail, and while he isn’t guiding your mouth to do anything, you can feel his hips stutter then start to move, pulling back when your head does. He tries to hide it, tries to keep himself steady, but pride blooms in your chest when you note that he can’t; he wants to feel like he’s fucking into your mouth, into your hand, the way he does when he takes your pussy.

It’s relatively quiet for that time, nothing but muffled moans from you that mix in with his noises, but you only realize you’d been waiting for an answer to something when he speaks up again.

“It’s… still a no for me.”

Your movements slow, your gaze lifting to communicate your mild confusion to him. You don’t want to ask; you just don’t want to lose the taste of him on your tongue just yet. He looks down at you, smiling with overflowing tenderness, almost like he’s apologetic.

“Even just this — you’re too pretty when you do it.” His hand reaches down, thumb stroking over your cheek. “I can’t let anyone see what you look like when you’re like this. They’ll keep thinking about you doing it for them. And you’d only do it for me — right?”

You nod immediately, your response causing your mouth to slip down his shaft just a little more. It elicits a guttural noise from him, one that fuels you into sucking him just a little harder, your enthusiasm overtaking your restraint. His fingers have let go of your hair, stroking it back into smoothness, almost comforting in their movements.

“God, I wish you could see yourself; you’d know what I mean,” he continues to murmur, his voice just a little louder over the eager, wet noises you’re making. “How pretty you look with your mouth wrapped around me. How perfect you are when you’re kneeling like this for me — how happy you look when you’re sucking me off. I can’t share that with anyone. Fuck — not ever.”

Your mouth draws back, completely this time, and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock. You lick a long stripe up his shaft, moaning softly at the light throb you feel, and you watch him tip his head back. The groan that follows soon after is almost close to a frustrated growl, ending in a whispered ‘shit’ before his eyes land back on you. He watches you press kiss after kiss against his tip, coaxing the precum out even more, and you take special care to leave more down each inch of his cock until you’re finally able to release your hold on his base so you can leave the last one there.

His hand combs your hair back before it falls to cup your chin, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to gently clean up the froth of spittle there. You smile up at him in thanks, and his thumb sweeps over the seam of your lips to follow the slight curve.

“So pretty,” he repeats, and your cheeks glow pink under the palms that caress them. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Pretty as hell, fucking perfect — and you’re all mine.”

You kneel up again, chasing his lips with your own, and he locks you in his arms as his tongue slips its way past your teeth, the aroma of coffee still on it. He leaves today’s taste of him against your tongue, on the ridges of your teeth, until you feel like you’ve all but consumed him, and you whimper softly when he pulls away, urging you to turn around and lean back into his chest.

His mouth reattaches itself to the same spot; it’s like a home base for him, and he breathes in your scent from there before giving the same patch of skin a light suck, almost as if he’s worried it’ll fade in a few minutes’ time if he doesn’t give it attention.

“Show me.” Hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them lightly, like a prompt for your response. “Show me how pretty you are for me.”

His palms never leave you, not even when you detach yourself from his chest and bend down; your elbows meet the mattress, but your hips stay raised, giving him a view of your pussy. Your gasp easily turns into a moan when his digit dips into your wetness again, his other hand pushing gently at your asscheek to keep you open.

You think he’s about to slip his finger in, the tip brushing against your entrance, and you tense in anticipation, but it doesn’t happen; he continues to run his finger down your slit, careful not to linger against your clit for too long. The result is that you tighten around nothing, and you hear him suck in a breath as he watches your hole grow smaller for a second. You laugh breathily, resting your chin against the backs of your hands, one folded atop the other. “Pretty enough for you to fuck?”

“Do you have to ask if you already know?”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

His finger slips into your hole, finally, and you keen softly as he breaches the first ring of tightness. He doesn’t really move it, just tests your tightness, feels you contract around him as if to know what his cock will feel in a few moments.

“Your pussy’s too pretty not to fuck,” he manages out, and his throat sounds as tight as you feel. “Seeing it like this… makes me think there’s no way anyone can resist. It’s exactly why I can’t let anyone see you like this.”

You hum as his finger presses in deeper, and you know it’s nothing in comparison to the real thing, but you like feeling that mild stretch, the depth it reaches all the same. “How should we let them know, then? That I’m all yours.”

His finger stills, and you hum softly, swaying your hips to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in. He’s grown quiet, but there’s a thoughtfulness in this pause, like he’s seriously considering your question. You laugh lightly, ready to tell him you’re just egging him on until he fucks you, but he slips his finger out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing again. You can’t help the confused noise that comes out of you, but you at least know he isn’t completely backing away, his other hand still firmly on your ass.

“Mark, what—”

You get your answer in the thud that interrupts your question — he’s tossed his phone onto the bed, having it land next to you. Something in your blood runs hot, and your fingers tremble when you pick it up. You see yourself reflected in the blackened screen — excitement in your eyes, your lips glossy from your blowjob.

Mark’s silent as you let the meaning of his actions settle; wordlessly, he slips his finger into you again, followed by another one this time, and you shudder in pleasure at the difference in the stretch. He doesn’t ask, but you can tell he’s wondering if he’s gone too far— if you think he’s crazy. He lets his fingers stay anchored in you, unmoving, waiting for you to say something, but from where he is, he just can’t know the smile that passes your face.

Finally, he tries to speak up. “We don’t have to— I just meant—”

“What’s your passcode?”

He breathes out, the exhale quivering as much as you probably are. “Your birthday.”

Your smile only widens when you tap the screen to life and see a picture of you — you don’t even remember when he’d taken it, but it’s a shot of you sprawled on his bed, bundled in his blanket and reading something that looks oddly like your textbook for your European Renaissance History class. It’s grainy and dimly lit, a stolen photograph of you, but it makes your heart swell, and you laugh lightly as you key in your birthday; the screen unlocks, allowing you access to all his applications.

“What’s funny?”

“Just thinking about how you should replace this wallpaper.”

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

His fingers curl in you, pressing down against your walls, and you push your hips back in a bid for more friction; you hear him hiss out a ‘fuck’ under his breath, and his hand digs harder into the flesh of your ass.

You open Mark’s contacts, scrolling down aimlessly. Most of the names, you don’t recognize, but you see a few familiar ones crop up here and there. He doesn’t ask, only starts pumping his fingers into you in quiet anticipation, wondering how far you’re willing to take it, how much you’ve bought into this crazy idea.

“Mark,” you call out, and he hums in response. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

“So if I called Donghyuck right now—” His fingers hook into you, the delicious pressure on your walls making you squeak instead of finish your sentence immediately. You twist your torso to meet his eyes, and you’re slightly surprised but not at all displeased to see something crazed lingering in his gaze. “How much of a show would you want to put on for him?”

He shifts his weight, his knee sinking into the mattress as he slots it between your legs. This change in position allows him to angle his fingers a little differently, driving down into you with a force that makes you squirm. You almost forget you’ve asked him something again until he leans in closer, his murmur almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his finger pressing into your hole.

“Just… enough for him to know you’ve always been mine.”

Your thumbs are shaking when you scroll through his contacts again, up and down until you find the right name — Lee Donghyuck — and Mark watches you intently, wordlessly, as you press his number, start the call, and put it on speaker.

The wait feels like an eternity, with Mark’s finger slipping in and out of you in a steady, languid pace as you watch the line connect, but in reality, Donghyuck really only answers after the fourth ring. “Yo, Mark.”

His voice is casual, lacking in any sort of expectation; you can hear explosions and gunshots in the background, and you’re willing to bet he’s in the middle of an action movie. You’re proven right when you hear random English babbling soon after.

“Hi, Hyuck.”

“___________?” He sounds genuinely confused that it’s you that greets him. “Where’s Mark? You okay?”

“He’s right here with me; don’t worry.” Your voice is a soft croon, and he has to lower the volume of the television to be able to hear you better. “We’re totally fine. What are you up to?”

“Watching Resident Evil. Uh, is there a reason you called?”

You want to draw out the lie of something casual for as long as you can, but Mark doesn’t let you. His fingers push, suddenly forceful, into you, and you let out a soft cry into the receiver. You look back at him, eyes wide with amusement, and he shrugs, having at least enough sense to look slightly abashed at his experiment.

One moment, you’re listening to a female voice shout something, and the next, Donghyuck’s side of the call is silent except for his breathing. When you don’t bother explaining what had just happened, he takes matters into his own hands.

“Hello?”

He sounds equal parts affronted and amused, like the shock of it has tickled him. You can’t help it; you laugh too, but it’s quickly cut off by another whine when Mark pulls his fingers out. Donghyuck makes an incredulous noise.

“Now, what the fuck is all this about, you freaks?”

“You kept wondering why I ended up asking Mark out,” you evade his question with another one. “Should I tell you why, if you’re that curious?”

“No way. Have fun, weirdos,” he laughs, and the line goes dead a second after.

You snort out a laugh, and Mark mumbles something that sounds vaguely like that was crazy before he leans down and presses a kiss to the small of your back. You make to turn so you can finally face him, but you’re distracted when his phone screen lights up again, and Donghyuck’s name flashes across it.

You exchange amused glances before you pick up the call, and you don’t even get a ‘hello’ out when his voice rings out, sharp and clear.

“But pretending I am,” he says, as though he hadn’t hung up the call a few seconds ago. “Exactly what kind of answer would I get?”

“The kind that’ll hopefully shut you up for good,” Mark pipes in instead of you.

“What’s that even going to sound like?” Already, Donghyuck’s activated whatever toggle in him that gets him to push Mark’s buttons. This time, though, you can’t say it works against you; you feel Mark inch closer to you, and a moment later, the fat tip of his cock nudges against your entrance. “I bet you can’t even get her to yawn, man.”

Mark doesn’t have to respond; you do it for him when he pushes in, torturously slow, as if to draw out your moan. It works a little too well, with you keening into the phone, and yet no part of you is acting for his sake. As familiar as the stretch is, it’s not something you’ve ever been able to commit to memory fully, and it feels like a new breaching of your tightness each time. Your legs fold in slightly, a useless movement that attempts to get you adjusted to his size faster, but Mark interprets it as discomfort, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” He sounds genuinely worried for a second, forgetting that Donghyuck’s still on the line. Your cheek brushes against his sheets as you nod, trying to meet his eye even in this position to let him know you’re being honest.

“Fucking big, Mark.” You hear Donghyuck tsk from his end, and you laugh breathlessly. “You don’t like knowing he’s big?”

“I just hate that fucker,” Donghyuck quips back easily, but there’s no seriousness in his voice. If anything, it sounds a little raspy, with him clearing his throat soon afterward.

“Well, I’m crazy about him,” you whisper into the call, and your breathing hitches as Mark finally bottoms out, groaning at your tightness. “I’m crazy about the way he touches me, the way he tastes. I’m crazy about how big his cock is, how deep it gets when he’s inside me, how he stretches me out — fuck—”

Your verbal rampage is cut short by a loud moan as Mark draws his hips back and pushes forcefully into you; you haven’t fully adjusted, and you’re even tighter now from what you’re saying, so the friction inside you is nothing short of delicious. He starts a pattern of thrusts, not bothering to build up from his usual slow and steady pace — hearing you talk that way and knowing that Donghyuck is listening is enough to get him to abandon self-imposed restrictions.

“Mark,” you whine out, accidentally pushing the phone a little further away as you reach out blindly for him behind you, and he catches your wrist to let you know he’s there. “Mark, fuck, it feels so good—”

You tighten around him as if to prove your words, and he growls in response. You find yourself having to press your cheek in a little harder into the mattress as he gathers your wrists together into one hand, pinning them to your lower back, and it’s with that hold on you that he leverages his thrusts, pumping into you a little harder each time.

You’re not completely unaware of your surroundings, but it takes a while for you to process the sounds coming from the phone’s speaker — labored breathing, the sound of a zipper being pulled down. You want to wonder if this is working a little too well, but nothing comes from your mouth apart from soft whimpers, and it’s all the cue Mark needs to be the one to fill in the relative silence himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, and you feel his lips press between your shoulder blades. It feels like a chaste kiss at first, but he leaves his breath there, still flitting over your skin as he continues to speak. “I’ll never get tired of how pretty you are — how pretty you always sound for me. Doesn’t she sound pretty, Hyuck?”

“Fucking pretty,” Donghyuck agrees, though his voice sounds somewhat distant. You can only sob back a quiet ‘fuck me, harder, harder,’ in response.

“Can you imagine how much prettier she looks under me?” It’s almost a full-blown conversation now, but even if Mark’s addressing Donghyuck, the rest of his attention’s fully on you. He adjusts his stance, still keeping his hold around your wrists as he angles himself deeper into you, causing you to cry out and squirm in pleasure. With your face pressed against the bed and his weight driving down into you, you feel utterly trapped, in the best kind of way. Mark, in the way he is now, is inescapable, almost incorrigible, and he pistons deeper into your pussy, his free hand brushing your hair away from your shoulder so he can leave a kiss against it. “Bent over, legs spread just a little, all for me to take. Pretty little hole wet for me, and so fucking tight. Can you imagine that?”

“I’m doing it right now.”

“It’s a thousand times better in person. Trust me.”

The same hand slips between your thighs, two fingers spreading your folds apart; the middle one circles your clit in a pace that matches his thrusts, sudden and shocking, and you arch your back upwards slightly with a choked noise. He finally releases your wrists, and you claw at the sheets helplessly to keep yourself somehow upright as the force of Mark’s hips, their impact against the backs of your thighs, pushes you forward, closer to the phone again. The stimulation is merciless, endless, and in the haze of your pleasure, you wonder if you should make Mark a little more jealous everyday if it gets him to act this way.

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

“Not yet,” he whispers, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if to bring you back to reality. You shudder at the pain, the pleasure that accompanies it, and when you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, you notice that a few tears escape your eyes. “Hold out for me a bit, okay? Please. It’s not enough. Not yet enough.”

You wonder if ‘enough’ is a concept the both of you even understand when it comes to wanting each other; already, you feel desire pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill from you, and clenching around him isn’t helping you stop it the way your body seems to think it’s supposed to. It also doesn’t help that Mark’s fingers are relentless, one still drawing tight, heavy circles around your clit, and the other creeping up under your shirt to tug down the cup of your bra, letting a breast spill into his warm palm. He kneads with an unusual — but not unpleasant — roughness, and you squeak out incoherently as he tweaks at the hardened bud of your nipple, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hold on for me a little,” he continues murmuring, even after you shake your head and whisper ‘can’t’ to him over and over. “Do it for me. Tell Donghyuck — tell him how good it feels. How much you want to keep feeling me inside you.”

You don’t even know what to say; the pleasure that washes over you, the new kind of roughness that Mark exhibits has you drawing a blank, and you can only whine in a last attempt at protest, only for your tongue to start moving on autopilot, fueled by your want.

“It’s not enough,” you echo — and even if it feels like it is, even if it feels even more than you can possibly handle, something tells you that it’s true. “Not enough — need to feel you more, Mark. God, I want to feel you stretch me out, fuck my little hole into the shape of your cock— until no one else can fuck me but you—”

“What,” Donghyuck breathes out, his exhale coming across as static. “The fuck.”

You don’t have to explain; your babbling’s doing most of the work in that regard anyway, and you can tell by the wet, staccato noises on the other end that Donghyuck can easily piece together the scenario anyway. He’s jacking off to the both of you, something in your mind whispers, and the notion of that alone has you tightening around Mark’s cock. The change doesn’t go unnoticed, and his fingers sink deeper into your flesh; you cry out softly when you feel a jolt of pleasure as he gives your clit a sudden pinch.

“How much tighter can you get?” He sounds incredulous but also, interestingly, proud — there’s a smug tinge to his voice that arouses you even more. “Does it feel that good?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, the syllables quivering in your throat. “So good I’m going to lose my mind. Let me — God, please, let me—”

“Not yet,” Mark mumbles, and you whimper as he slows and slips out of you, his hand gently rubbing your folds in what feels like comfort — a small apology for his overt enthusiasm that you don’t even really need. “Just a little more. I need to see it.”

“See what?” Donghyuck’s voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and pretty much muffled by the sound of his hand pumping his own shaft. Your head’s light, so your body moves on its own when Mark inches away slightly, giving you room to turn yourself around and lay on your back. You’ve barely even settled when he lifts your hips, dragging you closer to him and easing your thighs apart to slot himself between your legs.

His cock weighs heavy, pressed up against your folds, and he pushes his hips in a superficial thrust to get them to spread. His eyes fall briefly on your swollen clit, the wetness that you left on his shaft, even more of it still leaking from your hole. When he looks back up at you, there’s something triumphant in his gaze.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he coos, so lovingly it’d be hard to imagine his cock still sliding against your folds if you couldn’t feel it yourself. “I’ll never get enough of your perfect pussy — so perfect that it was made to take me.”

“See what?” Donghyuck presses, an impatience now coloring his voice. Mark chuckles, nodding at you and mouthing silently. Tell him.

Your inhale’s shaky, quivering like the rest of your body, and you don’t ever break away from Mark’s gaze, even as you speak.

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

Donghyuck’s ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ is drowned out by your cry of need as Mark pushes back into you. There’s no lag time now, no wait for any kind of adjustment; he takes you in one motion, until you feel his hips hit the backs of your thighs again. Your walls flutter around him, unable to process his size fully, and all that comes out of you is a string of messy mewls that’s constantly interrupted by the wet sounds of his thrusts.

Your body feels almost weightless, the only thing you can understand being the feeling of his cock pumping into you, stretching you out further. You’re only able to shake yourself out of the reverie when you feel his hands push back against your thighs, folding you in half, before they crowd atop your stomach.

“God, I need to feel it,” he groans out, his palms skimming under your navel, searching. “Please — do it for me.”

Even with your brain muddled, you don’t even have to try to figure it out; you let him feel it every time he asks. You inhale, deep and slow, until your stomach sinks, and the walls of your stomach flatten against his cock, which pauses briefly in its movements as he revels in the newfound feeling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and you flush in pleasure, in satisfaction at his praise. “Love seeing my cock inside you.”

He adjusts himself before he starts pumping into you again, burying his shaft all the way to the hilt each time; each thrust is followed by a soft sob from you, and you reach out, planting your hands on top of his. You obviously can’t feel his cock under your palms, but you don’t have to anyway; the fit’s tight enough that it feels, ridiculously, like he’s fucking your whole body, like he’s pressing into the deepest part of your core. You just want him to feel it more — the movement of the bulge under his hands, the resistance it has to push through to get to your stomach.

“Love feeling me inside you,” he continues, and his breathing stutters then, signaling that he’s also barely hanging on. “Love seeing how pretty you look when I rearrange your insides.”

You mouth out a disbelieving ‘what the fuck’ that earns you a simple smile, but Mark’s unrelenting in his movements anyway, his palms completely covering your stomach.

“Dude, I wanna see it too,” Donghyuck reminds you both of his presence when his voice comes through the speaker. “Put her on video.”

“No way,” comes Mark’s swift, firm reply. Donghyuck makes a noise of protest. “This is just for me.”

“Selfish as hell, calling me without really sharing.”

“The point wasn’t really ever to share.”

Mark’s hands suddenly press down on your stomach, and you stifle a soft scream; the pressure increases tenfold, as does the tightness of the fit, his cock brushing against your walls in a way that makes you feel breathless — it makes you feel used. Your hands fly up, fingers locking behind his neck, and you squirm under him, knowing fully well that you can’t escape anyway — not that you really want to, anyway.

“Mark,” you warn him again, your voice thin and airy. “I can’t anymore — I really—”

“I got you,” he murmurs — something you’ve come to learn he always says, always wants to let you know. He’ll be here until you break, until you can’t take anymore. “One second, okay?”

“Bro, what? Are you serious—” Even Donghyuck sounds confused, although his voice is tight too; he must be close, your mind weakly registers, but it doesn’t matter. Mark, albeit reluctantly, slips one hand away from your stomach — for a good cause, he must think, and you learn what it is when he ends the call, effectively cutting off Donghyuck’s complaints. Your eyes widen in confusion, but all Mark’s gaze is to you is reassuring, gentle, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he answers your unspoken question.

“Can’t let him hear you cum,” he murmurs against your mouth. “That’s only for me, isn’t it?”

You nod, letting the movement of it brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one I’ll cum for — the only one that can make me.”

Above your head, his phone is trilling noisily; the vibrations course through your back, weak but persistent, and for some reason, it heightens your arousal all the more. Mark ignores it completely, single-mindedly focused on pistoning into you with the bulk of his strength. His hands push down just under your navel, increasing your awareness of the feeling of his cock, him fucking you, coaxing out your climax.

“Do it. Show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”

You don’t think it’s possible for him to inject any more strength into his movements, but he proves you wrong time and time again; the wind’s knocked out of you as he braces himself and fucks you harder, sharper into the bed, and the only noises you can make are weak whimpers and choked sobs. Your mind’s so overrun with pleasure that your climax hits your body first before your mind fully parses it; your back arches again, and you mewl out something broken, something that sounds like his name as you come undone.

Mark still doesn’t relent, the tremble in your legs somehow only inspiring him to put more power in his thrusts. Even through the dazedness that comes with all the stimulation, you can see the fine details you’ve come to know so well — the tightness in his jaw, the growing flush across his collar, the quick heaving of his chest. He’s close too, so close he’s just holding himself back out of sheer force of will to make sure he can watch you come down from your climax completely. You don’t know why he has to, but you want to see him let go too, and you scramble for words, for more touch — pressing your thighs firm against his sides to keep him close, locked — just to get him there.

“Will you mark me up one last time?” You breathe out. He reacts almost instantaneously, moving to lean down and press his mouth against the still-untouched side of your neck, but your palm on his chest stops him from doing so. Surprise crosses his face, followed by slight confusion. You squeeze your thighs against him, trying to make your point, but even then, his brow furrows. “Mark me — inside.”

His eyes widen, and his hips stutter before they resume pace, his fingers digging into your stomach almost painfully as he tries to keep himself in control. “I— no, you know I can’t…”

“Do you want to?” You egg him on, your hand dropping from his chest to land on top of his again, adding to the pressure until you’re sure he can feel every small movement, every throb of his own cock inside you. “You can, you know — make me yours, from the inside out.”

“God — we can’t; you know we’d be in so much trouble.”

“But I’d let you anyway, if you wanted to. Do you ever think about it, Mark?” Your fingers toy with his, almost like you’re having a casual conversation instead of a situation in which he’s deep inside you, already aching for release. “Fucking your cum deep into me, letting it seep into my stomach — making sure no one else can fill me up?”

“Jesus,” he growls, and he reluctantly slips his hands out from under yours to grip your thighs. Realistically, he has enough strength to peel them away, have you release him, but his hold just tightens, not really making any motion to do so. You see the thought flash in his eyes, serious even just for a moment. He thinks about it all the time.

“Think about it,” you urge, your voice soft but close to a demand. “And every time you do, remember one day, you will — because you’re the only one that can.”

He tilts his head back, letting a growl rip from his throat, and he finally manages to push your thighs apart. You let him, let them fall apart so he can slip out of you. You watch him shift upwards, his knees on either side of your torso, and you’re met with the erotic sight of him fisting his cock in front of you, urging himself into completion. You do the only thing you can think of to help; you open your mouth wide, pushing your tongue out, silently asking for his load.

“Even when you do that, you’re fucking pretty,” he groans out, and his thumb presses his cock down, resting the underside flush against your tongue as he rocks his hips. “How much prettier are you going to look with my cum all over your face?”

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, and you don’t have to respond; he gets the answer he wants with one last thrust against your tongue, and you close your eyes briefly, allowing yourself to drink in the taste, the smell of his cum as it streaks across your cheeks, all over your lips. You hear his release as it comes too — the soft rumble from his chest, the release of air that gently whistles through his teeth.

When you open your eyes again, Mark is looking down at you, a warm flush creeping up his cheeks and ears again; he’s breathless, panting as he comes down from his high. From the daze of his climax, a slightly sheepish look of apology crosses his face, and he reaches down, seemingly without any real plan, to clean you up, only to withdraw, slightly bemused, when you shake your head.

A laugh escapes him when you shimmy out from under him, straighten up, and extend your arms upward, puckering your lips in slight demand. You think he might reject you, but Mark doesn’t even hesitate longer than a second. He swoops down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, and your thighs press together tight as you enjoy the feeling of his tongue swiping away his cum from your bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, sucking softly as if to clean you completely.

When he pulls away, his head dips into your shoulder; again, his face turns to press against the mark he’d left, and his teeth nip at the soft bruise that’s already begun to blossom. Satisfied by the soft noise you make at the sensitivity you feel from the contact, he breathes out, long and steady, against your skin.

“Just… can’t get enough of you,” he finally exhales, pressing another kiss to your neck; it’s gentler, situated just under your jaw.

“You don’t ever have to think about having enough,” you whisper, leaving a light nuzzle against his shoulder. “Just always think about having more.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, but he nods, accepting your offer anyway. A moment of silence passes, where you’re wrapped up in each other, his weight against you in a blanket of heat, and it stretches to what almost feels like an eternity — if not for the phone suddenly ringing again, Donghyuck’s name coming up on the ID. You both start, and Mark reaches over, fumbling with the sides of his device before he finds and toggles the silent switch.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, watching the call drop just for it to start up again, the screen flashing.

“We kind of left him hanging, to be fair.”

“No fairness.” Mark tosses the phone to the foot of the bed, where it lies, facedown and buzzing. “He got more than he deserved today.”

You watch him as he slips off the bed, rearranging himself before clipping his jeans button back into place. He whispers a gentle ‘be right back’ and exits the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. You hear the water run in the bathroom, and a few moments later, Mark returns to your side, holding a damp towel.

He leaves a kiss after each light swipe across your face, as if to apologize for the pain he thinks he might be causing; you laugh, partly because it’s ridiculous, but mostly because you like it. He cleans your mouth last, even though there’s already nothing left, just so he has an excuse to leave a long, lasting kiss there.

You think it’s the last you’ll get for now, but he surprises you by bending down even further, hiking your shirt up your torso again. His hand rests on your thigh, keeping himself balanced as he presses a flutter of kisses around your navel, lingering at the exact spot that sits above where he knows his cock hits every time he bottoms out in you.

“One day,” he whispers into your skin before he looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’ll really make you all mine.”

“Dummy.” Your voice is just as low, and you pull his head up again, enjoying the brush of his hair against your hand, the swoop of his jaw under your palm. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Every single day, considering I’ll never get tired of it.”

You hum, not one to deny him of what he asks anyway; you push him back onto his calves, climbing back onto his lap; it’s your favorite way to be near him, you decide, with almost nothing between you, almost everything of yours touching everything of his — like you fit in him perfectly. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling their soft rise and fall as his breathing steadies, and you squirm a bit, if only to make sure his arms are locked securely around you — to make sure he won’t let go. Just like that, in his arms, you say it again — a truth, a fact, and a promise.

“I already am.”

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bigfatbimbo · 3 months

Note

hi!!!! so i absolutely adore ur writing and was wondering if you could do angst. idk if this is up your alley or anything but if it’s not you don’t have to write it dw abt it!

so basically vox x reader

reader is really sad bc something happened and just isn’t in the mood for vox when he comes home from work. so vox being himself is annoying and instead of reader being mad or even like having a reaction (she’s usually a dom btw) she just like breaks down. ik this is a little random but i think it’s a pretty cute idea. have a nice day/night xxx

a/n — I had a TERRIBLE day so here’s this hurt/comfort fic to cope.

Vox’s shit-eating grin slowly faltered before completing dropping as he took in the situation. He barely even remembered what he’d said but, obviously, you didn’t take it well.

He felt a pang of guilt as he looked at you on the couch, crying into your hands. He knew you were in a bad mood when he got home. Of course, he didn’t know just how bad of a mood.

He saw your irritation right off that bat, he had asked what was wrong and you had brushed him off, snapping at him slightly.

That’s about when Vox had decided to escalate the situation. Throwing annoying taunts at you, teasing you, begging for you to do something about it.

Of course he wanted a reaction, but more on the lines of you slamming him against a wall and putting him in his place. Under no circumstances did he think you would start crying.

And yet, here you were, crying into your hands on the couch, over some bratty remark Vox had made.

“I— uh, my dear, I didn’t mean anything—“ he tried to clarify, stretching his arm slightly out as if to touch you. He wasn’t sure what to do.

“Shut up, Vox,” you cried, “Don’t you know when to shut up?” Your words weren’t laced with venom or overly angry liked he’d expected. In fact, that would have been better.

In contrast to your usual nature, you just seemed overall sad. More than sad, Vox thought, totally spent.

It was no secret he was terrible at comforting people, giving people false hope and manipulating them into doing something for him, sure. But this?

Well, convincing someone they feel better and actually making someone feel better were incredibly different. He was totally lost.

Your sobs got louder and more violent as moments passed. And yet, he stood there like an idiot, giving you a blank stare.

As if going through the motions, he recites a list in his mind. What to people usually do to help someone when they’re crying? Maybe, give them a hug?

He sighed and sat down next to you on the couch, cautiously putting his hand your shoulder and rubbing gently.

Apologize next, Vox’s mental list demanded.

“Look,” he started, awkwardly fiddling with his collar, “I didn’t mean to bother you by giving you all that shit. I knew you weren’t in the mood I just—“

He struggled with the next part, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

The strange thing is, he really really meant it. Usually, an apology for Vox was one step further in getting what he wanted all along. However, this time the fact he made you cry actually erked him like nothing else before.

He apologized solely because he wanted you to feel better.

“I’m just not in the mood for your shit, Vox,” you answer, choked out and muffled as you wipe the tears from your face.

“I know. Well, now I do.” He went over his metal list once more, “So what’s got you so out of sorts this evening, my dear?”

“I’ve just—“ you sniff, trying to take in your thoughts, “—I’ve had a long day.”

“I’m all ears,” he answers immediately. If there’s one thing Vox was good at, it was listening.

You rant to him about the mishaps of the day, how fed up you were with so-and-so, how tired you were of life being so hard.

The entire time, Vox listened, plotting the perfect reply out in his mind, and checking off boxes on his list.

“Well, it’s over now, your home. And I won’t be an asshole anymore,” He says, earning a raised eyebrow from you.

“I’ll try not to be an asshole anymore,” he corrects, provoking a small but noticeable smile out of you. He rewards himself, internally.

Hug them, he told himself.

He moved closer to you and hesitantly wrapped his arms around your stomach, rubbing your back gently. To his delight, you ease into the hug, arms looping around his neck as you recovered from your breakdown.

“You’re so not getting laid tonight, by the way,” you joke, still in the hug.

“Yes, my dear. Unfortunately, I figured.” he sighed and continued rubbing your back.

“Do you wanna go watch TV upstairs?” you inquire.

“Always,” he grinned.

“Do you wanna keeping hugging while we do that,” you ask, genuinely curious.

His smile softened, “always.”

a/n — and then the next day you railed him into a mattress until he was crying harder than you ever were. The end.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel fluff

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bossbtch1 · 5 months

Note

Hi there 🫶🏻

I read Shadow of the past and it was awesome oh my god!!!

If you are taking requests, I have actually two prompts that I would love to see it, written by you 🥹

1- just a smut, pure smut, lovely smut. Bucky being an angry dom, frustrated coming to home and giving his frustration on female reader

and he's to obsessed and rough that reader need to you safe word, and then its a bit angst, cause Bucky feels terrible, but fem Reader reassures him that everything is okay 🥰

2th prompt in next ask 👁️

A Bad Day

Summary : Basically "you pissed me out, I'm going to fuck the shit out of you."

Pairings : Bucky x F!Reader

Words : 5,7k

General Tags : NSFW, Smut, 18+

Tags : Angst, Hurt, Comfort, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Safe Word, Bucky is a dom, Choking, Spanking, Angry sex, After care, Make up sex, Shower sex, Slight Handjob, Fingering, Playful Banter, Fluff at the end

A/N : Hi, thank you for the request. While this still leans into the smutty side, I've woven in some plot and fluff to enhance the overall experience. Enjoy!

My masterlist

It was one of those days. When you could tell Bucky was stressed about something, but wouldn't tell you what it was. You knew not to push him, but you wished he'd talk to you instead of keeping it bottled up.

You were sitting at home watching a show on Netflix, while you waited for him to get back. It was almost 10 o'clock. You'd made dinner earlier, but since he hadn't eaten it yet, you had put the plate of food in the microwave. It was probably cold by now, but you were sure he was hungry and would eat it anyway.

It had been days since he talked to you. You missed his voice and his touch. But the way he had been treating you lately was making you angry. You knew he was stressed and needed to be left alone, but you needed attention too. You couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed you. The last time he'd told you he loved you.

When you heard the front door open and shut, you stood from the couch and walked to the kitchen. He was just taking his coat off.

"Welcome home," you greeted, leaning against the counter.

"Hey," he mumbled, hanging his coat up and walking past you to the microwave. He grabbed the plate of food and pulled it out, before grabbing a fork. "Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome." You watched as he sat down at the table and started eating. "Are you okay?"

Pausing mid-bite, he raised an eyebrow and met your gaze. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering. You've been a little distant lately," you mentioned, making your way over to the table and taking a seat across from him.

"I'm fine," he replied, before shoving another forkful into his mouth.

"Are you sure? Because you've been acting differently," you pointed out, as you looked at him, studying his expressions.

He put his fork down and let out a deep breath. "Look, I'm not really in the mood for this. Can we just drop it?"

"Drop what? I'm worried about you," you expressed, leaning in slightly.

"I'm fine," he said with a hint of irritation in his tone. "I don't want to talk about it."

A moment of silence hung between you two as you looked at him. "Do you want to talk about us? About how you've barely talked to me for the past week? Or about how I haven't gotten so much as a kiss or an 'I love you' from you?” You paused, your words lingering in the space between you. "Is that something you'd like to talk about?"

"Jesus Christ, what's your problem?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"I don't have a problem. I just miss my boyfriend," you said, trying to keep the hurt from your voice. "I don't even know what's going on with you anymore. You won't tell me. It's like I don't matter to you."

"I said I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

"Well, I want to," you shot back, crossing your arms.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm stressed? That I don't have time for anything other than work right now?” He looked at you with frustration. “Do you want me to admit that I'm a fucking failure? That I'm a piece of shit for not being able to give you the life you deserve?"

You blinked at him, stunned at his action. "Bucky-"

"Don't," he snapped, standing up. His fork clattered as it hit the table, the sound echoing through the apartment. "Don't give me the sad eyes."

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are! You're pitying me," he yelled, the frustration in his voice escalating. "Why don't you just step away so I can have some damn peace during my dinner?" His outburst echoed in the space.

"Fine," you declared, rising from your seat. "If that's how you want to be, then I'll leave you alone."

"Fine." He crossed his arms defiantly as you walked past him, heading toward the bedroom.

You slammed the door behind you and flopped down on the bed. You felt tears welling up in your eyes and you tried not to cry. You were pissed off at him. You started scrolling through your Instagram feed, hoping to take your mind off of Bucky and whatever he was going through. You'd never seen him act like this before. Normally he would vent to you or you would talk him through it. He'd never completely shut you out before.

After a few minutes, you heard the microwave again. Bucky was heating up more food. You continued looking through your phone, until you heard him walk into the bedroom. You locked your phone and set it down, sitting up. You were expecting him to start undressing and getting ready for bed, but instead he walked over to you and grabbed you by the arm.

"Buck," you exclaimed, surprised by his actions. "What are you doing?"

"You want me to act like myself?" he asked, his hand tightening around your arm. "You want me to talk to you and be affectionate?"

"Yes," you answered, not knowing where this was going.

With an abrupt pull, he brought you to your feet. "Well, this is how I'm going to treat you."

Before you could ask what he meant, he threw you down onto the bed, causing you to let out a squeal. "Buck, what the hell?"

He didn’t answer and got on top of you. His hands held your wrists against the bed and he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was hard and demanding. He forced his tongue into your mouth and began exploring.

When he finally pulled away, he looked into your eyes. "Bucky... we can talk about this..."

"No, Y/N. I want to fuck. I want to take my anger out on you. Will you let me do that? Will you let me fuck you like an animal?" he asked. He had never been this rough. But you couldn't deny how aroused it made you. You could feel your panties getting wet. “I’ll show you the real me.”

"Yes," you breathed out and braced yourself.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them down above your head. His body was hovering over yours. "I'll give you a safe word. How about 'peach'? Say it and I'll stop."

"Peach?" you questioned.

"Say the word and I'll stop," he repeated, before crashing his lips onto yours.

The kiss was sloppy and harsh. He bit your bottom lip hard, pulling a cry from your lips. It felt like he was trying to suck the breath out of you. You felt out of breath when he finally pulled away. He moved his hands away from your wrists, but you kept them in place.

He brought his right hand down to your throat and lightly pressed his fingers into your flesh. You moaned at the feeling and he began to squeeze. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was definitely making it harder to breathe. You could feel the pleasure building in your lower stomach.

You had never explored breath play. You didn't think it would do much for you, but this was incredible. He knew exactly how to make it feel amazing. Your eyes fluttered shut and your body started to writhe against the bed.

He finally released you and you sucked in a deep breath. He sat up and grabbed the waistband with both hands. With a quick yank, he ripped them right off of your body, revealing your bra underneath. Your eyes widened in shock. "Buck, what the -"

"Shut up," he growled, as he moved his hand and began unbuttoning your pants. He yanked them down, along with your panties.

He quickly pulled off his shirt, pants, and boxers. His hard cock sprung free, precum leaking out of the tip. "Hands and knees, now," he commanded.

"Bucky -"

He gripped your chin tightly. "What did I say? I said hands and knees," he ordered, voice thick with arousal. "Don't make me repeat myself."

You swallowed hard, and nodded, doing as he said. You raised yourself on all fours as he moved behind you and grabbed your hips. He smacked your ass, causing you to jump. "Don't move," he said, his metal hand moving to wrap in your hair and tug making you cried out, and he pushed your face into the mattress.

You could feel his hand rubbing your pussy. Then his fingers were pushing inside you. "Look at you, all ready for me. So wet. I'm going to fuck you so hard. I'm not gonna hold back. I'm going to fuck you like you deserve to be fucked. Do you understand me?"

You could hear him spitting and then he was thrusting inside of you. "Ah, fuck," he groaned, as he bottomed out. He held onto your hips tightly, and didn't give you a moment to adjust. His fingers dug into your hips and he began pounding into you. "Is this what you wanted, Y/N?"

"Yes, yes," you moaned. He began fucking you harder, his hand leaving your hair and moving to your back. He pushed down, arching your back as his cock filled you again and again.

His flesh hand left your hip and he slapped your ass, hard. You whimpered at the pain, the sting of the slap turning to pleasure. Your eyes closed as his cock stretched you over and over. He slapped your ass again, his flesh hand gripping your hip again. He was pounding into you relentlessly now, his pace unrelenting. You gripped the bed sheets, his cock hitting that perfect spot.

"I can feel your pussy getting wetter. You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked. He was thrusting in and out of you hard. He was rougher than he'd ever been before. It almost hurt, but there was something else there. It was pleasure and lust. You liked the way he was using your body. "Such a tight little pussy," he grunted, as he rammed into you.

He held you still as he fucked you hard. You could hear him grunting and moaning, and the sound was so erotic, it made your pussy throb. You tried to keep your voice down, but you couldn't stop yourself from crying out.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear you. You want me to fuck you like this? You want me to make you scream? You like when I pound your little pussy?"

"Yes! Please!"

He wrapped his hand around your neck and started pulling you up against his chest. You could feel his cock slamming inside you, and it felt amazing. "Remember to use the safe word, if it's too much."

You looked at him over your shoulder. His face was flushed, and his pupils were dilated. He had a wild look in his eyes, and the sight made your heart beat faster. His pace was relentless. He was like a wild animal, his body slamming against yours. You could feel the pressure building up inside of you.

Your fingers curled around the sheets and you whimpered. He reached around, and pressed his metal fingers against your clit. You jolted and gasped. He didn't stop moving, even as he rubbed circles against your bundle of nerves.

He was thrusting harder and faster, and the feeling was so incredible, you started screaming. You were getting louder and louder, and the sounds coming out of you were animalistic. "Are you close, baby?" he asked.

"Yessss," you hissed.

"Come on, baby. Cum all over my cock. I want to feel your pussy clenching around me." he demanded, his voice gravelly.

His words sent you over the edge, you could feel the tension in your lower stomach and then the flood gates were open. Your orgasm hit you hard, your pussy clenching around him. He gripped your hips and kept pounding you until you were a trembling mess.

You collapsed onto your forearms, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Your orgasm had made you weak.

"Turn over," he ordered, pulling out. You obeyed, moving so that you were lying on your back, legs spread for him. He moved back in, pushing your knees up until they were almost to your shoulders. He entered you again and began pounding into you, his hips slamming against yours. You could feel him hitting all the right places.

He was groaning and moaning. He grabbed your throat and squeezed. You gasped for air and the lack of oxygen heightened your pleasure. "I love this. You're so beautiful when you're gasping for air," he groaned.

He didn't stop thrusting, his hips rocking in a steady rhythm. Your pussy was clenching around him, and he grunted in pleasure. "Your pussy feels so fucking good."

You were starting to get light-headed, and he finally released your throat. He moved his hands to your thighs and spread your legs open wide. You were panting heavily, and he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was softer than the previous ones, and his tongue gently slid into your mouth.

Bucky kept fucking you harder and harder. He was like an animal. He was using you for his own pleasure. You closed your eyes, the sensation was overwhelming. Your mind was swimming with thoughts and feelings. You were completely at his mercy.

"Look at me." he ordered while cupping your cheek.

You opened your eyes and gazed up at him. He was looking down at you with a mixture of lust and admiration, his pupils dilated and his eyes dark. “Keep your eyes on me while I'm fucking you." he grunted, as he thrust into you again.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. He had such control over your body. He knew just how to move his hips, how to angle himself so he was hitting the spot that would make you see stars.

His hand then was squeezing your breast. You moaned and arched your back. He squeezed and massaged your breasts, and you felt your nipples hardening. You moaned as he pinched your nipple.

"Your tits are so perfect, baby. I could play with them all day." he said as he lowered his head and took your nipple in his mouth. He flicked his tongue over it, and you gasped. He sucked on it, his teeth grazing over it. You felt your pussy tighten around his cock making him groaned.

"Gonna come for me again?", He continued touching and teasing your breasts, and the sensation was incredible. He pinched your nipple between his teeth, and the pain mixed with pleasure, was so intense, you screamed.

You nodded. You were close. So close.

He grabbed your chin, holding you still as his hips moved against yours. "I can't hear you."

"Yes, I'm gonna come again," you cried, your body arching against his.

"Good," he breathed. His fingers moved to rub against your clit.

You moaned loudly, your hips moving against his hand. "Oh god, baby, I'm so close. Please make me come, please," you begged.

He rubbed your clit in slow circles, his cock pumping into you. You could feel your orgasm approaching and you closed your eyes. "Look at me," he growled, his voice harsh. Your eyes flew open and you stared at him, panting.

"I'm gonna -" you broke off as your orgasm hit. You screamed, your body arching against his as he continued his relentless pace, drawing it out as long as he could.

He moaned, his hips jerking erratically. He was close. You could feel it. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "Oh fuck." he groaned, and with one last thrust, he came. You could feel him filling you up, and you cried out in pleasure. He kept thrusting into you, as you both came down from your high. He collapsed on top of you, and you could feel him softening inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, his breathing ragged. Your heart was pounding, and you were pretty sure your soul had just left your body. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he rolled off of you and lay down beside you. "Shit, doll, I've missed that," he sighed.

You laughed, as Bucky slowly moving to lay your head on his chest. His flesh hand stroked your hair. "So have I, Buck."

You both lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes. You could feel his heartbeat begin to return to normal, as yours finally did. "Are you okay, doll? Was I too rough?" he asked.

"No." you said breathlessly, kissing his chest. "You were perfect."

“Are you really okay? I’m sorry if I was being too rough, I-”

Cutting off his words with a lingering kiss, you pulled away with a smile. "I have a safe word, remember? If I didn't like it, I would have used it," you assured him.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, doll. You know I’d never hurt you right?”

"I know," you whispered, your fingers tracing patterns on his skin. You felt another sigh escape him, and you could sense his relief. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize. I'm the one who wanted you to act like yourself."

"But I shouldn't have taken it out on you." He sat up, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that contrasted with the intensity of moments ago. "You deserve better than that."

"Hey," you whispered, placing your hand over his. "You were just frustrated. It's okay. I know you'd never hurt me."

"But -"

You silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips. "I'm fine, Buck. And we're okay," you reassured him, looking him straight in the eyes, making sure he could see you were telling the truth.

"Thank you. For everything." He kissed you softly.

You pulled him back down onto the bed and cuddled up to him. You laid there, enjoying each other's warmth. You felt like things were finally going to be okay, as if the storm had passed and left a calm in its wake. Bucky then broke the silence. "It was a rough mission.”

"I can tell. Wanna talk about it?" you asked, your fingers playing with his hair.

He sighed, and you could feel him tense up slightly. "Hydra." He said the word like it felt a bitter taste in his mouth. "There was a group of Hydra agents. I recognized one of them."

"One of the agents?"

"He was my handler, for a while." He looked at you, and you saw pain and fear in his eyes. "He was a bastard. He was always the one to do the worst experiments on me."

"That explains the anger," you sighed. "I'm sorry. It must have been hard to see them again."

"It was. It still is." He closed his eyes. "I hate that he's out there. And it's my fault. I should have captured him. But instead, I let him get away."

"How did that happen?” You tried to comfort him, but you didn't really know how to help him with his emotional pain.

"He managed to escape, and I couldn't let him get away. I had to bring him in. So I chased him." He took a deep breath, and you could feel him trembling slightly. "We fought, and I was winning. Then, I got a call from Sam. The team was under attack."

"And you had to choose between saving the team and capturing that son of a bitch?" You felt bad for him.

He nodded. "I chose the team. The Hydra agents escaped, but the team is safe."

You kissed him, gently. "Bucky, that was the right thing to do. The team needed your help, and I'm glad you were there for them. That man, he's not worth your guilt."

"But I let him get away. And if he gets away, he'll be able to continue his work." You could tell Bucky regretted that a lot, his eyes were filled with pain and regret.

"It's not your fault. You chose to save your team, and that's what matters." You sat up and put your hand on his chest. “Buck, I promise. I know you can't forget what happened, and I would never want you to, but don't let the past ruin your future. He may be free now, but that's only temporary. We'll catch him, and all the other bastards. You're the most capable person I know. I trust you."

He didn't look convinced, he played with your hair not looking straight to your eyes, "Hey, look at me." you cupped his face. "I know me just being beside you won’t help much, but let me try to help ease your worry… talk to me whenever you’re facing hardship. We’re a team remember?”

He smiled at you, "I know, sweetheart.” He went up to pulled you into a kiss, his hand slowly went to your neck as he deepened the kiss. "Thank you, doll. You always know what to say to make me feel better."

"I try." You smiled and kissed his nose.

"I'm gonna get a shower. Do you wanna come with me?" He asked.

You nodded and let him lead you to the bathroom, he was still holding your hand from when he had been dragging you out of bed.

Bucky pulled you into the shower as he turned the shower on, but the surprise of cold water made you yelp. "Cold!" you complained.

"Sorry, doll." He quickly adjusted the temperature, and as the warmth enveloped you both, he stepped under the spray, pulling you in with him.

You giggled. "We should have checked the temperature first."

He chuckled. "Yeah, we should have." You both laughed as the water warmed you up. "Better?"

"Mhmm, a lot better." You smiled and affectionately kissed his cheek.

He grinned and you went to grabbed the shampoo. "Here, let me help."

"Sure." You let him take the shampoo bottle.

Bucky squeezed some onto his hands and gently rubbed his hands in your hair, his fingers were massaging your scalp as he washed your hair. "How's that feel?"

"Really nice. You can do my hair every day." You grinned.

"I'll keep that in mind." He smirked and kept washing your hair. His hands moved gently, and you relaxed under his touch. You moaned as your eyes fluttered close. Bucky chuckled, "I think someone likes her scalp massaged." He teased, his fingers moving across your head.

"You're really good at this." You murmured, you were in heaven.

"Does it?" He asked, his fingers working on getting the soap out.

"Yeah, I love your hands." You moaned. "You're so good with your hands."

He laughed. "I've been told that many times."

Opening your eyes, you caught the cheeky grin on his face. "I'm sure there are other things that your hands are good at."

He grinned wider. "Why don't you tell me about those?" His playful tone invited your banter.

"Well," you started. "If I recall correctly. Those hands can make a girl orgasm like nothing else." You purred.

"Really? I thought it was my cock that did that." He smirked and rinsed the shampoo out.

You moaned, his fingers were still working their magic. "Oh no, it's definitely the hands."

"Maybe I need to check your theory," he mused. "Is it just the hands or is it something else that could be done to you?" He asked with a playful glint in his eye.

"I don't know." You moaned as his fingers found their way further down. "But you might have to experiment. For science."

"I might just have to do that." Bucky's hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you into a hungry kiss. Your hands tangled in his hair, and you kissed him back. He pushed you up against the wall and ground his hips against yours, his hardening length sliding over your clit.

"Fuck, I need you, Bucky." You whimpered.

"Not yet, doll" He smirked. "I need to wash your body first." He grabbed the soap and rubbed it between his hands to create a lather. His hands started rubbing all over your body.

You sighed in bliss as his hands glided over you. The soap made it even more enjoyable as his hands slid across your body. "Turn around." He murmured and you did as he asked.

"Good girl." He said as his hands glided over your shoulders, he slowly massaged the soap into your skin and moved down your back. His hands moved further down and gripped your ass, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

"Your ass is so amazing." He said.

"Why, thank you." You grinned. "Yours is pretty spectacular too." You looked over your shoulder and winked.

He smirked. "You like my ass?"

"Hell yeah, it's gorgeous." You smiled.

He laughed. "Good, I like yours more."

He moved his hands to the front of you and cupped your breasts. He squeezed them and his thumb and forefinger rolled your nipples. You arched your back and pressed your ass against him, feeling his hard cock between your ass cheeks.

"So responsive." He chuckled and moved his hands down. "Lean against the wall."

You did as he asked and leaned against the wall. He moved one hand around your waist and the other went down your body and rubbed between your thighs. "Fuck, Bucky. I need you." You moaned.

"Hmm, you're so wet already, doll." He asked as his finger slid between your folds and rubbed over your clit.

"Always wet for you." You replied, his fingers rubbing against your clit making your breath hitch.

"Damn right." He added another finger and his thumb found your clit. He circled the bundle of nerves as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

You moaned and rocked your hips, trying to get him to go faster. "Please, Bucky."

He kissed your shoulder and then bit down, his teeth grazing over your skin. His fingers pumped harder and faster, hitting that perfect spot. "Fuck, Bucky. You're going to make me cum." You cried out.

His other hand left your breast and moved up to grip your throat, squeezing slightly. "That's the idea, doll." He said in your ear.

Your breathing became erratic, and you felt yourself getting close. "Bucky..." You whimpered.

"Yeah, I've got you, doll." He said, his fingers still pumping. "Come for me."

Your hips bucked as his fingers continued their assault. "Ah, fuck! Fuck, Bucky!" You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you. Your legs almost gave out, but Bucky's arms kept you upright.

"That's my good girl." He cooed, his fingers slowing their movements.

"Bucky..." You moaned, trying to catch your breath. Your hand went down to stroke his cock making him groan. You turned your head and looked at him closing his eyes and moaning at the feeling of your hands on him.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Y/N." He said as you pumped him.

You chuckled. "You know you love it."

He groaned. "Yes, I do." He looked down and watched as your hand moved up and down his length. "Fuck." He stopped your hand, "You're going to make me cum, and I want to be inside of you when I do."

"Well, what are you waiting for then?" You grinned and turned to face him.

"I was being a gentleman." He smirked. He pulled you into a searing kiss and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your fingers were tangling in his hair and his hands were on your waist, he lifted you up and pushed you up against the tiled wall. You gasped and broke the kiss. "Fuck, yes." You moaned.

"Hold on to me." He said, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He grabbed his cock and lined himself up with your entrance. He slowly slid into you, his eyes never leaving yours. You moaned and threw your head back, enjoying the feeling of him inside of you.

"You feel so good, doll." He said.

"So do you, baby." You whimpered.

He began thrusting his hips and you cried out. "Harder!" You moaned. His hands held you up and he started to thrust into you. "Is this what you wanted?" He asked, his voice low and husky.

"Yes! Oh god, yes!" You moaned, he was hitting all the right spots and it was driving you crazy.

"That's my good girl. Let me hear you, doll." He grunted.

You were panting and moaning loudly as he thrust into you. Your eyes closed as you focused on the feeling of him inside you. His cock was hitting the spot that made your toes curl.

"Fuck, Bucky! Right there!" You screamed.

"That's it, baby. Take my cock." He growled. His hands tightened around your waist as he slammed into you. You put your hands around his neck and held on as he fucked you.

"Shit, I'm close, baby." He said, his hips were still moving and his cock was slamming into you. "Come with me, Y/N."

Your walls started to flutter and you felt yourself coming undone. "Oh fuck! I'm gonna cum!" You cried out.

Bucky groaned. "That's it, doll. Cum for me."

You screamed his name as you came hard. Your walls clamped down on him and your nails dug into his skin. He cursed and followed after you. "Fuck, Y/N." He thrust into you a few more times and came inside of you. His hips still moving as he rode out his orgasm.

He gently put you down, but kept his arms around you to hold you up. You were panting, trying to catch your breath.

"I fucking love shower sex." You grinned.

Bucky laughed. "I can tell. That was fucking hot." He kissed you, his tongue slipping into your mouth and dominating the kiss.

"Mmm, that was so good." You sighed, resting your head against his chest.

"Yeah, it was." He smiled and stroked your hair. You closed your eyes and relaxed against him. "You okay, doll?"

"Hmmm, yeah." You said. "I'm all clean, but you aren't. Come here."

You grabbed the shampoo and squeezed some into your hand. You massaged the shampoo into his hair and he groaned. "That feels so good, doll."

You giggled and continued to wash his hair. "I'm glad."

"Give my back some attention," he requested, and you eagerly complied, taking your time to wash his back, relishing the tactile pleasure of the soap meeting his skin. You enjoyed the feel of his muscles under your fingertips.

"There. All clean." You beamed with satisfaction at the completion of the task.

"Thanks, doll." His smirk reflected a playful appreciation for your efforts.

"Anytime, baby." You responded with a teasing affection.

"Let's get out of here before we get cold," he suggested, breaking the cozy spell of the shower. You agreed, the warmth of the water now juxtaposed with the cooler air outside the shower enclosure. You stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your body.

"I love it when you're all wet." Bucky said, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you.

"You're so corny." You giggled.

"Yeah, but you love it." He smirked.

You rolled your eyes and walked out of the bathroom, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes from your dresser. You put the towel back and dressed in your new clothes.

He led you back to the bedroom, and you got dressed. "I'm really sorry, doll for snapping at you earlier."

"It's okay, Bucky." You smiled and gave him a kiss.

He frowned. "No, I was a dick."

"Well, that's not new." You playfully teased, giving a bit of humor into the moment.

He chuckled. "True, but I was an extra big dick."

"So, I should have you measured?" You quipped, a mischievous smirk gracing your face.

"You've been spending too much time with me." He shook his head, appreciating the banter.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." You teased.

"No, not at all. It's just you're becoming more like me." He laughed, but the levity faded as he grew serious. "I don't ever want you to be like me. You're a good person, Y/N, and I don't want you to become jaded and bitter."

"Bucky, it's okay. I know you're trying to be better. You're changing for the better. And if we're both together, I'm sure that we'll keep each other on the right path." You told him.

He gave you a smile and a kiss. "That's my girl."

A blush tinted your cheeks. Despite the time you'd spent together, compliments from Bucky still sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"I'm sorry for keeping all of this from you," he admitted, his gaze carrying the weight of his confession.

"I get why you did. But it's not easy for me to see you like this and not be able to help. You are the person I care most about, and I don't like seeing you hurt," you confessed.

"I know. And I hate to see you hurt. It kills me." He replied.

"I think you're forgetting that I'm a badass." You winked, injecting a moment of playfulness into the serious conversation.

"That's true. You're my tough cookie." He grinned, appreciating the effort to lighten the mood.

"And don't you forget it." You pointed at him.

"I never could." He kissed you softly. "I love you, Y/N."

You felt your cheeks heat up. No matter how many times he told you, the impact of those three words never faded, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest. "I love you, Bucky."

You climbed onto the bed and Bucky wrapped his arms around you. He sighed, contently. "I think this is where I belong."

"Where?" You asked, confused.

"In bed with you. It's like I'm home when I'm with you." He told you, his fingers traced absentminded patterns on your back.

A small smile played on your lips. "You are home, Bucky," you gently reminded him, your touch tracing along his arm.

Bucky pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, "You're right. You're my home, Y/N."

Hi, just wanted to let you know that I'm open to requests. However, due to my ongoing commitments with school, work, and my own projects, it might take a while for me to get to them. I appreciate your understanding and am truly grateful for all the requests I've received! Thank you! xx

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel x reader #bucky x you #winter soldier #bucky angst #bucky x female reader #bucky x female yn #bucky fluff #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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erwinsvow · 2 months

Text

𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: lying to rafe is never a good idea.

author's note: eeee! back to writing for my man <3 this can be seen as a sequel to suit the mood of my soul as it follows the plot a little bit but not really, as there's no direct mentions of pogue!reader in this! i just wanted to write a little about what rafe would be like if he find out you lied/what he would do... :) inspired by @princessbrunette for the dad/kid trope she writes about and this one!

now spinning: prisoner by the weeknd & lana

word count: 3.8k

warnings/tags: smut! rafe is a lil scary in this one but it's okay <3, gripping/bruising, face slapping as punishment, daddy/dad usage for rafe and reader is called kid a lot.

“So, what’d you do the other night?” Rafe asks you the question quietly, and he sounds different than usual.

You haven’t really noticed the change yet though, so you act like you always do around him—a little dumber, not as vigilant, and using your brain less overall.

That’s the best part of being with Rafe. He makes all the decisions for you, he figures out what to do and when to do it, and you really don’t have to think around him. At first you were confused, if not a little worried. Did he think you were stupid?

But then you realize this is how he is—so overpoweringly, overwhelmingly dominant that you have no choice but to succumb.

So you go on, unthinking, saying what comes to mind.

“I was with you, Rafey, did you forget already?” It comes out with a laugh, making yourself comfortable against his chest.

He’d just come over less than an hour ago, after dinner with his family, he had said. He always spent the night after doing anything with his family, because they made him angry and you made him feel better. At least, that’s what he always said.

So it’s easy to attribute his difference in demeanor, the strangeness surrounding your normally nice boyfriend, to a bad dinner with his family. He must have been more upset than you thought.

“Hm,” he says, slowly, curtly. “Is that right?”

“Yes, Rafey, dinner and the ice cream? Remember it melted all over your hand?” Your face flushes even thinking about it—because immediately following that incident, you had licked his hands clean.

“Yeah, I remember. You have a good memory, kid.”

You beam at his praise for a second, leaning your head up to stare at your pretty boyfriend for a second. But he doesn’t look down at you the way he normally does. He doesn’t look at all, instead his gaze is still fixed on the television, which is still playing one of your silly rom-coms quietly in the background.

“Rafe?” it comes out like a whisper, but he ignores you, his grip on your arm tightening while he continues to stare off, not at you.

“Try to remember something else for me, kid. Night before last, what’d you do?”

You freeze under his touch. Your entire body goes rigid, eyes wide, lips parting. You want to speak, but nothing comes out.

Then, Rafe looks down at you.

“Can’t remember now? Should I refresh your memory?”

You don’t need him to refresh anything. On the night before last, Sarah had asked you for help with something in the Tannyhill library. You had gone to help, because this was more than just Rafe’s sister, she was your friend too, but when you got there, you were confused. Sarah was there, but so were all the Pogues you had seen around town, seen with her before.

They were all digging through the shelves, looking for something in the library, and Sarah called you over because everyone in the Cameron house was aware of the fact that you knew this library like the back of your hand. Months of babysitting Wheezie and not having anything to do had led to this very situation. Until you became Rafe’s, that is, because ever since then, you haven’t had to spend another moment alone.

So then you helped them search for whatever it was they were looking for, and when your phone went off with a message from Rafe, at Sarah’s urging, you lied and said you were at home with your parents.

The Pogues found it eventually, after almost two hours of combing through shelves and trying your best to organize them the way they were. You went home, texted Rafe goodnight, and thought that was that.

It wasn’t a lie, you tried to convince yourself. It was a fib, really, because you just didn’t want him to worry even more when he had so much going on. And it’s not like you knew what Sarah was even up to, she said it was just a little project.

You didn’t realize what kind of project until now.

“Um, Rafe-” you start, really quiet.

You falter when you get a better look at the expression on his face. It’s the first time you’ve ever been on the receiving end of that look—anger, disappointment, frustration.

Your eyes get watery, immediately. It’s just a natural reaction.

“You think some tears are gonna get you out of this?” he questions, and you feel your breathing getting heavy, your cheeks getting wet.

You shake your head quickly. You don’t want him to think you’re crying for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry-” comes out before you can stop it, and you try to use the sleeves of your hoodie—Rafe’s hoodie—to wipe the tears away, thinking it’ll be better if he can’t see them any longer, but he grabs your wrist before you can.

You’re pinned in place, his hand gripping you and holding you down, the weight of his body on yours. It’s all you can do to look up Rafe with your wide, wet eyes and hope he listens to you.

He’s never been mad at you before, so he doesn’t know how to react. You’ve always been perfect to him, for him, and he’s never had to do anything more than take your cheeks in his hand and lock eyes to make you realize you’re doing something wrong.

He didn’t think you could be capable of doing something to hurt him, to get in the way of everything he’s planning, not when you’re so compliant and docile and perfect all the other times.

You have a collection of pretty dresses and skirts, ranging in lengths and sizes, and you always wear the right thing. Modest, longer dresses that stop above your knee and start just under the necklace you never take off—the necklace with his initial on it—when you’re invited to dinner at Tannyhill with his family.

Shorter, small skirts when he takes you to the club or the bonfire. Short enough that people are staring, not short enough to give anyone a view of what belongs to him.

In his bedroom, it’s just his clothes—shirts to sleep in, hoodies when you’re reading a book on his bed while he finishes his game at the desk, nothing more than one of your tanks and a pair of his boxers when you’re getting antsy and horny waiting for him to get back to bed when he’s on an important phone call.

He’s never had to tell you any of that—you just do it, you just know it. He doesn’t have to tell you to go wait on his bed for him without complaining. He doesn’t have to tell you he doesn’t like when his friends are seeing parts of you they aren’t supposed to. But most important of all, he didn’t have to tell you to stay away from those dirty Pogues and his annoying sister. You were just supposed to know.

“You’re sorry?” he questions, and you know he’s mocking you. Rafe’s gone quiet, which you’re not used to because Rafe never gets mad at you. You didn’t even think it was possible.

He lets go of your wrist, which flails next to your side. His grip is replaced quickly as he squeezes your cheeks together, fingers pressing hard against your jaw.

“You’re sorry, really, is that all? You lied to me. You think that’s okay?”

Your breathing gets hard and fast under his touch. Your eyes get watery again, trying to say something but it’s silenced between Rafe’s fingers keeping your mouth shut.

You shake your head as hard as you can. You just want to explain yourself—it seemed so harmless when you were doing it. You didn’t want to worry him. You didn’t realize what you were doing. You’d never do it again if Rafe will forgive you.

Then you get scared, eyes wide and blank while your boyfriend stares at you, looking so upset and angry you wish you could reverse time and take it all bank. You worry that he won’t forgive you, that he’ll end things and leave you alone, and the thought itself is so frightening you start sobbing and shaking.

Rafe’s hand leaves your face because he gets surprised at your reaction—he thought you’d be telling him something he really, really doesn’t want to hear, but true to your perfect form, you say exactly what he does want to hear.

“I’m so sorry Rafe, I’m so sorry, they asked me for help but I would have never done it if-if I knew it would hurt you or make you upset, I-I didn’t know-” It all comes out in a ramble, hurt coating your words and tears streaming down in rivulets down your pretty face.

He’s worried he might have gone too far, scared you too much, but you jump back in his arms the second he’s let go of you, face pressed against his chest and his shirt getting wet.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t break up with me, I’ll never do it again, I’ll never even talk to them again, I swear, I promise-”

It’s instinctual, Rafe wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. He wonders how he did this—changed the sweet, pretty girl he met on a trip with Wheezie to the library into the girl in his arms now—utterly dependent, crying because of him but not making a single move to defend yourself.

Instead you believe everything he says and you’re sobbing because you don’t want him to leave you. He wonders again, thinking about if he should regret what he’s done to you.

He doesn’t.

“Shh,” he comforts, and you lean into him further. “S’okay, it’s okay.” He rubs your arms soothingly, ignoring the red down further on the limb, which is inevitably a bruise forming. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

When the words leave his mouth, you melt against his chest like butter, and he grips you tight.

“I’m sorry, kid, I am, but I have to make sure that-that, you don’t do something that could mess up everything I’m working on right now.” You mewl a noise of protest, but he quiets you down again. “Even if it’s an accident, baby, even by accident. You don’t know the things I’m trying to protect you from. I can’t let you get hurt like that, so when you lie to me about something like this, it just upsets me, because I’m working hard for you—for us, and you see that, don’t you?”

He feels you nod your head slowly.

“I’m so sorry, Rafe,” and he lets out a heavy breath. You cling to his every word, wondering how you could have been so, so stupid, as to lie to your boyfriend.

“It’s okay, kid,” his hand moves to your back, rubbing circles on the soft skin, hand tucked under his hoodie and above the waistband of his shorts that you’re wearing.

“Do you forgive me?” you ask, lifting your head a few inches to look up at Rafe, wet eyelashes floating up to reveal red-rimmed, puffy eyes.

He looks down, wondering just how much he’s messed you up.

“Of course I do.” Rafe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You let out a sigh of relief, too soon. “But you have to promise me a couple things, hm?”

“Anything, anything-” it spills out of your mouth, like you can’t get it out fast enough, looking back up at your boyfriend with big eyes, trying to use your hands against his chest to lift yourself up.

“Promise me you’ll never talk to those Pogues again.”

“I promise.”

“And that you’ll never, ever lie to me again.”

“I promise, Rafe.”

“Good girl.”

He does that thing again, the thing that has you melting in his hands and allowing him to call all the shots. He reaches out to take the back of your head in his hand, leaning you in for a kiss, and you let him do it, just like you let him do everything.

Rafe kisses you hard, his tongue in your mouth and trails of spit around your lips. When he lets go, you feel him bit down on your bottom lip, and you yelp against his mouth, but it’s silenced because he pulls you into another kiss.

You’re breathless by the end of it, crawling into his lap because you don’t want it to end, craving a lot more than just a kiss and the press of his hard dick against your clothed pussy.

When he pulls away, you make another noise of displeasure.

“Really?” he questions, and you know it can’t be good. “Do you really think you deserve this dick now? After that shit you just pulled?” He holds you in place on his lap, stopping your grinding motion with his firm hand. Your face heats up immediately, because you know that you don’t.

“‘M’sorry, dad,” your murmur against the soft skin of his neck. “You already forgave me…”

“Not getting out of this that easily, kid,” and he pulls you by the hair, making your shoulders tense up as you moan again in discomfort. “I think you need to decide your punishment, hm? You’ll get this dick once you get punished.”

You want to scream in annoyance, because Rafe always knows what he’s doing, and right now he’s doing it on purpose. You can feel his hard-on, and if he let you do what you wanted, you’d fall apart in minutes, but he won’t, because he never does.

So you don’t say a thing, because you can’t ever be a brat to Rafe, not for anything longer than five minutes, and you crawl down, off the bed, sitting on your knees on the ground while Rafe adjusts himself to face you from the bed. He looks down at you, perfectly in place, nose still a little red from crying.

“So, how many?” he questions, watching you stare up at him with big eyes.

“Five,” you start, until you see how Rafe’s looking at you. “T-ten, sorry, ten.”

“Good girl,” he says, stroking the side of your face with his hand. “Five on each side, hm? That’s what you meant to say, right?”

“Yes, dad,” you murmur back, in a daze at the feeling of Rafe’s hand on your skin.

The first slap, on your right cheek, is light, lighter than you’re used to. It was barely a tap, and you think quickly, while staring at your boyfriend’s face expectantly, if not a little dumbly, that it was nice of him. The next three are harder, and the final one stings. You’re sure it’s red where his hand was, a part of you even hopes it left a mark.

“Five left,” he says quietly, maybe more to himself than to you. You nod, a little too eagerly. “Yeah, kid, you like this? I knew you would. Little freak,” Rafe breathes out. You cling to each word like it’s praise. “Ready for the other side? Yeah?” You nod again.

He’s harder on the other side, maybe because he realized you can handle it. You’ve gotten much harder slaps than these before, but Rafe forgets sometimes, so he always starts gentle. On the ninth one, your eyes get watery. On the tenth, the tears roll down again. Rafe takes his thumb and wipes it across your cheek, like it’ll soothe the sting.

You go to unbuckle his belt immediately after, thinking you should make him feel good first, as a part of your punishment, but he stops your hands before you get far, taking you by the shoulders and lifting you up into his lap again.

“What’re you doing?” you question quietly.

“I should ask you that.”

“Y-you said I don’t deserve it yet, so I was gonna make you feel good-”

“I didn’t say that, kid,” he says, pressing his big hand against your neck.

“Yes, you-” he looks at you sharply, and you shut up mid-sentence.

“No, I said you’ll get it once you’ve been punished. Punishment’s over, hm?” His hand slips underneath your hoodie—his hoodie—and he starts to lift it up. Your hands go up, helping him ease it off. Once it’s discarded on the floor, you lean in for another hard kiss, hands around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist.

“Easy, easy,” he says, pulling away for a second. “Have to breathe, remember?”

You shake your head and whine, pushing your lips together again. Rafe moves you quickly, your back thudding against the bed and him hovering over you.

You scramble to get rid of your shorts—his shorts—but Rafe’s hands come up and stop yours before you can. Locking eyes with you, he takes them off himself, until you’re fully exposed and lying naked against his pillow.

Another kiss, another whine. You pull the front of Rafe’s shirt.

“Take it off, please,” you whimper, because you just want to get him naked and get on with it, but the tantalizingly slow pace he’s setting is killing you.

“Really gonna tell me what to do right now? When I’m being so nice?” Your head shakes but you don’t know if you mean it. “Okay. If that’s how you wanna be, okay.”

He flips you over in one motion—your stomach hitting the sheets before you can process it. You don’t hear anything except the rustle of his hands on his belt, the clink of the metal falling, and a groan from Rafe.

And then you feel him—feel what you’ve been begging for this entire time, the nudge of his tip against your folds. Your whole body tenses and your walls clench in anticipation, but Rafe doesn’t move.

“Rafe—!” the whine leaves before you can think about it. Rafe’s hand reaches out to grab you by your hair, pulling your head up, his mouth against your ear. You feel your nipples harden and pebble in the air, every part of your body craving something, some touch, some movement.

“Y’know, I thought you were gonna be such a good girl,” he starts, and you feel your walls flutter. “But you’re acting like such a slut today. But it’s okay, I’m gonna give you what you want. Then you’ll be good as gold, won’t ya?” You let a whine at the thought, before Rafe lets go and drops you back onto the bed.

In one thrust, Rafe pushes himself in, and your entire body tenses up at the feeling. The stretch of your walls hurts, no matter how used to him you get, and your bones feel like putty. You can hardly hold yourself up, when Rafe starts fucking you at the brutal pace he’s set.

The stinging of your face disappears from your mind completely while Rafe batters your pussy, his hands on your back, pushing down while you arch up. Your cheek rustles against the pillow. Nothing comes out of your mouth except whines and moans, and the occasional cry when he goes even harder.

“Just needed this dick, huh, kid?” he chokes out, pressing your face into the pillow and watching his dick slide in and out of your pussy—coated in your cream, leaking down and making a mess of his sheets. “Ain’t that right? I asked you a question.”

He grabs your hair again, lifting you just enough so you can speak.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes-”

“That’s what I thought-” and he pushes your head down again. “J’needed to be set straight, hm? You won’t ever lie to me again—” Your voice is a mess of garbles and whines, not making any sense but wanting to agree with Rafe so badly.

Rafe’s fucking you like he hates you, and you don’t have it in you to stop and make sure he doesn’t actually hate you, because the only thing you can think about is making sure he doesn’t stop.

“Or maybe you will,” he starts, in between thrusts. “Just wanna get fucked like this, don’t you? Wasn’t enough for you to get it gentle, right, kid? You’re my little slut-”

Rafe’s hitting that part of you that makes you see stars—unrelenting, over and over again, but it’s all of those things together—the feel of your nipples rubbing against the bed, how full you feel inside, and especially the words he’s saying—that push you over the edge. You fall apart crying, body shaking, letting out a muffled dad, dad, dad against his pillow.

He doesn’t stop there, though, riding you through it and then pulling out, just long enough to flip you back over.

You’re sensitive all over, your walls clenching around nothing while you stare up at Rafe, and then back down to where the two of you were connected. He grips your cheeks again, pushing himself in and staring at your fucked-out face.

He’s way too close to still be fucking you—especially raw, like this—but it’s not until you start speaking that it’s a big problem. You sound all jumbled up since he’s holding your face way too tight, and when he loosens his grip, words fall out of your mouth and he realizes what you’re saying.

“Want it inside, dad, please, please, please, fill me up—” And he finishes, leaning over you and filling your pussy up, just like you asked for. He doesn’t stop for what feels like hours but could only be minutes—you mewl at the feeling and gasp when he pulls out, cum leaking out of your hole and spoiling the sheets even further.

Rafe’s breathless, collapsing beside you and in a much better mood, because he doesn’t complain when you fall against his chest and press your face into his neck.

He lets you sit like that for a little bit, catching your breath and letting your heart rate return to normal.

“We made a mess,” you comment, still feeling gushes of his cum spilling out of you.

“We’ll get it in a minute.”

He can practically hear your thoughts, buzzing through your little head at a mile a minute, wondering what to say, how he feels, if he's still upset, probably wanting water and a shower too.

You move a little, just to get more comfortable, when Rafe grabs your face again. The side of your jaw is red from where he keeps grabbing you. It’ll leave a bruise tomorrow. He doesn’t care because he’s not planning to let you out of his sight for the foreseeable future.

“Don’t lie to me again, kid. Got it?”

“Yes, Rafe,” you breathe out. "I got it."

“Good. Now let's finish this stupid movie." Rafe lets go of your face, and wraps his arm around you.

#eeeee #this was.... self indulgent. so no worries if no one else likes it #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx #rafe cameron imagine

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whateversawesome · 9 days

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Spy x Family Code: White Analysis

I finally saw the Spy x family movie Code: White!!

It was fantastic. I loved it 💖

Here's what I think (spoilers below the picture 😉):

Twilight

It's super evident Twilight cares A LOT about his family. As soon as Handler tells him someone else will take over Operation Strix, he's worried and, during the movie, he goes around like a crazy man doing all sorts of crazy things to keep his family. Nevertheless, the biggest giveaway about this happens when:

Twilight puts Anya before his mission!! Yes, you read right: Agent Twilight receives a direct order from WISE telling him that recovering the microfilm had priority over rescuing Anya and Mr. Spy puts his daughter's safety first and goes to her rescue (which eventually led to getting the microfilm back, but still).

Yor

Yor is a total mom here. She protects her baby and plays with her too 😌 She acts like a mom too because she's always trying to keep the family together; she's the one who reminds that to Loid when he's all frantic working. Here, Yor displays one of her best quality: emotional intelligence. And of course, during the movie at the big fight scene she looks like a total badass.

Now about the big Twiyor moment...

Like I mentioned before here, there's a fake and a real Twiyor moment in the movie. The fake Twiyor moment happens when Yor gets drunk and asks Loid to tell her how he really feels about her (!!!)...before passing out 🫤 You've probably seen plenty of images about that:

The real Twiyor moment happens later, thanks to the captain of the Twiyor ship 🫡 Anya Forger, who pushes her parents to ride the Ferris wheel alone so they can flirt. Here, Yor tells him (crying) that she saw him with his "girlfriend" and Loid clarifies it was just a random stranger (it was Nightfall) asking for directions. This is when the real Twiyor moment happens:

Listen, we could argue that Twilight here was being a liar and trying to fix the situation between them "for the mission", but I choose to believe something different. In my opinion, Twilight was being sincere and he wanted not only to reassure Yor but to pour his heart out and reassure himself. Come on, the man repeated their wedding vows! He was getting carried away (it was too much for our shy Yor) and if it wasn't for Yor punching him out of the Ferris wheel, I think this would have ended in the Twiyor kiss we've all been waiting 😆 (maybe one day!).

Something worth mentioning is that when Twilight and Yor get off the Ferris wheel, Anya reads their minds, but we don't get to know what her parents are thinking 😏 she just smiles and that's how she knows everything is okay between her parents. Little sus, right? I am sure Anya knows what's really going on between those two (read about that here).

This happens again, when Twilight rescues Anya from the kidnappers. We all know Mr. Spy is bad at expressing his emotions, so when he's finally reunited with his daughter, he doesn't show much of anything. Anya hugs him, picks her head up and reads his mind. Just like the last time, we don't get to know what Anya reads inside her papa's mind, but she smiles. Funny how this only happens twice in the movie, in both occasions related to his wife and daughter 🤔

So now, the big question: Is this movie canon?

In this case, every person who sees the movie can form their own opinion about that. In my opinion, since there was no identity reveal nor anything that would change the plot in the manga, I think it's okay to consider it canon. So, until the author says it's not canon, I'm going to consider it part of it.

Overall, it was a fantastic movie, very funny, with plenty of Forger family moments and that something that makes Spy x family so special 💖

#spy x family #twiyor #Spy x family code white #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #sxf #spy x family analysis #sxf analysis #Sxf meta #loidyor #loid x yor

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f1fnatic · 9 months

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SCRUTINY ⤿ f1 grid

→ ( in which. . . ) you are a woman on the f1 grid. you face criticism and digs almost every day from toxic fans, specifically the men. but, you shut them up after a rewarding race.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) 2023 f1 grid x female!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cyberbullying, misogyny, sexism/sexist comments, overall a shitty environment. not based on this year's monaco grand prix or the season so far just has the drivers of this year's grid at this moment except alonso he is a reserve for aston martin, jumps around a little, not a completely solid plot, other pilots make subtle mentions, but mainly reader focused.

→ ( author's note. . . ) i enjoyed writing this one a lot. with being a woman myself and seeing how we are perceived in sports, especially a male-dominated field like motorsport, it was not very difficult to keep writing. anyways, i hope you enjoy! see end for more.

→ ( masterlist )

sunday, pre-race interview ↴

scrutiny. a word that you are familiar with. a word that has so much meaning but so little at the same time. you had recently joined your dream team, aston martin. after a challenging run in f3 and f2, you finally got recognized for your talent. you knew the comments would only get worse as you moved up the ranks, but you didn't expect them to be this bad.

it was the monaco grand prix. your least favorite track to race. the tight corners haunted you. without fail, you always almost crashed and cost your team everything. but it mainly cost you your dignity.

you were sat along a crisp white sofa that sat your teammate lance stroll, along with charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, lando norris, daniel ricciardo, and lastly max verstappen. you had all become acquainted when you first got to f1. lance and you got along swell and were close to inseparable. the rest were like brothers to you. these types of conferences were your personal least favorite. you enjoyed being with your friends, but the questions that were asked were downright embarrassing.

"y/n, coming over to you." the interviewer voiced, all attention was shifted onto you. "monaco in the past years has not treated you well, do you think you will have another devastating grand prix? and do you think your difference has to do with your performance?" you felt the scoff bubble in your throat. was he serious? you knew what he was playing at. your difference being your gender.

"well, first of all, i do not think my quote en quote 'difference' has anything to do with my performance." you start, putting finger quotes to emphasize the word difference. "if anything, it would be a difference in the car. in past monaco grand prix's the aston martin car has struggled. there are no real straights for the car to get its usual speed from. the differences in the care have nothing to do with me as a driver." this was unbelievable. were they really questioning whether you could hold your own as a woman in motorsport?

"you are starting p7 in today's race. do you think you performed well enough in qualifying? what could you have done differently?" finally. a normal question. you were excited to answer.

"uh, yeah. i think considering the conditions in qualifying and the nature of the track i did well. i am happy with how i performed but there is always room for improvement. and i am open to that." you answered, smiling. you looked over to lewis and saw him smiling at you. he knew how the media worked. he himself was getting pushed under the bus with racist remarks and 'concern' around his piercings. he was always supportive of you, and you were supportive of him. there were often times when you would text or call him ranting about how unfair it was that you were being treated the way you were. he would join in with his own stories and you would listen.

"y/n, i am sure you have seen the scrutiny online about being a woman competing in the pinnacle of motorsport. do you believe you should be here competing with men?" another reporter asks.

you are stunned. you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"are you serious?" lance scoffs beside you. "what is with these questions?"

"why do we get questions about normal things like our literal jobs and y/n's questions are always about her gender?" daniel adds. the couch breaks out in murmurs. the reporters visibly get uncomfortable with what has happened and end the interview.

standing up you walk out of the office and to your drivers room, ignorning the voices calling after you. these interviews were always bullshit. daniel was right, why were you always getting questioned about your gender and how that effects your performance? what does gender have to do with racing?

this was only the beginning.

sunday, day of monaco grand prix ↴

you were exhausted. exhausted by the comments, the bullshit interviews, and the stupid prick men that felt the need to voice their opinion about a woman in f1.

you could this year's grand prix was going to be a tough one. mentally and physically. you wanted to be done. done with the bullying, the sexism, the misogyny, everything. you knew you worked hard to get where you are, and you will continue to. you dreaded the after-race interviews. no matter your result, you would always get at least 4 sexist remarks.

you didn't know what else you needed to do to be able to prove yourself worthy of your seat. you shouldn't have to prove yourself anymore than you have. you are in f1, and all of these assholes are not.

your pr manager, bless his soul, had to listen to your rants after interviews. lewis always got brunt end of it as well. he had experience with degradating comments. he always knew what to say and when to say it. fernando has been a huge help as well. he was like a father to you, always there when you needed someone. he would defend you when you needed defending. he always knew what to say and when to say it.

race start, p7 ↴

p7 was not a bad place to start, at all. but the internet and crowd thought differently. you were sat in your car, ready for the formation lap when someone yelled at you, "c'mon pretty lady! get back to cleaning! this is a man's sport!" you resisted the urge to quip back at him, instead you raised your left hand and flipped him off. your pr manager would have your head later but you couldn't care less. you needed to do something to voice your annoyance.

concentration is what you needed, but you couldn't seem to gain it with more comments being shouted your way. "hot momma!" followed by a cat call whistle, "sweetheart take off that suit! let's see what's underneath!", "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS JOB!" were only some of the handfuls thrown at you. they also seemed to be the ones that bothered you the most. your grip on your steering wheel tightened, anger bubbling in your gut. these people knew nothing. they don't know how hard you work. they don't know how much blood, sweat, and tears you poured into achieving your dream. and they never would.

before you knew it, the formation lap started. it went quickly. you got back into your respective starting positions and stared down the lights. you took a deep breath to attempt to ground yourself. it is just a race, you have done this before y/n.

the lights lit up red, until they didn't. you flew forward in your aston martin, pushing it for a decent start. you ended up gaining two positions, going from p7 to p5. the rest of the race was uneventful, until it wasn't.

"y/n, caution on the chicane. hamilton, perez, and leclerc crashed. yellow flag, safety car." your race engineer voiced over the radio. "that moves you into a fortunate p2."

"okay, copy." you were ecstatic. this was your chance to prove yourself to everyone. to those men who scrutinized you before the formation lap, to the trolls online, and to those misogynistic pricks known as reporters. this was your moment.

"gap to verstappen 1.6 seconds, push." you did as you were told. you pushed, and you pushed hard. this was for all of the girls that wanted to be you. "oh my days y/n! p1! p1! you just won the monaco grand prix!"

"yes! oh my god! fuck me! we did it!" you had done it.

you did your victory lap and parked behind the p1 tower. when you got out of your seat tears stung at your eyes. you ran over to where the aston martin team was and hugged them over the barrier. team members were banging on your helmet. lance had managed p2 and came up behind you and hugged you, along with the team.

the podium was a blur. you could not describe the emotions you were feeling. pride, excitement, and most of all, happiness were swirling within you. you stood tall as aston martin's anthem played and even taller when yours sounded shortly after. the champagne spray was the best part. carelessly spraying lance as giggles sounded on the podium. you also sprayed your team below, this would not have been possible without them. you would never forget this moment. it is forever engraved into your mind.

this was it, this was what you needed to prove them all wrong.

not feeling super happy w this one. i like the beginning but i feel it gets away from me in the middle and end. feedback and requests are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well, only if u want to tho! lmk if you like it :)

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yumeka-sxf · 11 days

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Thoughts on Spy x Family CODE: White

My thoughts on CODE: White will likely be different from most people since I knew pretty much the entire plot beforehand. I'm a spoiler fiend when it comes to my hyperfixations like SxF, so I read the novelization of the movie back in January and kept up on all the promotional videos and images that were released. But when it was finally time to see the movie for myself, did that ruin my enjoyment? Not at all. For me, it actually made me enjoy it more because 1) I knew what to expect so I wasn't disappointed, and 2) I found myself looking forward to seeing all the scenes I only read about or saw short clips of.

With that said, yes, I enjoyed the movie so much! If you're a Spy x Family fan, or even just a casual enjoyer of the series, it's a ton of fun. It has all the elements we love about the series: clever humor, sweet family moments, and spy action/drama. And because it's a movie, we get to see all of this with a movie animation budget instead of a TV series budget, which is another plus!

One thing to keep in mind with these original, stand-alone anime films based on series is that they're meant for a more general crowd than just fans of the series. Since theaters attract a wider audience than late-night TV and online manga chapters, movies like this serve as a means to introduce the series to people who may only have a vague idea of what it's about. That's why these movies contain a storyline that can fit mostly anywhere in the series chronology and don't have anything canon-altering.

CODE: White is an interesting mix of plots that, for the most part, blend together well. There's the main plot that continues throughout, which is saving Operation Strix by having Anya learn how to make the meremere for the cooking contest, but then there's the Yor jealousy plot B which is resolved in the first half, but is then replaced by the next "plot B" in the latter half of the movie, which is saving Anya from the military.

A lot of people didn't like the "Yor gets jealous" subplot when it was first revealed before the movie even came out, since it seemed to be a rehash of her being jealous about Fiona. I personally didn't have a problem with this since I don't think it's unreasonable for her to get jealous a second time, especially when she thinks she sees Loid doing something extreme like kissing another woman (as opposed to just talking). But the way it was resolved could have been a bit better in my opinion. The ferris wheel scene in the movie very much mirrored the bar scene from the series, but the reason the latter is so effective is because we get to hear Loid's inner thoughts during it; we know he's going full Twilight-mode and isn't being sincere, and that's why Yor kicks him. But then at the park, he talks to her much more genuinely and they work things out. But in the ferris wheel scene, we don't get to hear his inner thoughts so we don't get any indication as to whether his repeating of the marriage vows, etc, is him being sincere or not. Then she smacks him, they insist they aren't fighting when Anya brings it up, and that's the end of it.

I do like the fact that Anya reads their minds and seems happy with what she "hears" in their heads, but I still think the subplot would have felt more complete if it ended after Yor realized her mistake rather than have Loid do the ambiguous Romeo act again. Or it could have been brought up one more time later in the movie, for example, Yor apologizes for hitting him, he talks to her more sincerely, etc. If you're gonna rehash the bar scene, at least rehash the scene that brought it closure, which is the park bench scene. Again, I'm totally fine with the jealously subplot overall, just thought it could have been wrapped up a bit better.

Other than that, there were just a few little issues I had, like how was Anya able to afford what was probably an expensive liquor? (was she really packing that much dough in her little bag? She went straight from the bedroom out the window so it's not like she "borrowed" any money from Loid). Also seemed weird that she didn't pick up on Yor's infidelity worries until last minute. A few things stretched the line of believability a bit far too, like Loid's ability to make perfect masks so quickly, and Anya just happening to hit her head on the button that conveniently opened all the windows on the bridge. Also something here and there that didn't align with the manga, like Yor not having any reaction to sharing a room with Loid, whereas she has a totally different reaction to this in chapter 94. Maybe a bit more resolution for the fates of the villains too. I guess Luca and Dmitri survived the crash, but what about Snidel? Did Loid actually kill him or just knock him out? And if it's the latter, Snidel seems like the type who would want to get revenge. A quick cameo of what happened to them in the end would have been nice.

Speaking of the villains, normally I wouldn't like the fact that they're pretty one-dimensional and not that interesting, but for a movie like this where most people just want to see the Forgers being themselves in fun and exciting scenarios, taking time away from that to make more developed villains who likely won't be seen again in the franchise, would have not been the best choice, lol.

But even though I had some criticisms of the movie, all of them are minor and not enough to overshadow everything else that was enjoyable about it. Besides all the humor, of which there was plenty, there were so many cute "awww" family moments that perhaps didn't lend anything to the plot, but were still important to establish the characters and their relationships, and thus make us care about what happens to them. Like the scene of Anya, Yor, and Bond playing at the hotel...it could have been skipped without anything seeming out of place, but it reveals so much about the characters without being blatant about it: how Yor wants to please Anya despite being a bit embarrassed at first to take part in her game, and then how Anya's eyes light up with happiness when Yor starts playing with her...for a series like SxF that's character-driven rather than plot-driven, scenes like this are so important and I'm glad the film creators realized this too!

There were also so many cute, subtle scenes as well, like when Loid and Yor smile at each other after chiding Anya, as if they're happy to share this moment of exhausting yet satisfying parenting; when Anya reads Loid's mind after he saves her but doesn't reveal what he's actually thinking yet we can imagine what it is based on her expression; Loid showing feelings of comradery with the restaurant owner because their pasts are so similar; Anya quietly and sadly hugging Bond in the bedroom; and in the ferris wheel after Yor feels so embarrassed about misunderstanding what happened with Loid and the woman but then can't help but smile with motherly love when she sees Anya waving at her...the movie is filled with moments like this that are like little love letters to fans who know the true heart of SxF isn't so much the action and spy drama as it is the family relationships.

And of course, as I mentioned before, the animation of the movie is fantastic! Not just the action scenes, which are great by the way, especially Yor's fight with Type F, but the character expressions as well. Anya's always had the most varied and hilarious faces of all the characters, but the movie goes even harder with her expressions, especially when she has to hold in her stool! Her faces were making me both cringe and laugh at the same time! The animators did such a good job making me feel sorry for her but also laugh at her.

I'm not a fan of potty humor, but I was confident SxF would make it funny, and I was right! The poop god sequence in particular was as equally cringe as it was hilarious!

To conclude, CODE: White is a must-see for anyone who likes or loves Spy x Family. I can't say it's a cinematic masterpiece or anything, but for what it's supposed to be - a fun and enjoyable film for those who like the series, it definitely delivers! Can't wait to see it at least two more times during its showing in the US...and more times in the future!

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #sxf code white #spy x family code white #sxf movie spoilers #sxf movie #sxf spoilers #sxf manga spoilers

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tiyoin · 1 month

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Twisted anxiety reader in a singing contest show (MHAHAMHAHAH) It would be a reason why she was singing in the woods.

✨ imagine✨

MC is feeling useless and unhelpful and just wants to pull their weight in supporting the dorm and stuff. Just overall trying to be more useful to Yuu.

So she overhears smth about a anonymous singing contest and the winner will get $5000 which for mc, Yuu and Grimm that's a lot of money. And 2nd and 3rd also has cash prizes. I think she goes for 2nd place ,so she has the money of 1st without the popularity of 1st. So she puts her fears to the side (🤨no she doesn't) to help her friend and cat.

I see this contest being an online voting type thing. Also celebs 😉 do go on the show to help promote it, to judge them and what ever else they do.

In the show they give the contestants a "wish"/ charm that can help them with their performance (enter ✨shimmers✨ & instruments magic that was talked about). It what makes the show popular

Now we give MC song/writing abilities. She honestly has a diary of kind. She needs it.( Torture her bout it later😈)

Now I'm sure we wondering how does this come into play

THEY THINK THE SONGS ARE ABOUT THEM

They'll all find a way to connect the songs to themselves. If songs says an eye color or hair color the characters with said color goes crazy about it.

Enchanted by Taylor Swift is one that comes to mind as a song that everyone relates to.

Rook/ jade would send clips of MC singing on the show and "THIS IS THE VOICE I HEARD"

I have so many sub-plots for twisted singer reader.

Also I'm really glad to like hearing things like this. I was really nervous to send the asks.

More to come along at one point or another ☺️☺️

i immediately thought of “ivory skin and eyes of emerald green” from jolene and rook just going:

shout out to @/a-twistedheartslonging because i WILL NOT stop using this cute little rook meme they made fldkaldkakwkdkxkakdkfhx

OH MY GOD READER IS SO NERVY AND SCARED AND THINKING SOOO MUCH ABOUT THIS SINGING COMPETITION AHHHHH

they’re physically reacting to thinking about it. they’re nervous tics come out (that happens to me, whenever i’m suppppper nervous i start chanting and get anxiety induced tics) and yuu and grim are getting worried because nothing has happened, so why are you so anxious?

OH MY GOD HAHSHSHAH IMAGINE THE WHOLE CONTEST IS FILLED WITH INTROVERTS HAHDHAHAHAH they all get to suffer at our expense

MUWHAHAHAHSHZHHAH AHHHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAH😈😈😈

*clears throat* anyways 🙂

reader : *sings enchanted*

ALL of the guys she made eye contact with that week: …so you’re proposing?

OH MY GOD MAYBE ROOK AND JADE (for totally separate reasons) SEND IN A CLIP THEY TOOK OF Y/N SINGING AND SENDING IT TO THE SHOW BAHAHSHAHA

idk maybe there’s some super duper advanced magical technology (marvel’s equivalent of ‘quantum’) and y/n gets an invitation and they’re like????

I DIDNT EVEN DO ANYTHING YET

THE CELEBRITY ENDORSEMENT IS SOOO REAL-

ROOK BRINGING VIL TO THE FOREST WHOSE GRUMBLING ABOUT HOW HE HAS HOMEWORK AND HOW THIS’LL THROW HIS SCHEDULE OFF-

“non non! roi du poison you must come with me avec hâte!” (with haste)

and they’re crouched behind a rock for a few minutes and vil is annoyed because rook is doing rook things again and he does not have time for this. especially not today because he has to find someone to endorse for the music show he volunteered to judge.

only problem: EVERYONE SUCKS OR HAS AN UGLY PERSONALITY!! vil is disgusted by the cockiness and the greediness of these… influencers who paid their way to be on the show.

it puts a horrible taste in his mouth, especially with how shameless they are to try and win his favor. he’s not some cheap executive they can bribe to put their foot through the door, especially with their lack luster… abilities.

vil almost called it talent, but you had to be good to have that.

just as he’s about to voice his complaints and leave, rook’s grip on his shoulder stopped him from moving and the finger to his lips stopped him from breathing. vil was visibly shocked because rook never put hands on him, especially like this.

there was a snap of a twig up ahead. rook’s forest green eyes flicked to the horizon a few times, head too, urging him to look.

and he’s more than pleasantly surprised to see… you- well as much of yourself that you would allow the watchful eyes of the trees see. your ceremonial robe covering your short stature.

rook looked at vil expectingly, but vil was still confused, so what if a student was in the woods? unless it was his own this was a problem rook should bring up to the other house wardens. and it wasn’t illegal, nor against the school rules so-

then, you started singing.

he couldn’t recognize the song. but he could recognize the passion. yes you were untrained and flat in a few sections but that didn’t matter. you were good, pitchy but good.

song after song, sometimes repeating a few as you danced and bowed your heart away.

he wasn’t sure how much time passed but it was a considerable amount since the sun that once well over the trees now peeked through the canopy and was gazing longingly at the moon.

cursing, you looked around, bent down to collect the things you brought with you, and scurried away towards another entrance towards the forest.

vil was quick to react, to follow but rook stopped him. looking down at his vice house warden with an incredulous look, rook only shook his head softly. there was a reason you were alone in the woods and not in the various music clubs.

this was your little secret.

vil who WAITS for your submission so he can back you but you never submit… hm,

with a snap of his manicured fingers, rook is on it! maybe rook knows who you are, maybe he doesn’t, vil could really care less since the whole show is based off of anonymity.

(vil side eyes the influencers and other contestants who practically spell it out for the audience who they are so they can vote for them)

maybe to… put you on the right track vil has rook go to your little forest spot and place a flyer there, practically ENCOURAGING YOU TO SIGN. UP.

you think someone would get a hint right?

“huh, that’s weird… maybe i should change locations since someone else was here”

that’s it. rook’s sending in your video and you’re getting a flyer stapled to the tree saying you’re accepted. yes yes this is because of your fairy god mother’s NOW SING

vil also giving y/n some song recommendations he thinks that are good, up until he sees you gently pull out a FUCKING LOADED BOOK from your backpack filled with songs.

yes darling those are great but lol at all the nice songs he gave you! they’re in your range too!!

vil slowly finding out who you are because he heard you hum a song in the hallways that only the mysterious ‘forest nymph’ (what a ludicrous myth the students came up with) sang.

and yes he’s shocked that the ramshackle neet (ouch vil 😿) has golden pipes.

THE CHAT ROOM IS NOW INVITE ONLY TO THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE HEARD THE ELUSIVE FOREST NYMPHS SONG!!! (i’ll cook smthn better i promise)

VIL THINKING WHAT TO SEND THEM TO HELP THEM IN A CUT THORAT BATTLE ROUND AND ROOK OFF HANDEDLY COMMENTING ‘if only there were an orchestra here to play along with their beautiful singing’

ERUKIA!!

*cue golden instruments*

but in hindsight sight:

we’re gonna give her so much anxiety she’s not gonna know what to do😈 sorry pookie!! there’s no safe space at night raven college☺️🫶

#so many thought & yet so little space 😔#just know that i’m right here- patiently waiting in the wings for your next ask so i can info dump some more ☺️#i don’t want this to get too long but #sorry for the long post babes🙈#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #tiyoin’s cuties 。　 ඞ 。#VIL THINKING OF WHAT TO

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ohcorny · 24 days

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hey corny. so i always see people recommending to outline their story before starting it, but could you talk a little bit more about what that means? what is an outline and how do you structure one? how long are the ones you write, depending on the project? do you focus on plot beats or feelings? how specific do you get? can u recommend any readings for learning more?

up front i don't have any resources for this, only experience. and outlines feel like one of those things where it's like... there are a million ways to do it and the way that works for me might not work for you. i have a friend who writes out all his ideas on index cards and that, for me, is insane. but he's also a better writer than me so who can say what is right or wrong.

anyway an outline is essentially a sketch but for a story. you go through the whole thing, start to finish, and figure out what goes where and what happens when. the idea is that this is the stage where you work out all the big picture stuff and make sure it all fits together, now, and not after you've drawn twenty pages and suddenly go "wait shit that doesn't work" and have to do it over. it is much easier to delete and rewrite a paragraph than to redraw several pages.

doing anything more, ie including dialogue or feelings, depends entirely on how useful that information is to you at that point in the process and whether the purpose of the outline is for your own guidance, or so somebody else can tell what you're trying to achieve.

this got really long with multiple examples

here is an excerpt from the original outline i used to pitch Hunger's Bite to publishers. this one had to be polished to a professional standard, because somebody else was going to read it and decide whether they wanted to give me thousands of dollars to tell this story. (also several of the details are no longer accurate. for instance it now takes place 9 years earlier lmao)

this paragraph represents the first eight pages of the book. the final book is 264 pages long, and the outline was 12 pages of paragraphs as dense as this one.

it establishes where we are, who's there, and what they're doing. i describe their conversation, but i don't commit to the dialogue. i will occasionally include snippets of literal dialogue, but usually only if it's Important Dialogue, or i just don't want to forget a good idea i had while outlining. it's not expected at this step.

an outline written as part of a pitch to a publisher should tell the whole story, with all the important details, and leave nothing ambiguous. they need to know the tone, shape, and the arcs. no secrets! all the spoilers. outlines for yourself should do this too, but outlines for others need to be as clear about your vision as possible. again, an outline like this exists for the purpose of getting you paid thousands of dollars. you should write it like that.

in comparison, here's an excerpt from the outline i wrote for revisions to my WIP prose novel, so i could show it to my agent (who already read the draft) to be like "do these changes sound good?" i'm not selling it to anyone yet, just making a guide so i can have a conversation about it. so it doesn't need to be neat, it just needs to be functional and clear. the first chapter was entirely new stuff. the second bit was just writing down what was already in the chapter that existed.

i have historically been very bad at outlining things when i don't think i "need" to, and only wrote this one after having written like 60k words of the book without any overall plan. i gave what i had to my agent for feedback and then sat down and figured out how i could apply it. it's made the whole revisions process significantly less daunting. now i have a checklist for things i need to do! this one was a paragraph or two for each chapter, with the ones that needed a lot of rewriting given a bit more detail.

lastly, here's a bit of the outline for the first roger crenshaw book. i was the only person who had to see this, and since the story was planned to be very short i didn't have to worry about a whole lot. as long as i knew what was supposed to go where, it would work. honestly it's not a whole lot different from the previous example.

this one was like five paragraphs and it did the job, and this story was like 15k words. you only need as much or as little as will actually help you on the page.

basically if you take nothing else from this, it's that there are multiple ways to write an outline, that it does not need to be perfect if you're doing it for yourself, and that it only needs what you think is important (unless it is for other people. then it should have everything). and also it's a good idea to do it earlier in the project than after you've written 60k words or drawn--jesus christ i got up to 12 chapters in never satisfied? it's amazing i didn't quit sooner

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nyababymao · 1 year

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Anyone else feel like neteyam should've had a hinted romance between him and aonung like lo'ak and tsireya did?

Cause i feel like because he was destined to be death fodder, neteyam doesn't really get a character arc and instead just has like character points in regards to other characters to help *their* character developments. Like he's a good soldier son to contrast against lo'ak and further define the conflict between lo'ak and jake and a good older brother so as to be the mediator when his siblings get into conflicts and fights and that's all still good character points but unlike lo'ak, who has an implied love interest, bond with a special animal, and explored internal conflict; kiri who has her oddly intricate and well-controlled connection to the sealife, her deeper friendship with spider, and her own internal conflicts regarding her mother; and spider, who has his frustrating love-hate bond with his recom father, his strained relationship with neytiri, and the gap that comes from him being human biologically but na'vi in everything else; neteyam really doesn't have any personal character points or conflicts that gets explored.

Him being the good soldier son is only ever discussed in comparison to lo'ak as the rebellious son and not really a conflict that he also has with his father that later gets resolved like lo'ak's, him used to being the future leader of his clan is just never explored even though I feel like that would have been a huge part of his character, his relationship to jake and neytiri ends up being more build up for their reaction to and effects of him dying rather then any development for neteyam himself, and even the idea of him feeling pressured by being the oldest son is in a way given to lo'ak when he says he and aonung are the same because both they feel pressure. I mean I'm sure they do but I get the feeling if neteyam wasn't originally planned to be death fodder, he would've been involved during that moment.

The entire movie, neteyam just feels overly sidelined in comparison to rhe other characters and is only ever brought up to be further compared to lo'ak or to play 'the good son'. He doesn't really get any personal goals or drive or anything that is his arc and his alone. And it's a shame because I feel like they could've added in an aonung/neteyam background romance and gave him that tiny bit of personal character development.

I mean, aonung and neteyam were already interacting quite a bit(for how minor their contribution to the plot is, I’m not saying they had many interactions overall) between that glance they gave each other when they first met to when they fought each other and they could've built upon that to quietly imply a romance happening in the background. Maybe one big scene where they make up and aonung apologizes for endangering lo'ak and that leads into a small moment of "i get it, being the eldest and future leader is tough" kinda thing. Then some little moments of them exchanging words like 'goodnight's or netting fish together in the background, etc....and then having aonung uncharacteristically wail in agony and anger when neteyam's body is brought back. He was already crying at neteyam's funeral gathering so it really would not have been too hard to give neteyam this little piece of character development. Not to mention it would've then been a great way to lead into aonung getting a bigger role in a third movie.

I just think it would've been cool if neteyam was explored more then what we got and this is one way they could've done it. And it’s like, if lo’ak and tsireya gets to be love interests, why can’t neteyam and aonung be too? You can’t say it’s because lo’ak and tsireya has more chemistry or is more well written/developed because they literally start liking each other and their relationship is hinted at literally the second they first laid eyes on each other 😐

#avatar #avatar way of water #neteyam #aonung #neteyam x aonung #aonung x neteyam

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bomber-grl · 3 months

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General grover dating headcanons ⋆°🌱

~ ⋆｡‧𖦹 Grover Underwood x Gn!Reader

Grover is the absolute sweetest 😭🫶

Ofc he’s super sassy too but that’s besides the point

Grover initially is a bit hesitant on acting on his crush on you

Especially if you’re a demigod and mostly because he’s just shy like that

He needs some obvious encouragement and gets a good amount of it from annabeth and Percy

I mean, from first glance Grover has been attracted to you and just you as a person overall

Unfortunately he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to be your friend just yet but that was one of his main goals

He eventually began running into you, usually at the pavilion when he would talk to Percy or if you work at the strawberry fields then he gets to know you

Otherwise you’re introduced by Percy, his wingman

He’s so painfully awkward around you it sorta endearing 😭

He really doesn’t know how to romance you or even begin trying to get close to you as a friend so he’s definitely struggling with that

It’s not until he finds a subject that your interested in and he might even go as far as watching the show, reading the book I mean anything to have common ground 😭

I mean to even date Grover you’d have to be in touch with nature so if you’re an advocate for nature and have an appreciation for it and it’s animals then he’s even more enamored with you

Especially if you confront people on it because he sometimes doesn’t have the confidence to

Anyway, the way you two started dating was around the time or maybe a little after he was rescued in sea of monsters

Dude really realized how scared and how fast things can pass so he tries his best to hype himself up and Percy does the same

Annabeth too but tries to not bring up the actual probability-

Anyway

You’re both probably done tending to the strawberries or maybe after lunch time

You’re both grateful to just be alive and well at camp and you both decide to go for a walk since it’d been awhile

You both walked past trees and it got to a certain point where Grover just sat down and asked you to join him

He had planned this a million times, rehearsed it to the point it was engraved into his mind-

“I like you”

Huh?

You had just confessed to him in a seconds impulsivity when this guy had been mentally preparing your whole friendship

EVEN BEFORE

his jaw drops and gave up on trying to create a romantic atmosphere

He just turns to you deflated and admits that he was planning on confessing

And when you noticed his demeanor you had asked how long he’d been planning to, thus him explaining the embarrassingly long amount of time he put into his plan

He was so embarrassed and his face showed just that

All you could really do was laugh at his expression and find it endearing

Of course you two end up together after that and Grover, despite his previous sulking, was a very happy saytr

Now onto the actual hcs

Grover is so romantic 😭🫶

He’s constantly getting you things that are mostly little trinkets

He’d even offer to play you a song despite his obvious embarrassment

He always goes out to show you things and show you pretty rocks or anything really

It’s so endearing and once you let him know this thought-

Grover’s being practically evaporates from the earth

He’s slow to be more affectionate but his overall demeanor and shy smile on his face shows he’s more than welcoming to it

He loves to hug 😭

I mean he’s slow to and a bit shy but he loves to

Like seriously

He’s always smiling when hugging you and it’s his favorite thing

You’re practically glued together at this point

He isn’t too big on kissing kissing but he loves to kiss your cheeks

Especially if they’re chubbier then he likes showing affection that way

He’s honestly the best

Especially with how often he gifts you stuff and always wanting to go on little dates

Of course he takes into consideration what sort of things you like but his ass does NOT have real money 💀

So it’s sorta a plot hole but u still love his dirt poor ass

#gn reader #male reader #fanfic #female reader #fluff #fanfic fluff #fluff headcanons #pjo x reader #pjo fanfic #pjo fanfiction #pjo fandom #pjo series #pjoverse #grover underwood #grover pjo #grover x reader

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vasito-de-leche · 2 months

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Hi! I read about your super cool Self Aware R1999 AU and it got me thinking about what Sonetto would be like, since I have a 100% bond with her in the suitcase.

Would she try to keep normalcy? Have a brand new idle line? Perhaps pull a Monika DDLC and start writing poetry where she tries to grapple with the fact that there’s an eldritch being puppeteering her best friend?

;R1999 SONETTO - Self-Aware AU

Headcanons about how Sonetto would act upon becoming self-aware. Related to this Self-Aware AU post.

glad you like the AU! this was a nice chance to explore Sonetto's character more <3

To organize my thoughts better, I gotta talk about Sonetto first for a bit.

I definitely talked about this with a few friends, but Sonetto is a wonderful character to me because I both dislike and feel for her a lot - especially in the new 1.4 Main Story update. The emphasis the game puts into her role as a military dog (raised to follow orders and die for a cause she doesn't truly understand) and a lost puppy (a curious and dependant child believing her caretakers have the best of intentions) really lives up to the way she portrays these same traits. Yes, it's awful to see her continue to perpetuate the harmful ideas the Foundation taught her, but it makes sense. Yes, it's lovely to see her slowly break away from everything she's ever known, and yet revert back to her habits because change is difficult. The way she works perfectly as a foil to Vertin, it's so good!

To me, Sonetto is a character that resists change, while yearning for it at the same time. That's why her Medium is curiosity, after all. It's so lovely and ironic to see THE perfect example of a Foundation martyr being set up for failure in something that they couldn't have even foreseen, her own Medium, her own innate curiosity.

So with this in mind, I think that within the Self-Aware AU ... I think she would be able to deal with this sudden awareness of everything being fake, because her first reaction would be to assume there's something wrong with herself for thinking something so outlandish, so beyond what she was taught. Sonetto would still resist this change - if this is a game, then she's not meant to be aware of it, therefore she's the one at fault and perhaps, broken in a way.

Maybe "broken" is too heavy of a word, I imagine it's more like she believes she broke the rules by gaining this level of sentience. That it' wasn't supposed to happen in the first place.

How would she act overall?

I feel like Sonetto would be relatively fine upon becoming sentient because of this, she'd be shaken but would continue to do as expected and follow the script like a proper little chess piece, one of the many cogs needed in the machine - her reasoning is simple: if everyone who is self-aware began to act out, there wouldn't be a game to play. And what would happen to her friends, then? If this stability that the plot and script brings is suddenly gone?

There would be times where she might slip up, but they'd be very subtle changes in the her dialogue - perhaps the inflection of her voice, rather than the words - she might pause for longer to think, to consider whether to do anything outside of what she's expected to. But that's about it.

The problem begins when she finds out (or is told) that the Foundation had known this truth about the world they live in for longer than she's been alive. Sonetto remains docile entirely to keep that order and harmony she's been raised to maintain, but to find out that the very people who taught her that have known and done nothing but lie to everyone - that would be the catalyst for her.

Personally, I like to think that this is something she figures out on her own, rather than being told. A truth she must face on her own instead of just accepting someone else's words.

Her behaviour would still largely remain the same whenever she knows she has a part to play, but in those moments when she knows there's no "camera" looking at her, Sonetto would... sit there. WIth the way I've interpreted Sonetto, she's a character that struggles to actually have an identity outside of the Foundation's training, so now that this is something she can't rely on, she's at a loss as to what to do with this newfound freedom.

I imagine this is when other arcanists who were self-aware before her would start reaching out to Sonetto and slowly give her that stability she needs.

On the subject of Sonetto's relationship with Vertin.

The way I interpreted Sonetto and Vertin's dynamic, I don't see them as best friends!

From reading back some scenes and transcribing most of CH 03 of the Main Story, it feels like both Sonetto and Vertin have always found themselves in a one-sided relationship: when they were kids, Sonetto rejected Vertin's attempts at becoming friends because of their differences, even if they were both curious about each other. They never striked me as close. Now that years have passed, Vertin treats Sonetto similar to how she treats everyone else, while Sonetto explicitly wants to be closer to Vertin due to what happened when they were kids.

To me, Vertin has shown more emotion to Schneider and Madam Z than to Sonetto. There's this one-sided dynamic again.

In the context of the AU, I think Sonetto finding out about what Vertin goes through with this entity and this role that the game forced upon her, she would double down on her feelings to protect Vertin. There's a lot of guilt involved, since - once again - that's what the Foundation teaches to all orphan arcanists, to repent for their unruly and destructive existence.

I think Sonetto would feel guilty for not gaining sentience sooner, while Vertin has been struggling with this heavy weight for God knows how long. She would recontextualize everything about Vertin, her actions and the differences that constantly got her into trouble as a child, her desire to escape - attributing all of it to this entity that follows her. Because I do think that Sonetto idolizes Vertin to a degree that fuels this one-sided dynamic between them, not out of malice of course, just like a puppy.

So in the end, Sonetto would resent the Player and worry even more for Vertin, now using this as a justification for acting out of line and out of script, as Vertin's self-imposed protector.

It would take Sonetto a looooooong time to do anything with her sentience and freedom, beyond continuing to support Vertin. Her poems and her art would reflect this progress slowly, but yeah, not a lot of noticeable changes.

Reaching 100% Bond with Sonetto.

This is a very conflicting event for Sonetto, I'd say.

The more attention you pay to her, the more aware she becomes of your influence - and now she has to come to terms with the fact that there is no way of separating you from Vertin. She can't free Vertin from this fate, and it doesn't look like she wants that to happen either, but it eats Sonetto from inside out. Because she doesn't understand, and she wants to know why this is the way things are meant to be.

When it comes to reaching 100% Bond with her, or levelling her up and so on, I don't think she'd pay much attention to the mechanical aspect of it all. She's a skilled arcanist, she's the first important character the game gives to you during the tutorial stages, she knows just how important her Disarm ability can be to win a battle - of course you would want her on your team.

But as she slowly spends more time with Vertin and the Player, I think Sonetto would start to wonder about the outside world. They're small, little and impulsive thoughts in the back of her mind, like wondering if you too have someone in this fictional little world that you care about enough to see the story through the end. Are you capable of loving someone that can't reach out to you nor acknowledge your presence? Isn't it cruel, for those who remain blind to the truth, to be so loved and cherished by you?

Do you read the newspaper the same way Vertin does? Do you care about her? About her goals and dreams and thoughts?

This is the only way Sonetto can reconcile this resentment she has for you: through Vertin. I think Vertin would eventually notice all these subtle changes, the way Sonetto never looks truly happy whenever she looks at Vertin, looking above as if she could catch a glimpse of the Player. And Vertin would help through the whole process, easing up to sentience as a whole, to accepting the Player's existence as just something that is there, neither good or bad.

While she's one of the very few who has no trouble differentiating your actions and influence from Vertin's own free will, she would eventually come to respect your choices. Doing her best and beyond whenever you choose her to battle, because now the stakes are higher - now, she's choosing to fight for something she fully understands and cares about.

I like to think that Sonetto can't hear you, but she might be able to see you. Little glimpses here and there, when she happens to look up at the sky, and she sees you cheering after beating that one level that's been giving you a headache. I like to think that she would share these details about you with Vertin, if only to ease her own mind about the complex dynamic you have with THE Timekeeper.

But at the end of the day, this is progress and these are many changes that happen out of your field of vision. Perhaps, one day, Sonetto will gather the courage to thank you for taking care of Vertin when no one else would.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #self aware au #reverse 1999 sonetto #sonetto

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