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#five is a little NERD and you KNOW it

keyotos · 11 months

Text

he does it so well

summary ⎯ hot things they do.

includes ⎯ dan heng, gepard, blade, sampo, & jing yuan.

tana's words ⎯ struggling with writing requests rn so i wrote something short to clear writer's block. im sorry guys i'll get to them soon i promise 😭

dan heng

⎯ waits for you before turning the page on a book. he notices that you are reading along with him and waits for you to signal that you're ready before carrying on.

⎯ private > public. he will brush your hand in public but he will be all over you in private. instead of only brushing your hand, dan heng will be brushing up on you. more touchy in private than in public.

⎯ pushes the hair out of your face when it's getting in your way. but he does it in a more sensual way. his fingers graze your lips as he agonizingly drags his hand through your hair.

⎯ long day? melts into your body at night. runs his hands up and down your arms as a way to relieve stress?? leans his head into your neck and sighs so dreamily??? like hello?? lips grazing your neck???

⎯ hot morning voice. raspy and rough. also kind of scratchy. when he tells you, "five more minutes," how could you say no to THAT voice? he knows of this effect and makes sure to use it to his full advantage

⎯ very observant. knows everything you like; knows your routines; knows you. he's the first to compliment you if you got a haircut or new outfit/nails/whatever. it always make you blush bc how is he always the first one to figure these things out?!?@#$%

⎯ gets jealous a little too easily. doesn't do anything verbal about it. opts for being a little more touchy than usual. he thinks it's embarrassing and he wants to hide his face into his pillow when you tease him about it.

⎯ lip biter. not when y'all are kissing, but when he tries to hide his smile or his laugh he bites his lip. you find it so cute and you just want to grab him and just connect your lips with his.

⎯ nerd. hot sexy nerd. he'll tell you about animals and mitosis and python and he's just so intelligent. helps you with problem solving things (probably puzzles idk) and he stands/leans over you with his breath dancing on the back of your neck.

⎯ jawline kisser. if he wants something from you he gives chaste kisses to your jawline. he does that when he's bored too ig. very big on jaw kisses and secretly loves when you flush because of them.

gepard

⎯ blushes when you compliment him. he looks so adorable you just wanna pinch his cheeks and smother him. he gets even more embarrassed

⎯ big domestic guy. ntm on casual stuff or situationships. if he wants you, he'll let you know (even if he's blushing his way through it).

⎯ he is not shy. in the beginning he might be a little shy, but later on the relationship he'll get bolder. chaste kisses on the lips becomes long make-out sessions on his bed after a rather tiring day on the front lines. and if he hasn't seen you in a while... i will let you guys interpret.

⎯ leans down to listen to you. he's literally gigantic and when he LEANS DOWN just to hear what you say... and it's so innocent too but the way you look up at him doesn't make it so innocent anymore...

⎯ pins you to the wall on accident. may or may not be inspired by teenage dream. anyway, he does a lot of hot things on accident and doesn't even realize it. so you are trying not to explode while gepard is enjoying his merry day while caging you underneath him.

⎯ acts like a knight since u always make jokes that he's your "knight in shining armor." so dedicated that he kisses your knuckles out of nowhere and it makes you want to FAINT. like you could be reading and (out of nowhere) he takes your hand away from your book and kisses ur knuckles. AND HE HOLDS EYE CONTACT WHILE DOING IT.

⎯ flirty without knowing it. says something cute and flirty but doesn't realize it until you say something. and he says it so calmly too; like drops it into a convo

⎯ runs a hand through your hair before you two sleep. he just wants to keep you close and he just wants to feel you because he never gets to come home often.

⎯ ROLLS UP. HIS SLEEVES. TO HIS FOREARMS. he does this when he's particularly stressed. like come here i can show you a way to destress (i'm so sorry).

blade

⎯ he's only shirtless when YOU are around. he trusts you enough to show all of himself around you. you are reliable and trustworthy enough to be able to know the entirety of him: his body, his mind, his past, etc.

⎯ intensely loyal to you. like if he had to choose between the world and you he would obviously choose you. would do anything for you, would buy anything for you, would steal anything for you: you guys get the gist.

⎯ he's so loving only towards you. silver wolf and kafka like to tease him for it (especially silver wolf... bc how can he play a game with you and not her). he does little things for you, like picking lint off of your outfit or pulling your hair back when you're eating something. or pulling your hair back when you're doing something...

⎯ LOVES when you wear his clothing. his shirt his jacket ANYTHING. whatever it is, he will be going crazy for it. has a thing for when you wear his shirts; you just look so good and you're wearing something that's HIS. not anyone else's; HIS SHIRT.

⎯ has a little possessive streak. it's not a weird and overprotective possessive thing tho. more so, "no silver wolf you are not going to force them to play games with you." maybe it's more overprotective than possessive, but secretly he wants you all to himself and he does NOT want to share.

⎯ speaking of being overprotective, he is also just regular protective. he walks on the side near the road so you don't have to. he grabs your arm to pull you away from something dangerous. he shields you so he'll get hit before you. yk, cute stuff like that. your safety is his priority, no matter what.

⎯ he is the type to be like, "who did this to you??" and he WILL be hunting that person down. but not without urgently caring for you first.

⎯ his touch is so filled with emotion, genuineness, earnestness, and sincere. i hc that blade doesn't have much relationship experience and he isn't very wordy, so when he hugs you or touches you, all of his emotions are poured into his hands/fingers/etc. all of what he feels for you (which is very much) is shown in his physical touch.

sampo

⎯ MANSPREADS. i said it. HE IS A MANSPREADER. elbows resting on top of his knees as he says something super coy or flirty towards you, and sometimes you even have to PHYSICALLY avert your eyes away.

⎯ a tease. if you lean in for a kiss, he'll lean backwards. if he's missing you, his fingertips will dance along the bare skin of your sides, and then he'll pull away to make you want him as much as he wants you. he is so INFURIATING.

⎯ if he flusters you and you blush n try to cover your face with something (literally anything), he'll grab whatever you're holding so he could see your face. to him, you look the prettiest when you're smiley and flustered, such as in those situations.

⎯ if you're going on a long tangent about something, he'll kiss you on your lips randomly. he doesn't mind your rambling, he thinks it's adorable, which is why he does it. it always leaves you with your jaw dropped before you could continue what you were saying.

⎯ the type to lock himself in a closet with you but on accident. you guys don't know how you two even got into that situation, but sampo is with you, so he couldn't be happier. big quality time guy.

⎯ brings you little trinkets or gifts based on his "business" adventures. whenever he sees something, he gets it for you. his mind is usually racing about you anyway, so he can't help himself when he develops a spending problem because of you

⎯ sings with you to songs. you could be singing in the shower and then you hear this agitating, grating voice. he's a terrible singer, but he'll do anything as long as you're there with him, so he sings with you anyway.

jing yuan

⎯ wakes up and the first thing he does is admire you. he studies every single one of your facial features, acting as if he's never seen them before when he wakes up to your face every day. he finds beauty all around you: in your sleeping face, on the bridge of your nose, the pout of your lips when you're asleep. he just loves all of you.

⎯ a flirt and PROUD. he's bold with his quips. not afraid of initiating affection in public but he prefers private which i think is much sexier.

⎯ neck kisser. heavy on neck kisses (especially in the morning). practically an entire body kisser tbh. he can't get enough of you, and in a world where loneliness strives (immortality), he's grateful that he has you for the time being.

⎯ grabs your chin and tilts your head up if he wants you. he doesn't do it forcefully, more like a gentle smush. he locks eyes with you and omfg it makes your heart beat sm. like why are you looking at me LIKE THAT. so sensually or whateva....

⎯ urges you to come closer to him so he can whisper something in your ear. when do you come closer to him, he pulls you by the waist and gets super close to your ear. like lips brushing your ear. and he blows a raspberry in it. so stupid but too lovable.

⎯ lies down in your lap if you two are lounging together. since he's so busy, he doesn't get to lounge around often, so he likes to be as close to you as possible.

⎯ if he wants to kiss you, you will know. not because he'll tell you. but because of the specific LOOK he gives you. his eyes are narrowed under the spell of seduction, focusing only on your lips. his mouth is slightly parted like he is ready to kiss you, and the way he tilts his head down...

⎯ patient for you. will wait for you even when he is dying to feel you once again. he has to deal with yanqing so he holds a lot of patience. but he won't rush you with anything, lets you move at your own pace, and gives you help if needed. overall sweet guy.

i hope this motivates me into finishing my requests

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #gepard x reader #gepard x you #blade x reader #blade x you #hsr blade #gepard landau x reader #sampo x reader #sampo koski #sampo x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you

13K notes · View notes

lucyandthepen · 9 months

Text

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

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

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really won’t help me?”

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

“I didn’t say that.”

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

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

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

“There’s no one better than you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, really?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

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

But it just isn’t the right time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got a ride?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you know this because?”

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

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

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

“You don’t want it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you to have it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I would.”

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

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

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

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

“Are you going to be here all day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

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

“Mark, wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He must really want you there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m inviting you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The what?”

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

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

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

“How do you know this?”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Respect what?”

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

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

“You were jealous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even when I’m jealous?”

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

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

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

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t want to?”

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

“You seem worried.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark, please—”

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

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Won’t you show me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then take me.”

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

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

“You’re not—?”

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

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

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

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do that again.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re all mine.”

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thisiswhereikeepdcthings · 3 months

Text

My take on stalker!Tim:

Robin!Jason gets distracted during a patrol and doesn’t meet up with Batman, who panics is mildly concerned. Jason doesn’t want to reveal the real reason he got distracted (could be something he was working on for Bruce or just him being a cute baby nerd) so he makes something up the spot. A kid! He saw a kid. It was definitely child shaped. And. Uh. Photography! That’s right, he saw a kid taking photos and made sure he got home safe.

Batman: Photography?

Robin!Jason: Yeah, uh, nighttime photography.

Batman: At midnight?

Robin: I mean, it’s not a school night.

Batman: What were they taking pictures of?

Robin, panicking and going to the first thing he can think of ch just so happens to be last Sunday when Dick called Bruce an emotionally repressed furry: Uh, wildlife?

Bruce is skeptical but honestly he’s seen weirder things even tonight so as long as the kid got home safe…

Jason proceeds to use this same excuse a few more times.

Batman: Don’t tell me, it was the kid again.

Robin!Jason: You just missed him.

Batman, who isn’t feeling strong parental feelings at all: Hrn.

Okay so then fast forward a few years. Jason is on his little murder training gap year and Tim has shown up to the manor trying to fix the disaster that is currently Bruce Batman Wayne. Dick, trying to bond with the kid now that it’s apparent he’s not going anywhere, asks what Tim’s interests are.

Tim: Well, I like photography, and…

Dick, putting two and two together and getting forty-seven: Ohmygosh you’re the kid.

Tim: The what now?

Dick: The kid with the wildlife photography.

Tim, thinking about that one competition he entered a year ago: Uh, I guess?

Dick thinks that’s how Tim figured out all their identities. He thinks he has it all figured out. He does not. Bruce now thinks he has it figured out too. He does not. Tim is unaware there was something to be figured out. Jason is off learning the finer points of poisoning or something idk.

So skip forward some more and Jason is back, minus some murder attempts or whatever because this is crack, and Dick is now trying to get his two brothers comfortable with each other. It is not working. Finally, Dick remembers they’ve definitely met before.

Dick: So, do you remember meeting Tim before?

Jason, whose memory resembles Swiss cheese but is fairly certain he never met Tim before now: Uh…

Dick: He’s the kid! The one with the wildlife photography!

Jason, suddenly remembering the excuse he used several times as Robin: The what now?

Tim, knowing full well that Jason was very dead at the time he submitted anything in a wildlife category: The what now?

Jason pulls Tim into a hall closet to interrogate him about this.

Tim: There’s like five rooms right here that no one has stepped in in a month. Why are we in a closet?

Jason: What, exactly, did Dick mean by you were the one with the wildlife photography, because I’m pretty sure that was just an excuse I made up but now I don’t know.

They figure it out. They also agree to just let that belief be. Jason doesn’t want to admit he made that all up. Tim doesn’t want to admit he thought Dick had gone to his art competition thing before they even officially met. Tim also doesn’t want to explain how he actually figured out their identities because this sounds way cooler. So they decide to just roll with it.

Damian shows up and tries to hunt down Tim’s early photos of Batman. Tim and Jason get really into making it look like he just keeps missing it. Barbara knew about all of this the entire time but no one asked her so she didn’t bother to fill them in.

Everyone else that joins the family after that point and hears the story of Jason and Tim supposedly meeting while Jason was Robin has the exact same response: “Oh, ‘cause Batman’s a furry. Right.”

#and that’s how jason and tim bonded through misunderstandings and calling batman a furry #something dick unknowingly started #bruce is so done #jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #batman #batfam #batkids #what do you mean dc doesn’t stand for disregard canon

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hairmetal666 · 11 months

Text

The note shows up in Eddie's mailbox cubby on Valentine's Day.

It's nothing fancy, loopy cursive handwriting on lined paper:

"I know this is probably silly but I can't go another day without saying it, and today seems appropriate for this kind of confession. Seeing you in the morning is the best part of my day. You're so gorgeous it leaves me breathless. I hope you don't mind if I don't leave my name. Just wanted you to know that you're beautiful."

His eyes fill with tears that he blinks back, a goofy smile stretching his mouth wide.

"You good there, Munson?" Robin Buckley asks.

"Oh, yup, yeah, all good." He laughs. "Just got one of those 'you're my favorite teacher Mr. Munson!' notes."

He squeezes the letter to his chest before slipping it in his pocket.

---

The worst thing about Eddie's new job is that someway, somehow, Steve-fucking-Harrington works here too. PE teacher, JV basketball coach, of-fucking-course. Once a douchebag jock, always a douchebag jock. What makes it all worse is that he's still the prettiest guy Eddie's ever seen.

---

The first week of March, there's a commotion in the hallway that has him rushing out of his room, ready to breakup a fight. He finds Harrington already there, holding Dustin Henderson and Will Byers by their shoulders. Troy Walsh and James Dante stand across from them, wearing matching snarls.

Of course Harrington is picking on little nerd kids; he knew it. But before he steps forwards to break it up, Steve speaks, voice low and angry. "You want to tell me what happened here, Troy?"

"Byers tripped. He really should watch where he's going," Troy says. James laughs.

Steve's glare goes even more icy, more disdainful (it's so fucking hot, Eddie hates it). "You want to take that again? And try being honest this time, or you're suspend from the team."

Troy splutters for long enough that Eddie finally notices Will's stricken face, the sketchpad and snapped colored pencils littering the linoleum.

"I saw you take those things from Will, and unfortunately, I'll have to call your parents and you will be responsible for purchasing a new sketchbook and pencils. You're also benched for the next four games."

The boys shout, but when Steve raises a hand they quiet immediately. "You want to complain more, or do you want it to be five games?"

"No, sir," they answer before scampering off.

Harrington faces Dustin and Will. "You boys okay?" he asks them.

"We're good, Mr. H," Dustin answers.

"Glad to hear it." Steve begins collecting Will's ruined belongings, stops to study one of the drawings.

"This is really good, Will."

Will flushes. "Thanks. It's my character for dnd,"

"Dnd? That's that game that El and Max are always talking about? With the character sheets and the dice?"

"Yeah!" says Dustin. "You know it?"

Steve's smile is a little bashful, and it tugs at Eddie's heart in a way he has to ignore. "Not much. Just from what the girls have said. You want to tell me about it?"

"Really?" Their eyes light up.

"Really. You can stop by the gym during lunch. Only if you want to, though."

"Cool," says Dustin.

He pats them both on the shoulder, and they hurry away, leaving Steve and Eddie suddenly alone.

Eddie should head back to his class, hasn't been needed in this situation at all, really, but before he can disappear, Steve spots him and his eyes widen.

"You need something, Munson?" Steve's cheeks go a faint pink.

He shakes his head, feels wrong-footed. "Uh, that was really cool what you did just there."

"They're really good kids," Steve says. "I know them a little. Used to babysit El Hopper." He slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis and, seriously, fuck Harrington for looking like that in a pair of Dockers.

"Babysitter, Harrington? Never thought I'd see the day. Or that you'd be the one defending a bunch of nerds," Eddie says. He means it teasing, but Steve's face warps into a frown.

"Y--yeah, I guess. I mean. I'm trying not to be that guy anymore, and Robin's really helped--"

"Shit, man, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant, at all--"

"--I feel terrible about all that shit I pulled back in school. That King Steve stuff? I was awful and you didn't deserve--"

"Steve!" Eddie cuts him off. "I forgive you. For everything." He looks down at his shoes. "For all I didn't want to believe it, you really have changed."

They're both pink faced now, avoiding each other's eyes. "Thanks," Steve says. "I should get going, but--for the future-- I really wouldn't mind--um--trying to be friends."

The grin that passes across Eddie's face is huge. "Yeah, Harrington, I'd like that."

Eddie has to run to make it to his classroom on time. He passes Dustin and Will and the rest of their gaggle of friends, rushing them along, but forgets all about it as he steps in front of his third period juniors.

---

He and Steve are...friendly now. They chat, they joke, they share smiles that have Eddie's heart beating too fast even though it's not like that. Turns out Steve is kind and funny (a little bit of a bitch too, but in a way that ties Eddie's stomach in knots), and a hell of a teacher.

---

His freshman are in small groups, peer-reviewing an essays, when Max Mayfield catches his eye. She's one of his favorite students and absolute trouble.

"What's up, Mayfield." He asks.

"Are you friends with Mr. Harrington?" She asks.

He chuckles. "Sure, Max, we're friendly enough. Why?"

She narrows her eyes, like she knows he's not being totally honest. "Oh, nothing. He just talks about you all the time."

He's blushing horribly and Max, and all of her friends, smirk up at him. "He does?" He chokes out.

"Mmhmm," Lucas Sinclair says. "Says he thinks you're really cool."

"Definitely one of the best teachers here," Mike Wheeler adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, very funny, guys. How're your essays going?"

They answer, but before Eddie goes to help another group, Will says, "he really does like you, Mr. Munson. A lot."

El nods earnestly up at him. "It is true," she says. "I know him."

"Thanks, kids. I'll keep that in mind." He gives them a smile, tries not to let their words get to him. When he reaches the next group, though, he notices his hands are shaking.

---

Gifts start turning up in Eddie's cubby. It starts with a bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from his favorite bakery. There's a small note that says "from your secret admirer," on the packaging. Every two weeks or so, something new shows up in his little mailbox; a woven friendship bracelet, a yellow rose, Hershey kisses, a delicately painted dnd figure that gives Eddie a small crisis because it's his own bard character, an Iron Maiden cassette, a bag of dice that almost brings him to genuine tears.

Eventually, he gets another note. This one is typed and reads: "I would love to have coffee with you 11am this Saturday at the Cafe on Main Street."

---

He walks into the cafe at 10:50am, wearing his favorite pair of ripped black jeans and a burgundy button-down, his hair pulled into a loose bun. He doesn't recognize anyone there.

Eddie gets in line, studies the menu, and the little bell above the door rings. He whips towards the sound to find none other than Steve Harrington in little wire rim glasses, a butter colored sweater, and jeans the man must have painted on, Jesus Christ. Honestly, the whole thing is enough to give Eddie a coronary (and to, embarrassingly, chub up in his own tight jeans).

"Steve?" He asks. He's overwhelmed with the (stupid, stupid) hope that it's been Harrington all along. "What are you doing here?"

"Henderson asked me to meet him. He around?"

"Uh, no?" Eddie feels heat creeping up his throat.

Steve shakes his head, as though he expected as much. "You alone? We could grab drink."

"I can't believe this." Eddie hides his face in his hands, knows it's gone horrifyingly crimson.

"What's wrong?"

"My secret admirer told me to be here now, so we could meet," Eddie's misery slices through his words. "I'm such an idiot."

"I--your--what?" Steve stammers.

He gathers himself enough to look Steve in his hazel eyes and ask, "I'm assuming it wasn't you leaving notes and gifts for me at work?"

And he expects Steve to say no. To laugh and ask why he'd ever do something like that, but instead, instead he flushes a deep red. "O-only one note."

"What?"

"I, uh," Steve clears his throat. "I left you a note. On Valentine's Day. I--we weren't friends yet, and I wanted you to know how much I liked you. It's --uh--it's pretty silly, huh? Robin's--"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts. He's going to tell Steve that he reads the note often enough that he has parts memorized; that it's the kindest thing anyone has done for him, but what he says instead is, "Dustin Henderson told you to meet him here at 11?"

"Yeah. Said he had something to show me."

Eddie remembers running into Will and Dustin and their friends that day in the hall, the weird conversation in class, the dice and the miniature. Something must click for Steve at the same time because his mouth drops, blush getting somehow deeper.

"Oh my god. Henderson! I'm gonna kill him. They figured out I had a crush on you."

"They WHAT?" Eddie says, loud enough that several looks are aimed their way.

"I'm so, so sorry, Eddie. Holy shit, this is so humiliating. You have to believe me, I had no idea they were doing this. God, I'm really starting to think it is possible to die from embarrassment."

"You have a crush on me," Eddie says instead of any of the dozens of helpful things he could say.

"Um. Yes?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and asks, "You wanna have coffee with me?"

"I'd really like that." Steve's return smile is so beautiful, it makes Eddie weak.

---

Eddie Munson is making out with Steve Harrington in the backseat of Steve's BMW. He and Steve spent the day together. They've kissed for so long that the sun has set, both of their lips are swollen, their skin red from stubble, and Eddie is nowhere near ready for the night to end.

Steve breaks away, gently pulling their mouths apart, but arms still tight around Eddie. "Hey, what kind of gifts were they giving you anyway? The kids?"

"Oh," Eddie blushes. "Uh, cookies, a dnd mini, lots of candy, a set of dice."

"Oh my god," Steve says, he pulls a little more away. "Oh my god, I'm going to kill her, Jesus Christ."

"Who are are you killing, sweetheart?"

Steve groans. "Robin. She was helping them. We found a set of dice at this little bookstore and she told me to get them for you, and--" he breaks off with a helpless, frustrated noise.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he starts to giggle.

"It's not funny!" Steve says.

That only makes Eddie laugh harder. "Your best friend," he squeaks. "And a group of literal children set us up. That's hilarious, Harrington."

Steve's mouth drops and for a second Eddie thinks he'll be upset, but then he's giggling too, his whole face crumpling into it.

Steve pulls Eddie close once the laughter subsides, his eyes trained on Eddie's lips.

"We could pretend we didn't get together," Eddie manages to say.

"What, like, make them think they failed?"

"Yeah. We could tell them I got stood up, but you and I hung out. Had a bro day."

Steve giggles again, and it's the best sound Eddie's ever heard. "I'm absolutely on board with this plan, but you should definitely kiss me some more."

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, his voice low. "And what'll I get out of it?"

"Why don't you get over here and see."

As if Eddie could turn down an invite that enticing. He slides a hand behind Steve's head, drawing him in, and they're kissing like they never stopped. It only been a few hours, but Eddie knows--without a doubt--he's already head over heels.

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pb524830 · 25 days

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team nerd

pairing: paige bueckers x reader word count: 670 c/w: just fluff lol it's really short synopsis: paige is cocky after winning big east scholar athlete of the year a/n: um basically what she was wearing to the men's celebration last night drove me kind of fucking crazy, so!

“I don’t know if you heard…” Paige trails off, leaning against her own door frame and smirking. She’s wearing a gray beanie, her hair looped into a messy bun at the base of her neck, blonde strands falling out of the elastic. Those stupid glasses are perched on her face, a shit-eating grin gracing her mouth. “I’m the team nerd now.”

I roll my eyes. She’s been absolutely insufferable since she won Big East Scholar-Athlete of the Year earlier today. “Paige,” I say tiredly, turning back to my homework. “Does that turn you on?” She teases, collapsing onto the bed. She tries to lay her head in my lap but I shove her away distractedly. I can feel her pouting. “Oh, so you just like me for my looks, huh?” I tear my eyes away from my computer to give her a withering stare. “And when you’re quiet,” I inform her, turning to my backpack to dig around for my phone, thinking that my calculator must be broken because I’m not getting the right numbers.

“Do you need help?” She asks sincerely, sitting up. The thing about Paige is, she is very smart. I know she has that whole dumb blonde thing going on about her, but school just comes easy to her. Sure, she’s not a straight A student, by any means, but she definitely doesn’t need to be as good at school as she is. I sigh, handing her my calculator. “Dude, this is in radian mode,” Paige says, glancing up at me. I blink. “Oh, shit. I need it in degrees. Thanks,” I say, taking it back from her.

She lays her cheek against my knee as I work through the problem again, breathing a sigh of relief when I get the right numbers, finally. “Damn, you really are a nerd,” I tease, submitting the problem set. “Mmm, don’t tell anyone, though,” she hums, shoving my laptop to the side and pushing me gently against her pillows. “You should tell your media team that. I’ve seen like five different posts.” She grins, kissing me softly. “Little do they know I just make my freakishly smart girlfriend do all my homework for me,” she chuckles. I laugh against her lips, edging my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. We both know that’s not true. “Speaking of, we need to talk about payment,” I tease back.

She moves to nuzzle her nose into my neck. “Yeah? Last night wasn’t enough for you?” I roll my eyes, swatting at her shoulder. “Oh, is that why you were begging for more?” I swat at her again, suppressing a laugh. “You’re insufferable,” I chide. “Did you mean ‘extremely intelligent’?” She grins, connecting her lips to mine again.

I ease out from under her to work my way into her lap. Between her crewneck that I’m wearing and her freshly shampooed hair, the scent of her is almost overwhelming. Almost. I dip my head into the junction between her shoulder and her neck and place a soft kiss there. “For the record…” I muse, breathing in her scent, cupping her face. She wraps her arms around my body, squeezing me to her. “Hmm?” She urges. “It does turn me on. Quite a bit, actually.”

I feel her grin at that as I press my mouth to hers, kissing her slowly. “Oh, I bet it does,” she smirks, edging her hands under my (her) crewneck. “What was that GPA again?” I ask slyly, moving my mouth to her ear and kissing just under it. From the way she shudders, I can tell she likes it. “3.93,” she breathes, and I moan softly against her ear. She laughs hoarsely, squeezing my bare waist under my clothes. “That’s hot,” I tell her. I feel her pulse quicken.

“Damn. Now I gotta win this award every year,” Paige groans, shaking her head.

I hover my mouth over hers, biting my lip and smiling at her. “Oh, you better.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #wcbb #fic #uconn wbb #✂️ anon #ncaaw #paige bueckers x reader

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cosmerelists · 5 months

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Pros and Cons of Stormlight Characters in the Middle Seat Next to You on a Budget Airline.

As requested by anon. :)

1. Kaladin

Cons: His legs are so long. His hair is so luxurious. His shoulders are so broad. This large, beautiful man is not trying to be in your space, but the budget airline seat cannot contain him. Pros: You started what you thought was an idle conversation, but by the end of your flight, he had diagnosed your chronic pain and become your therapist??

2. Shallan

Pros: Well, she's more of a regular-sized human and she's friendly but quiet. She seems to just want to sketch the whole flight, so no complaints! Cons: Why does she keep staring directly at a space across the plane and sketching the creepiest symbol-headed creatures you've ever seen with her eyes vaguely glazed over like she doesn't even know she's doing it holy shit is this a Twilight Zone situation where there are invisible gremlin monsters on this plane that only she can see and is it your imagination or do you hear humming from somewhere

3. Adolin

Cons: Listen, this is a budget airline, and this guy seems to think it's a fancy spa?? He's got the slippers, the posh eye mask, the luxurious travel pillow, some really nice face creams, and he seems to be video chatting with a girl even though the internet on the plane doesn't even work. Frankly, you're jealous and grouchy about it. Pros: Okay, he actually seems really sweet and he gave you some of his way-too-nice-for-an-airplane snacks. You take it all back; this guy is awesome.

4. Szeth

Pros: He is so still. So quiet. Almost folded in on himself. Barely...breathing? Honestly, you keep forgetting the middle seat is occupied, and how rare is that! Cons: You just...you think you'd feel better if he just blinked. Just once. Please.

5. Lift

Cons: You had to sigh just a little when a little kid plopped down next to you. Also, she goes to the bathroom every five minutes, and comes back with food every time. You think she might be robbing people. Pros: She complimented your butt quite sincerely. You've always been kinda self-conscious about your butt! But apparently yours is the "second best she's ever seen." Feels nice.

6. Jasnah

Pros: Like, is it possible for someone to just be really good at flying? She came in, expertly stowed her luggage, sat down elegantly, did her seatbelt, used a wipe to clean up the tray table and surrounding area, and immediately starting reading some thick tome. Do you have a crush on her? You might have a crush on her. Cons: She glanced at the book you're reading, and you know she judged you for it.

7. Wit

Cons: Does this guy EVER stop talking? Pros: Okay, actually, you found him kind of annoying at first, but that story he told you about the temple and the duck might have healed years of trauma? Did you just realize that you don't have to forgive your mom and that's okay?

8. Renarin

Pros: He sat down and you were like, "Okay. Cute nerd. I dig it." Cons: You just wish he wouldn't scrawl foreboding-seeming numerals on the back of the airline chair in front of him. Is it counting down to...just before the plane lands? What does it mean???

9. Amarem

Cons: He came in and was IMMEDIATELY like, "I am taller than you and so I should have your seat." And then he just...waited? Like he thought you'd just comply??? Pros: He seems intent on pretending that never happened. Fine by you. That guy seems like an asshole.

10. Zahel

Pros: He falls asleep, like, immediately and doesn't stir for the entire flight. Cons: He's just kinda stinky.

11. Dalinar

Cons: He sits down and, unprompted, says something like, "In my youth I would always battle to occupy every armrest but now, after reading The Way of Planes, I have realized that it is the journey, not the armrests, that matter, so you can have them" and then you're like, "Dude, the person in the middle seat gets the armrests that's just common courtesy" and then he looks at you and you look at him and it's vaguely awkward the whole flight and nobody uses the armrests. Pros: Actually, after a while you do take the armrest and the tension goes down a lot.

12. Taravangian

Pros: He just kinda seems like a nice old man, you know? Kinda confused about stuff, but harmless enough. Cons: He falls asleep partway through and droops his head onto your shoulder and drools a bit and you know you sound ridiculous but it feels somehow calculated. Intentional. Evil.

13. Sebarial

Cons: The very second beverage service starts he's all, "Bring me a BOTTLE of wine" and you're like, "Oh no. It's one of those dudes who gets way too drunk on planes!" Pros: You know? This guy actually seems pretty jolly and chill. You catch yourself thinking, "I wish I could pretend he was my uncle." You're not sure where that came from.

14. Rock

Pros: He scoffs at the provided airline snacks and gets out this thermos and gives you the best damn soup you've ever had in your life. Cons: He's just a large, warm man. Very large. Very warm. Not his fault, of course, but now YOU are very warm.

15. Elhokar

Cons: Every time there is plane turbulence, he mutters something about how it's the assassins coming to finish the job. Poor dude must be really scared of flying. Pros: You feel a warm, parental feeling growing in you as you look at this sad, scared man. Maybe your mom was right. Maybe you WOULD be good with kids.

16. Eshonai

Pros: This lady is, just, SO excited to be traveling that it can't help but make YOU excited to travel. Like, you always thought plane travel sucked, especially budget airline travel, be she is so delighted by everything that you find yourself thinking, "You know, it IS pretty amazing that we're soaring through the sky right now traveling to a new land." Cons: Cons? No cons. You wish you could ALWAYS see flying through this woman's eyes.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #Kaladin #stormlight archives #Shallan #Adolin #Szeth #Dalinar #Taravangian #Amaram #Sebarial #Eshonai #Rock #Renarin #Wit #Hoid #Jasnah #Zahel #Lift

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roanniom · 1 year

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About this post, he would like know all the little known tricks too, like he’d pick up guy and girl-targeted magazines in order to gain as much knowledge as possible. The man is a nerd, he’d absolutely read up on giving a girl head. He knows the ‘come hither’ motion, he knows how to pay attention to the clit, he knows about pacing, and you bet he knows about the ‘seven pleasure points of women’ from Friends.

Critical Hit

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, fingering

I’m just imagining Eddie Munson looking at you naked for the first time and just freezing. You think it’s cute and so you’re all gentle and sweet and encouraging and you just lay back and let him explore you.

But within 0.5 seconds he’s got his fingers in your pussy and his mouth on your tits and he’s sucking and thrusting and rubbing and you are writhing beneath all the attention.

“I thought you didn’t know what you’re doing!” you accuse with a yelp, eyes rolling back in your head.

He pulls off your breast with a pop and looks at you with a furrowed brow and wet, pouting lips.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” he insists anxiously. But his fingers keep fucking you and your legs try to close in on his hand, back arching off the bed.

“What the fuck, Munson! Are you hustling me? I’m - mmm - it’s been like five minutes and I’m already - fuck!”

He perks up at that, using the hand not inside you to pet at your clit. The pressure is irregular but somehow exactly what you need??

“You’re already what?” he asks. Incredulous and eager and way too much like a puppy. “Do you mean you’re gonna cum?”

“Fuuuck…” you whine, dragging a pillow over and covering your face with it, really in order to bite into it. You feel embarrassed about being so easy for him, and for assuming he’d be some lost teenager when it came to your body. Virgin or not, Eddie Munson was playing you like one of his guitars and you were about to snap.

“No no don’t hide! That’s not fucking fair,” Eddie all but whines like a petulant child, tugging at the pillow till you let go of it weakly. His eyes blow wide and his fingers pick up the pace on your sopping wet, clenching pussy. “Are you…are you drooling? Cuz of me?”

You swipe at the errant spit left at the corner of your mouth from biting the pillow and frown.

“Shut up.”

“That’s fucking hot, Princess,” Eddie says with reverent awe. “You’re so fucking hot.”

You go to respond but can’t because he switches the direction of the swirl on your clit and suddenly you’re coming with a soundless moan that has you gasping open mouthed. Eddie waits patiently through your convulsions, staring at you wide eyed till you drop, spent, back into the sheets. Only then does he punch the air with his fist.

“That seemed like a critical hit of an orgasm if I do say so myself.”

“A critical…wha?” you pant, still not fully back to yourself yet. Left fuzzy and dizzy as you stretch your legs and savor the delicious ache.

“So in DND when you roll a natural 20 - ,”

You throw a pillow and smack him square in the face before he can say another word.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson thots #virgin!eddie munson #eddie munson discourse

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bluesidez · 1 month

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GymRat!Miguel Part 3

content warning: small food mentions, a little suggestive at parts so MINORS BEWARE, sexual tension?? 😗, insecure thoughts about a plus size body (may or may not be triggering for some), a few mean girls, college party, alcohol, drugs, mentions of throw up like once, a bad look for sororities (sorry, y'all are probably very wonderful people)

word count: 3.2k (NOT A DRABBLE WTF 😭) not proofread, if you see a mistake lmk

GymRat!Miguel's workout playlist is here! I had to stop myself from adding more songs because it’s already so long lol. I didn't even include any cool down songs.

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up without having to hobble to the bathroom for once. No morning wood because his dream of you was soft this time. You two were cuddled up on a couch with the world’s most fluffy blanket. He smiles to himself as he drags his feet to the bathroom. It was if dancing clouds and bubbles were floating around his head.

GymRat!Miguel who’s able to sit and chat with Ms. Beatrice longer today because his class doesn’t start until that after noon. He compliments her on the egg sandwich from the other day and she squeezes his cheeks when she thanks him as if he were a baby.

GymRat!Miguel who tinkers in the engineering building as he waits for lunch. He joined the small but mighty robotics team as soon as he found out there was one. There was a fighting robot division, and he needed to figure out the problems with his team’s robot sooner rather than later.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you at the student center having your lunch. He wastes no time to grab his food and book it to your table. He calls your name before he gets there, not wanting to startle you. You smile when you look up surprised to see him there.

"Can I join you?" he says, trying not to seem out of breath with how fast his heart is beating.

"Yeah," you say, arranging your things around. You push your computer to the side as he places his burito bowl on the table. "I'm finally getting to see you outside of lab."

In his mind, he takes a note of you being in the student center at this time. He wants to make eating with you a routine thing.

"What were you watching?" he asks, trying to curb the rush that your presence has on him. He opened up his bowl and started to mix his food, waiting patiently for your answer.

"This is a little embarrassing but," you pause to dump one of your nuggets in sauce. "I was watching someone explain the downfall of Chuck E. Cheese." Your voice gets softer as you finish your sentence, eyes avoiding his gaze.

You were so cute. And it's almost as if you've never met him, the ultimate nerd.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to know why more and more locations went from five animatronics to one. Or how they started to sell their pizzas under ghost kitchens," he says, taking a bite from his bowl.

You looked at him and your smile grew. Miguel could only think 'there she is. there's my girl.'

The two of you chatted about everything from malfunctioning Chuck E's to your classes to your food. Miguel was through the roof.

GymRat!Miguel who offers to carry your art portfolio case for you to the art building. Anything to extend your time together. Plus, why should you have to hold it when he's here? He holds the doors for you and presses the elevator buttons before you can even think to.

GymRat!Miguel who really loves when the elevator door closes and he can look down at as you talk away. Just for those few seconds, the outside world is quiet and it's just you two. In another world, he'd kiss you before the doors open. In another world, he'd tilt your head up and have you look at him when you speak, he wanted to read your eyes too.

You're staring at him expectantly, eyes reminding him of baby deers. He tilts his head at you, wondering why you're staring at him.

"Miguel the door is open. We have to leave before it closes," you say.

He's instantly broke back to reality.

"Right! Sorry," he says, heat rising on the back of his neck. He steps out and holds his hand in front of the opening so that the door doesn't close you.

"Thank you," you say, a giggle under your breath.

Miguel has done some pretty embarrassing things when it comes to you, but he didn't think it would bleed into when he was actually in front of you.

In this world, he needed to not give you the creeps. Get it together.

GymRat!Miguel who is ecstatic that you still want to come work out with him. You all plan to meet that Friday. You don't know what you want to work out, but you say you're excited. Miguel has tonight, Wednesday, and Thursday to plan the perfect workout for you.

Should he go buy a bottle so he can make you a smoothie? Or should he offer to buy you a smoothie afterwards? Do you even like smoothies? Maybe he should invite you to breakfast. Would you want to eat right after you worked out? You needed to eat to make sure you can speed up the healing process though....

GymRat!Miguel who waves you goodbye when it's almost time for your studio class to start, mind filled with so many questions.

Your friend turns to you immediately when Miguel is gone.

"And who was that?" she says, eyes shocked.

"He's a guy from my lab. His name is Miguel," you say, grinning in your hands. You felt like kicking your feet in the air, but alas, no time.

"He's super hot. Like, seriously," your friend says, moving her taboret next to her workspace. "I would hit it. Constantly."

"Please stop talking," you say, laughing along. "I'm not even sure if he goes for girls like me. I'd rather not get my hopes up." You wanted to keep yourself in reality and falling for Miguel might put you too close to the land of delusion. You figured that Miguel was just super nice, especially after you two worked so hard for that lab project.

Your friend stops and looks at you, she slams the liquin tin on the table and puts her hand on her hip.

"First of all, those "types of guys" love big girls, so don't give me that. Second of all, are you not seeing how he looks at you. He's giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes, like, ever." She picks the liquin tin back up and starts scooping aggressively at the sides. "You gotta be more confident! You're gorgeous, anyone with a functioning brain can see that."

You stand there stunned, shocked at your friend's outburst. "I am confident!" Partially true. "I just...don't want to be hurt."

"I understand that, but have you even asked if he likes you or not?"

You shake your head no.

"Exactly. The night is still young," your friend says, pointing her palette knife at you. "And if you don't go for it, I will."

"Oh my god, shut up," you say, throwing a crumbled shop towel at her. You still kept her words in the back of your mind, storing it for later.

GymRat!Miguel who paces in front of the campus gym, waiting for your arrival. He got up extra early and gave himself a pep talk in the mirror. It wasn't a date, per se, but he felt that it could lead to one if he played his cards right. He decided to just invite you out to eat, figuring you would bring your stickered-water bottle.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you before you even call his name. He waves, smile taking over his features. You wave back, and it isn't until you're ten steps away that he finally takes in your full outfit. Another two-piece that was going to be the death of him, the only thing was that this was in the flesh. He cursed under his breath before you got closer, brain short-circuiting at the fabric hugging your skin.

"Ready to go?" he asks, forcing himself to not look at your body and to look at your face.

"Yeah! I'm a little nervous but I'm ready to work," you say, following him to the door.

He opens the doors for you, "Nothing to be nervous about. You're in good hands."

He brings you to his locker so you can put your bag in there, not wanting anyone to snag your belongings.

You guys start at the track, walking a lap as a warm up. Usually Miguel would do a lap or two of jogging, and as much as he wanted to watch you bounce, especially on him, this was a beginner workout. He didn't want to scare you with how intense he can get. While walking, you guys chatted about little things. Miguel tells you how wasn't nearly this big four years ago, ensuring you that the path to get here can be hard. You tell him that you just want be healthy, not caring if you lost weight or gained muscle. Miguel was secretly happy to hear this because he liked your body the way it was, but he would roll with whatever you were feeling.

GymRat!Miguel who helps you stretch. You both sit on the floor and face each other with your feet touching. Miguel saw how much smaller your feet were compared to his and his heart fluttered. His mind was filled with a million voices rambling off new things about you.

"She's focusing so hard"

"How can a gym outfit be so hot"

"She's so close to me when we do this stretch"

"Her hands are so warm"

"Maybe I should have stretched her from behind too"

That last thought gets Miguel to move you guys to the next part of the routine. How is his head always in the gutter?

GymRat!Miguel who starts you off with dumbbells, giving you the 5 lb weights to start. He starts you off with a few shoulder and arm exercises, giving you tips and praise along the way. His touches linger on your arms as he corrects your form, watching your body intensely. His constant "good"s, "one more''s, and "uh huh"s hit you right in your core. You're thankful that you're out of breath and heated from the workout, otherwise you would have melted before him.

GymRat!Miguel who pulls out all of the stops, using the heavier weights for his sets. He screams on the inside when you cheer him on. You clap at the end of one of his harder sets, happy that he pushed himself. He bows in silly way, sweat dripping down his face and laughing at your actions.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you while you use a heavier weight to do squats. You wanted to go for the 15 lb weight even though it was your first time doing weighted squats. He didn't want you to fall over, so he stood behind you and held his hands in the air by your waist as you went down. He knew that he was supposed to be focused, but he couldn't help but to glance at your ass a few times. God.

GymRat!Miguel who ends off your workout with the bikes, you guys making it a small competition. He stands and cycles, watching as your jaw dropped. You started to stand but got a little scared and gave up quick. Miguel couldn't have that. He stopped moving and got up to be by your side.

"You got it! Don't be scared," he says, watching you work.

"I literally can't do that," you say, cycling a little faster.

"Sure you can! Try it, I'm right here," he says, encouraging you.

You fight your fear and stand up and cycle. "Oh my god," you say, breaths coming out hard.

"That's it, that's it," Miguel says, voice warm as he praises you. "You're doing so good. Keep going."

You push until you can't anymore, Miguel cheering at your side.

GymRat!Miguel who guides you to the showers after your workout. It sucks that he can't be in there with you. His imagination can only get him so far.

GymRat!Miguel who waits for you to come out of the bathroom, ready to ask you to go for smoothies and breakfast. He hopes you say yes.

GymRat!Miguel who is in awe again at how you look. How many two-piece sets did you have? How does he survive them every single time? He mutters up the courage to ask you if you wanted to go get smoothies, adding on that he would pay. You glow and say yes, stating that you love smoothies. He's soaring.

GymRat!Miguel who brings your food to the table, two wraps and two smoothies. A protein shake for him and a fruit smoothie for you.

"That was a really good workout today. You definitely put me to work," you say, unwrapping the straw to stab it through the top. You hum at the flavor as you take a sip.

"Good?" Miguel asks, and you nod your head with your thumb up. "I'm glad you liked the workout. I was excited to have a partner."

"A partner? Why didn't you invite us to join?"

You both look up to see a few girls standing by the checkout counter. Miguel notices them as the sorority girls from his literature class. They walk over to your table, eyes twinkling as they take in Miguel.

Miguel chuckles awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He didn't think he had to deal with them outside of class too.

One of the girls look at you and goes, "Oo are you a personal trainer?"

You're taken aback, eyes scanning between the girls. You're about to open your mouth to respond but Miguel gets to them first.

"No, we're workout partners," he says, snapping at the girl. "And we're kind of having a conversation right now so is there anything else that you guys want to say?"

The girl cowers a bit at Miguel's words, laughing as if he told a joke and twirling her hair. The leader of the pack turns to Miguel, "Sorry about that. We wanted to see if you could come to our party tomorrow night. It'll be super fun and we would love to see you there."

A party? Miguel hadn't gone to one since he moved on campus. He always wanted to experience a college one. He turned to you and saw that you just tapped at your phone, not looking to the girls.

"I'll go if I can bring her," Miguel says, tapping his foot against yours. You look up, shock in your eyes,

Some of the girls slump, and the leader tightens her smile, "Fine! That's cool. I'll send you the details later."

The girls walk off and you stare at them, eyes squinting.

"They're an interesting bunch aren't they?" you say, continuing to eat your wrap.

"Right?" Miguel says, turning back to you.

GymRat!Miguel who comes to your dorm, ready to walk you to the party. He knocks on your door, a little nervous. He had on a nice top, the top open a little bit and a thin chain around his neck. After a while, you opened the door and gobsmacked him again with your outfit.

"Wow," he says, standing in the door like an idiot.

"Is it bad?" you ask, body glowing.

"No, you look amazing," Miguel says. "Ready to go?" He holds his arm out, softly smiling at you.

You nod and intertwine your arm through his.

GymRat!Miguel who takes in the atmosphere, frat guys yelling by a pool table, a few girls dancing with red solo cups, some people making out on the couch.

For Miguel, it was a lot.

He turned to you, yelling to ask if you wanted a drink. You say yes and you both make your way to the kitchen.

There, you both are met with the sorority girls crowding the kitchen. Some of them are passing some pills around and others are chatting by the island. One of them looks up and sees you guys lingering by the entrance.

"Miguel! You made it! Come on have a drink," she pulls him closer in the room. "Want a xannie?"

"I'm good," he says, handing you a cup of Pink Whitney. You take a sip and turn your nose a little bit. You might have to suck it up to get through the night.

"I'm so glad you made it. I have something that I've been meaning to show you," she says, batting her eyes. She convinces him to follow her up the stairs.

Miguel yells over his shoulder that he'll be right back.

You stand in the kitchen, fingers tapping against your cup. You felt a little silly and out of place. You didn't know anyone else here and the people were cliquey.

You joined a few games of beer pong, trying to enjoy yourself, but you couldn't help but to think about Miguel.

You dance a little, joining some random girls in the middle of the room. The music is ok, but you were just trying to have a good time. After an hour or so, you get nervous. Miguel hasn't been back in a while.

You head back to the kitchen, thinking maybe he could be in there.

"If you're looking for Miguel, he's probably deep in a bed right now," one girl giggles as she comes up beside you, grabbing another drink.

"What?" you say, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah girl, why else would he be gone so long? I tried to go up there and the doors were locked. Just text him tomorrow."

Your hand grips your cup tighter, watching as the girl goes back into the thick of the crowd.

You decide to wait a little longer, scrolling on the same three apps back to back for another hour. You look at the time again and the 3 am stares back at you mockingly.

You figure that he's really not coming back down and open your Instagram to give him a text.

“Hey Miguel! I’m gonna go ahead and go back to my dorm. It's getting pretty late."

You walk back to your dorm, arms wrapped around yourself to brace from the cold.

GymRat!Miguel who finally makes it to a bathroom that's not occupied with some one hovering over the toilet. He feels out of it. Throwing back a few too many shots. He was trying to get back downstairs but there was always someone there to pull him back, offering something.

A shot? Sure.

A pill? No.

A game? Maybe.

The girl who brought him up there tried her best to get in his pants, but if he was being honest, he didn't even remember her name. Or any of the names of the girls that came in afterwards. He declined every one of them, just wanting to get some air.

He was able to check his phone.

3:35 am.

He sees your message and feels sick. He runs downstairs and out the door, the cool air sobering him up a bit.

"Fuck," he says hands to his head. He squats and texts you back.

"I am so sorry. I got caught up. Did you make it back safely?"

It was so late, there was no way you would respond. He fucked up.

He texted Gabriel, maybe his drunk mind pushing him to seek help from his little brother.

"So if I invite a girl to a party and leave her what are the chances that she will text me back? :((("

"Dude. It's almost 4am. And where is this so-called game that you have? Ik you're not asking me about anything"

"Gabri :(((("

"I'll be honest, she's probably blocking your number. IF she even has it lol"

Yeah. He fucked up.

dividers by: @yeribbon 🩵

a/n: Miguel's gym playlist is such a jarring difference from my own gym playlist. 😭 I left you guys with an extra long addition today because I have soooo much hw that's piling up and it's tearing me apart.

As always, leave a like and reblog. Leave comments please. 🥺 I want to see your reactions! Let me know how you feel. 🩵

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili @obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting @flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02 @jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies @samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu @urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe

#love lab drabbles 💊#GymRat!Miguel 💪🏾#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x plussize!reader #miguel o’hara x chubby!reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #plus size reader #chubby reader #spiderman 2099 au #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara au #miguel o'hara x chubby reader

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scremogirl · 7 months

Text

✧✩🜚𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐂 🜸𖤐✰

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Yandere! Nerd x Academic Rival! Reader

Mentions of depressive behavior/thoughts of suicide. AFAB! Reader: is called “Ms”.

Annoying.

A know-it-all smarty pants that was simultaneously the worst pain in your ass. Not that he meant to be of course; you couldn’t really blame him. Sure, some people are just naturally smart; but not him. Following you around like a lost puppy no matter where you went. He was toying with you on purpose and you knew it! You just couldn’t understand why he decided to make your life worse.

Now, the relationship you have is more one sided. You’d make subtle jabs and throw cheap shots his way but all he ever did was laugh it off. He never fought back. From what you’ve gathered, he just prefers to stare. And when I say stare I mean straight into your soul type stare. Every time he gets annoyed or is thinking really hard about something that’s what he does. Stares. It’s really creepy and unsettling, all the times you caught him or tried to, he would just look away blushing, trying his best to hide behind his shaggy hair. Eyes burn holes through the back of your head five out of the seven days of the week. However, even the two days you aren’t in school, the feeling of eyes on you never seems cease. You feel chills crawl up your spine and always look over your shoulder wherever you go only to find nobody there.

You’ve always strived to be the best. Your home life was like the equivalent of being tossed in solitary co finemente and being left to rot. It seemed as if your parents only cared about your academic life. Therefore, they were always super strict about your grades. You knew it came from a place deep within their hearts, they just wanted you to do good in life; but it still hurt. You wanted to make them proud. Wanted to feel loved by the people who were supposed to be closest to you. So you pushed yourself to limits nobody could ever reach. From winning spelling bees to holding the spot of Vice President on your school's student council team. Schools were already offering you all expense scholarships in freshman year!

You were an all rounder. One of the most involved students in your grade. You were in various sports and academic clubs, always helped in school fundraisers, and even have 500(+) SS hrs.

“ Apologies, Ms. (L/N), but there’s nothing we can do about this. You’ll have to get a tutor in order to pass,”

Technical engineering.

Your worst subject. You excelled in physics and math; some would say the best. You got the formulas down to a T and knew everything there was to know. It was more so the building aspect of things. There were just so many damn parts! Who even needs an electriconic digital caliper anyways?!

“I’m sorry, (Y/n), but that’s just the way things turned out. You need this credit to graduate, but you needn’t worry. Miylo is the best at this. He’s perfect for the job,”

Miylo Reneritzer. A 6 foot, dead eyed, pale skinned dork. He’s never stood out to you. He wasn’t popular or a scholar. He didn’t play sports and wasn’t in any clubs. He didn’t participate in the annual dances and didn’t attended school games. He was just there. A regular student with a knack for technicalogical architecture. You were in 11th grade at the time. You needed to get all your credits out the way so you didn’t have to worry about them senior year. Not that it was a problem for you seeing as all of them were already completed. Well… except this one. You’ve been putting off for so long. You had to face it sooner or later. Too soon for your liking.

You would meet with Miylo twice a week; you were place in the same tech class so the first meeting didn’t really count. He was a great teacher! A little quiet and very monotone, but very thourough none the less. By the end of junior year you ended up with a A-. You parents hammered you for not making it a plus but you’ve come to terms with it. He saved you. And you were grateful. You ended up losing contact the transitioning year and just never interacted again; almost completely forgetting about him.

He didn’t forget about you though. How could he?! You were the most beautiful girl in the entire school! Nobody could compare to you. What you didn’t know about him was he was s everely bullied and even contiplated ending everything. That was until you came along. Someone finally wanted to talk to him. Even if it was just for help getting a good grade. Taking to a pretty popular girl and getting money and an increases on his report card? Sign him up. That one day changed the entirety of his life, he owes his life to you.

All he remembers is being called down to the counselors office; parents ready waiting and giving him the most bone crushing hug. Everything seemed like a blur from then on. But what he can remember is how he got there in the first place.

“A friend of yours, (Y/n) (L/n) had some concerns about your health. She said she’s been paying attention to you for awhile and noticed your self destructive behaviors,” says the counselor.

What? Before he started tutoring you he thought you were a teachers pet and hog all the chances for others to answer questions but if saves him the embarrassment of public speaking he doesn’t mind. You’ve noticed him? In more than just at tutor-tutee way? Nobody ever notices him. Not even his own parents. It’s evident with the amount of shock on their faces and all their “why didn’t you tell me’s” and confessions of love. He’s mad at you at first. He spends at least 3mths in that looney bin because of you. He hated it at first. All the questions and discard for privacy. But… slowly he changes. He becomes healthy and happy again. His mind drifts back to you. The way you would answer questions when you noticed the teachers eyes land on him, the way you would always do the presenting part in group presentations, the way gum and smiley faced erasers would apprear on his desk on a particularly hard day. You cared. You did this for everyone you saw struggling. Not that he took that into account, in his mind, he was the only one. You thought he was special. And he wouldn’t let anyone take his spot in your heart.

When he got out, he decided he was a changed person. Senior year would be his redemption arc and you would finally be together. You already were in his mind; you were just to scared. He saw straight through your act. That’s why you would do all that stuff for him instead of just coming out and saying it. He needed to pull himself together and become a better person first. He wanted you to be proud of him. He wanted you to see him for all he’s worth. He joined all the clubs you were in and surpassed all expectations. He became popular, inserting himself into all your social circles and even became a student council member beside you. Or should I say infront of you? The President. And the validictorinan.

Ugh! Since when did he become so…so great!? You don’t have any clue where this change in him came from and you want him to go back to the way he was. You were the best! You didn’t work this hard for your parents approval for nothing. They would always compare you time him. Miylos the student council president they’d say. He would never get an A-, he would never miss a volleyball game because he was overwhelmed with school work, he would never feel how school was the only true escape from an emotionally disabled household. He would never understand. Oh, but he did.

He’s been in your house plenty of times to know what’s going on. Not that you’ve know of course. That explains all the missing panties. Hmm, maybe that explains where all of your pens have gone too. And your half eaten food, and the Polaroids you’ve take of yourself, and your rose to-… Regardless! You’ve had enough of this! You needed him to know just exactly how you felt. What other way than asking him to meet you under the tree on Fri before school ends?

“I already know,” Hm?

“Good. I couldn’t hold this in any longer. You do know just exactly what I feel,”

“Oh my love but I do,” ….my love? What is he taking about.

“What am I talking about? Oh sweetheart, don’t play coy with me. It’s okay; I’ve always know the real reason behind your aggression towards me. Your just shy is all. I just want to let you know that I love you too. More than you could ever know,” he steps forward and arms outstretched and expecting a hug. He push on his chest and stare up at him in confusion. Love him? You don’t love him, you despise him! He chuckles.

“Like I said, it’s okay to be open about how you feel. That’s why you brought me here isn’t it?” What! This wasn’t some sort of confession. Well…technically… but not one of love! He was here to understand how much you loathed him. He had to not like you either, that’s why he did everything you did right…Right!? He hated you. He had to!

“Hate you? (Y/n), I could never hate you. After all you saved me,” at this point you thiught he was joking with you. Furthering your suspicions of his true feelings. You tried marching pasted him only for him to grab you arm. You tried to shuck him off but his grip was strong. All those clubs really built up his physice. He wasn’t the same scrawny little geek you remembered. He was larger, seeming as if he grew a few more inches. He filled out his uniform more, and his eyes became brighter and more emotional. If your affliction for him didn’t exist you’d think he was cute. The only thing that seemed hadn’t changed about him was his unwavering love and loyalty to you. He huffs out an exasperated sign, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I get that your shy my love, but that’s there’s no need to be so rude. We’ll work on a more conventional way to express your emotions,”

“Do I have to spell it out for you! I don’t like you, you creep! You’ve been following me around every since the beginning of this year. You’ve taken everything from me. Clubs, student records, student president! Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get here! You act so laid back and relaxed about everything and it drives me nuts! I hate you!” You push past him again, angry tears forming from all the supressed emotional turmoil. He doesn’t grab you right away which makes you think he’s finally got the picture. Didn’t anyone ever tell you no to turn your back on the enemy? You’re suddenly grabbed and thrusted into the base of the tree. He tsks at your behavior before sighing again. Hands have now moved to your shoulders and apply slight pressure keeping you in place. If that didn’t do it, the way he's looking at you would’ve have; fierce and warning, and yet, filled with so much adoration.

“We need to fix this little attitude of yours, don’t we?” It’s rhetorical. You know that but you feel the urge to snap back at him. Before you could get a word out, you can her the distance ringing of the school bell signaling the end of the day. His phone rings on the last ring. He gives you a hard glare telepathically telling you not to move. He stands straighter and picks it up. With what you heard, the student council meeting is starting soon and the others are wondering where you two are. Saved by the bell. He sighs before grabbing his bag that he placed down as long as your hand before sighing.

“Unfortunately, we can’t continue this conversation my love. Lucky for us, it’s Friday. We’ll have the rest of the weekend to work it out of you,” he throws a coy smirk your way and grabs at his belt, readjusting it a bit. God, what will you do?

Hey loves! Hope you enjoyed. I’m thinking about making apart to of this. I wasn’t really confident in it and decided that I should give more explanation to Miylos behavior. This could just be his introduction and I’ll expand on it. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!

-Love, Sos❤️

#yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere! nerd x reader #✧✩🜚𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐂 🜸𖤐✰

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gglitch1dd · 27 days

Note

Hiya glitch! Just out of curiosity, in a completely dif timeline if Katsuki hadn’t cheated in the first place, would y/n and him ended up at least having a family in the future as well? If so about how many kids do you think they would have had if they considered it?

Also since you head canon Izuku to have only boys and Eiji only girls, what’s your headcanon for Kats? :0

Hey lovey!! In a different timeline where Katsuki hadn't cheated, I do think reader and him would end up pretty happy together. There's no sign showing that they wouldn't. I do think Katsuki would have more girls than boys though. His life would go a bit like this:

DILF Katsuki's Perfect Ending

DILF Bakugou Katsuki x Wifey Reader

Katsuki sat up with a gasp, clutching his heart. He sat in bed his crimson eyes wide in fear as his heart beat a million miles an hour. He noticed you shift next to him, turning to look up at him confused, your eyes still clouded with sleep. Katsuki looked at the window noticing the few strands of morning light seeping in. He saw you saying something but he couldn’t hear what you said. He grabbed his hearing aids from their charging doc and put them in his ears.

At sound returning to his world, he took a deep breath.

“Katsuki?” You placed a hand on his arm as you slowly sat up in bed. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Katsuki looked at you before looking off to the side. “I had a nightmare.” He let out lowly, his voice still deep and scratchy with sleep. He looked greatly disturbed by whatever this nightmare was about. You moved over closer to him, tilting your head confused. “I cheated on you and you married Deku.” He started making your face fall and your eyes wide.

“And you had all these little broccoli haired brats! And they were everywhere! Five whole boys, Y/N, for that fucking nerd! And you were so happy and I was miserable and I missed you so much! And I regrated everything and I was married to Eijiro and we had a divorce and then I had this kid from an egg doner or something, he seemed like a good kid, but I was a terrible father! It was horrible! You were all over Deku being such an amazing wife and making him all these dumplings that made him look like a fucking pig and-”

Katsuki stopped rambling about his dream as you giggled at the explanation of what he had been through in his sleep. You leaned against his arm, looking up at him amused. That was not the first thing you thought your husband would tell you this morning. “Really Katsuki? Me and Izuku?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. “That must have been one hell of a dream, Katsuki, but I’m here.” You took his large hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. “Your wife of two decades, I’m here.”

At that reminder his shoulders eased as he moved to wrap his arms around you and pull you back to lie in bed. He took a deep breath, just feeling you wrapped up in his arms. You always fit so good there, where you belonged. He tightened his arms around. “Yah, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He grumbled. “You’d never marry Deku.”

“…”

“…Y/N!”

You let out a laugh at the pure distress in the way he said your name. “I’m pulling your leg, Tsuki. I have no reason to marry Izuku. I have you and the kids and that’s all I need.” You told him honestly, resting your head on his chest with a smile. He nodded in agreement with that statement, an affirming grunt. “But now that we’re awake, we should get breakfast and wake up the kids.” You reminded him.

He let out a low grumbled. “Right. Those little parasites.” He grumbled making you laugh as you carefully started getting out of bed, but Katsuki wouldn’t let go of you.

“Hey! They are your little parasites Mr Bakugō.” You reminded him, tapping his cheek.

He playfully scowled at you like the big man child he was. “Don’t remind me.” He joked, rolling his eyes.

You tried wrenching yourself free but it wasn’t working. “Katsuki. Let go of me.”

“No.” He stated adamantly as he pulled you closer, moving to roll on top of you.

You let out a laugh at how impossible he was being. You tried pushing him off you but the giant prohero was not budging one bit. “You’re heavy!”

He clung to you like a koala. “Too bad.”

After convincing Katsuki that you could take a bath together as long as he got off of you, you headed to freshen up before you both left your bedroom. Katsuki went to his domain which was the kitchen. He slipped on his pink frilly apron that his dad used to wear and got started on breakfast as you came down the steps with your four year old and youngest child.

You sat Kazue on the ground and she went waddling over to her father immediately, grabbing onto his sweatpants. Katsuki looked down at the little blond girl with poofy pigtails. She tugged on his pants before looking up at him with her little Dynamight plushy in her arms. She sucked on her thumb before looking up at him. “Morning Poppa.” She greeted softly.

Katsuki smiled at his only quiet child. He grabbed a cloth and wiped his hands before picking her up. “There you are my angel.” He said, kissing her chubby cheek making her smile as she took her thumb out of her mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her with one arm, putting her on his hip as he continued to make pancakes. “Poppa’s making pancakes. Will you eat one?” She nodded her head, keeping her head in the crook of his neck.

Letting out a loud yawn walking into the kitchen was your eldest. You smiled at the sight of him as he automatically made his way to you. He placed a kiss to your cheek before resting his head on top of yours. You chuckled. “Morning Eitsuki.”

“Mornin’ Ma” He grumbled tiredly. The blond teenager basically just clung to you, recharging whatever battery he wasn’t able to last night.

You moved a hand to his face softly. “Up gaming all night?” You asked. He let out an affirmative sound. Katsuki let out a tsk. Eitsuki raised an eyebrow. He let go of you and moved to sit at the kitchen island as well. “Morning Pops.” Katsuki let out a grunt in reply. Eitsuki turned to you, deep blood crimson eyes looking at you. He motioned to his father. “What’s wrong with him?” He asked confused.

“Your father had a bad dream. He said I got married to Uncle Izuku.”

Eitsuki let out a scoff as he took out his phone from his pocket. “Bad dream?” He leaned back. “Sounds like a fucking nightmare.”

“That’s what I said!” Katsuki said loudly, turning back with a pointed look, trying to emphasise his point. “Deku can’t be the number one fucking hero and take my wife! Not over,” He pointed his spatula to his chest. “My dead body!”

You rolled your eyes at your excentric husband and looked back to your eldest. “It’s so nice to have you for the weekend from UA. How’s it going?”

The sixteen year old shrugged. “It’s alright, Mr Aizawa is pretty fed up though. Said he was getting war flashbacks or something.”

Katsuki scoffed at the mention of his old teacher but a small smile on his face as he shook his head, turning back to flip the fluffy pancake perfectly. “He’s just scared cause he already had to deal with us once upon a time.”

Eitsuki opened his mouth to speak when-

“POPPA!” A loud shout called as a girl entered the room. The twelve year old held a phone to her ear as she peaked into the kitchen.

“DON’T FUCKING SHOUT!” Eitsuki barked at her with a scowl on his face. “IT’S LIKE EIGHT IN THE MORNING!”

“I WASN’T TALKING TO YOU!” Hikaru screamed back.

Your husband rolled his eyes before looking at his second eldest child. “What is it Hikaru?”

She turned to look back at her father. “Can I go out with Hana and Sachiko? We want to go out to the mall?” She asked as she leaned against the doorpost. The girl looked a lot like your mother in law Mitsuki and had the same fiery temper that the Bakugō’s had.

Katsuki was silent for a moment as he thought about it. He looked too you. You shrugged, not seeing a problem with it. He looked back to Hikaru. “Only if your brother goes with you.” He motioned to Eitsuki.

Eitsuki and Hikaru both got wide eyes, clearly neither of them liking that arrangement. “WHAT!?”

“Pops I don’t want to go with her and her annoying friends!” Eitsuki stated as he motioned to his sister. “They’ll drag me around like a headless chicken!”

“And I don’t want to be stuck with him!” She pointed at her brother with a finger. “He’s ugly! He ruins the entire trip!”

“I AM NOT UGLY!”

“WHO TOLD YOU THAT? MOM!”

“POPPA!” Running into the kitchen was your eight year old, Suzume. “Are you taking me to gymnastic practice?”

“POPS DID YOU HEAR WHAT SHE JUST SAID TO ME?”

“HE SMELLS TOO!”

“BUT WHAT ABOUT GYMNASTICS!”

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Your husband shouted, effectively silencing everyone.

He looked over at his family with wide eyes. He put his fingers to the bridge of his nose with a scowl as he sighed. Kazue looked up at her father with a tired look but snuggled back into his neck, burying her face there. At the feeling of his youngest he sighed.

He opened his eyes and looked to Eitsuki. “You! You’re going to the mall with your sister, you’re there for three hours then you can drag her ass back home. You!” He pointed to Hikaru. “You’re brother is going with you whether you like it or not. I’m not letting a bunch of twelve year old girls go around a mall by themselves. You!” He pointed to Suzume. “Mom’s taking you to gymnastic practice, make sure you’re ready by ten. And you!” Katsuki looked to you. You looked up from where you were sipping your coffee.

You looked around before smiling. “You seem like you’re handling things, Tsuki.” You affirmed with a smile. “Good job.” You gave him a thumbs up.

Katsuki rolled his eyes as the kitchen started up with talking again. His two eldest were arguing, his third was busy trying to convince you to let her bring her new costume to gymnastics and at least his youngest seemed very comfortable in his arms. Despite the chaos that was the Bakugō family, Katsuki smiled.

-Glitch1d

#mha x y/n #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #dilf bakugou #dilf katsuki bakugou #dilf bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #mha #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n

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cybertronic69 · 8 months

Text

:p savage starlight

you and ellie, for some reason, never got along very well. you would say you two pretty much hated each other. ellie would say you're the prettiest thing she's ever seen the same. and today you two got paired up for patrol.

warnings: enemies to lovers , loser!ellie , nerd!ellie , sub!ellie , nipple sucking (e!receiving) , clit rubbing (e!receiving) , thigh riding (r!receiving)

◇

"come on! we gotta go..." ellie is impatiently knocking on your door. when you open it with a grumpy expression, she sighs. "hey, dumbass, we're patrolling together today."

"why the fuck do they keep pairing us up together?" you mumble as you start to walk with ellie right by your side.

"don't know, don't care, i could just go without you." ellie says and that's an absolute lie. patrolling with you is the best part of her week. she doesn't want you to know that. you just roll your eyes at that as you both keep walking in the streets of jackson.

ellie stays silent for a few seconds. "i just realized something. you suck" she blurts out like you asked.

"oh, yeah? why?" usually you'd just ignore her but today was a boring day so she might as well be useful and entertain you.

"yeah." she stated plainly. "i can name a thousand reasons why you suck."

you let out a snicker. "go on..."

"alright. number one. you're an annoying little shit with a punchable face." ellie blurts out with a bland expression. she was hoping this could get a reaction out of you. like some curses being thrown at her. she was kinda into it. she also doesn't want you to know that. you chuckle at her words. you think she's actually kind of funny. you dont want her to know that.

"number two. you're always making dumbass statements that piss me off." ellie's eyes are focused on every little movement of your face.

"really?" you raise an eyebrow "name one."

"well for starters, when we first met you said that a dinosaur with horns called 'triceratops' was a unicorn." she narrows her eyes at you.

"who cares..." you let out a dramatic sigh. "they're all fucking dead anyways"

"i care. number three. i want to punch you in the face when you give me that dumb look of yours." she says, rolling her eyes.

you snicker. you really do give her a dumb look sometimes. pisses her off. at least that's you think. "anything else?"

"of course. i have a list of your habits in my notebook that annoys me." she snarks.

"i think you a crush on me ellie... did you ever think about that?" you whisper in teasing tone and give her a smug grin like you just got her.

"god no. number four. the way you walk pisses me off." she's not looking at you this time.

"just admit it... it's obvious you're obsessed with me." your eyes sparkle with mischief. "didn't you just say you write about me in your little love diary or whatever?"

"notebook. i said notebook." she says as her breath starts to hitch.

"yeah, yeah... notebook, diary.... whatever" you roll your eyes. "doesn't change the fact that you think about so much that you have to write about it."

she turns a bright shade of red and suddenly stops walking. "can you... just shut up? your voice is annoying. that'd be number five."

"that's pathetic, you know that? you liking me" you tease as you watch her face getting even more flushed.

"dude. i dont like you. i literally can't stand you. shut up." she mumbles as she looks away.

"ok. so you totally despise me, right?" you whisper as you slowly walk closer to her.

ellie feels like she's about to pass out. you smell so good. your skin looks so soft. your lips- "y-yes." she stutters. "i hate you." she can't even look you in the eyes anymore. her gaze is glued to the ground.

you can't help but chuckle. god, was she a mess. "yeah?" you hold her chin with your index finger, making her look at you. ellie blushed profusely. she was unable to utter any words as she look up at you, her face flushed.

"pussy." you whisper against her face.

she turns her head away again and closes her eyes hard. "shut up." she mumbles.

"can't even admit it to yourself..." you gently caress her cheek. "tell me the truth."

she stays silent for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. "...i've liked you ever since you said that a triceratops was a unicorn."

"that's cute." you smile at her. it wasn't a mocking grin like she'd usually get from you. it was a true soft smile that made ellie's heart beat faster.

"um... shut up..." she mumbles awkwardly. she can't belive she just said that to you.

"is that the best comeback you could come up with?" you gently brush her hair out of her pretty face.

ellie blushes at your soft touch and finally looks up at you again. "maybe it is. i'm not very good with comebacks. or anything, really."

"you were good at roasting me back there." you twirl a lock of her hair in between your fingers. "but i guess you had a lot of time to think about it beforehand..."

"yeah. i... to be honest.. i think about you a lot." she whispers and closes her eyes at your gentle touch. oh, she was cute. her cheeks were still pink and her pretty lips were slightly quivering from the tension in the air.

you gently press your lips against her cheek. "what do you think about?"

when she feels your soft lips on her skin she really really has to try her best to hold in a moan. "well usually, i think of, uh." she seems hesitant to say anything."i think of how pretty i think you are." she continues, now looking up at you. "sometimes, I think about how much i want to kiss you."

the corners of your mouth slightly curl up in a little smile. "yeah? what else?"

"i uh.." ellie is speechless for a moment. then, she begins to speak quietly. "i think about how much I love hearing your voice."

"i'm pretty sure you said my voice is annoying..." you tease but a soft smile is still plastered on your face.

ellie looks down at the ground. "i mean...your voice is annoying when you say stupid things." she teases back, in a attempt to hide her blush. despite her best efforts, her face was still red. "but, your voice sounds pretty when you say certain things."

"what things?" you start to trace little invisible circles on her cheek.

"well, um.." she begins to whisper, softly. "your voice is pretty when you say my name."

"really?" you press a kiss on her cheek. "ellie." a kiss on her forehead. "ellie." a kiss on her temple. "ellie." a kiss on her chin. "ellie..." you stop right in front of her lips.

she couldn't speak for a moment, as your touch made her even more flustered. "yeah... it's pretty when you say it like that." she whispers softly.

"do you want a kiss?" you whisper in a tone just as soft.

"what-" she's taken aback by the question, and she feels herself blush even more. "uh, yeah?" she managed to whisper, very quietly. you gently lock lips with her, and ellie instantly moans when she feels your hot tongue against hers. she gently holds your face with her hands as you caress her hair during the kiss. when you both pull back out of breath, you see her lips wet with saliva as she's trying to recompose herself. she looks way too cute... you're only human. you get closer to her again and gently suck on her bottom lip.

ellie let out a noise in between a groan and a whimper at this. "can i... can i have another one?"

"yeah... you can... later... when we're back... " you plant a soft peck on her cheek and start walking. "there's something i want to give you."

she looks extremely flustered with all of this. "oh... okay." she tries to hold back a smile when you offer your hand to her. she takes it. "what is it that you want to give me?"

you couldn't wait. "just walk..." you say in a soft voice.

◇

"uh... make yourself at home." ellie awkwardly says as the both of you get to her room. that was your idea, of course.

"nice place..." you whisper as you look around. comic books, video games and little action figures were all over the place. god, she was such a nerd.

"thanks..." she's nervous and you can feel it. you have to do something about that.

"oh... savage starlight, huh?" you dont know who the fuck savage starlight is but ellie, on the other hand, has tons of these comic books lying around.

her eyes shine. "oh yessss!" she smiles excitedly at you. "do you read that too?"

you shake you head and can't help but smile with her. so cute. god. "no... is it cool?"

ellie grabs a few comic books and pat the spot on the bed next to her. "so cool... here. let me show you" when you sit by her side, you notice a pair of glasses at her nightstand, and your heart beats faster. she wears glasses. oh. my. god. ellie notices you looking. "ah yeah... i have to wear those when i read... helps with headaches."

you grab the glasses and gently put it on her face. "since you're reading now..."

ellie blinks and swallows hard. "y-yes... so savage starlight..." she starts talking. "it's about her adventures in space... i like it because starlight is pretty cool." ellie then turns to you, tilts her head, and adds in a small whisper. "kind of like you." she said and then continued. "also..." you had to fuck her. all that talk about her nerdy stuff, and how she looked with those glasses, and how her fingers traced the pages of the comic book, and... "...and then she discovered like... a way to travel faster... with a jump drive..." ellie keeps talking and don't even notice your lustful gaze at her.

you lay your head on her shoulder and pretend to pay attention the comic book. "a jump drive, els?" you whisper softly.

"yeah... and the bad guys are called the t-" her voice cracks when she feels you planting a hot kiss on her neck." the travelers...."

"yeah? what else?" you bury your face on her neck.

ellie takes a deep breath. "they're like... aliens..." she bites her lip hard when she feels another kiss on her neck. "a-and... they want to..."

you sit in her lap, straddling her thigh. "they want to...?"

she stares up at you with the most miserable look ever known to man plastered on her face. "...want to destroy... the earth..."

you start to firmly massage her shoulders that are really tense. "so savage starlight is going to beat them up?"

ellie presses her lips in a thin line, scared to let any noises come out. then she starts talking again. "yeah... her name is daniela star... she's... a doctor..."

"hmmm..." you peck her jaw.

"and... and then..." she takes a deep breath.

"and then what?" you slowly start to move your hips on her thigh, back and forth.

ellie's hands immediately get to your hips, and she buries her head on your shoulder. she takes another deep breath. god, you're evil. "and then... like... the travelers have this technology..." you suck hard on her neck, and she groans. "and... starlight... is now friends with..." ellie's voice is whiny, shaky, and breathy. "...with this one guy... he's the captain of...." you slide one hand down her body and cup her pussy. "....nngh... a... s-spaceship..." she shuts her eyes hard.

you lick your lips. "spaceship, huh?" you squeeze her chest as you bite her neck.

ellie digs her fingers into your hips. she's panting, her face is hot and she feels like she's about to faint. "....u-um..."

"keep talking, els... im interested..." you smile against her neck.

"t-the spaceship... crashes... but they survivenngh...." her voice turns into a whine when you start to rub your clothed cunt against her thigh even harder. "o-oh... i... i like the-the way... i-i, i-i like... i-i like th-that you're u-up on m-me... right now."

"yeah? you like it? can i make you like it even more...?" you press a kiss on her ear. "hm?"

"y-yes... yes please..." she whines. you lock lips with her, and ellie lets out a noise again. you're full on feeling her up now, your hands touching, cupping, and squeezing every part of her body.

"is this okay?" you whisper softly as your hands start to slowly lift her shirt up. "how far can i go?"

she takes a deep breath so her words won't be sloppy. "you can do whatever you want with me..."

you feel your pussy clench at her words. "whatever i want?" you whisper in a breathy tone. she was getting to you.

ellie nods. she wrap her arms around you, bringing your body even closer to hers as you're in her lap. "anything..."

"i... wanna take this off..." you gently tug at the hem of her shirt. "and maybe this too..." your fingers trace the buttons of her jeans. ellie nods again, eagerly. she takes her shirt off, and your gaze is now glued to her small, perky breasts. "oh..." you take her pink hardened nipple in between your fingers, and she whimpers. "god..." your mouth starts to water. you push her back in the bed, still mounting her hips. "els... you're too pretty..." you take her nipple into your mouth and gently suck on it. ellie mewls. her hips start to buckle up against yours. she has never felt anything like this before. of course, she would rub one out from time to time... maybe every night... when you sat too close to her... and she could smell the scent of your shampoo... and your knee accidentally touched hers... she had no choice. it's your fault. somehow she'd always end up there, in her bed, late at night, biting the pillow with two fingers moving back and forth inside her tight cunt. but it never felt this good... "els..." you whisper and she looks down at you with glossy eyes, her glasses almost slipping off her nose. "wanna fuck you..." she can't even say anything anymore. she just nods eagerly again as little gasps escape her lips. your body is completely on top of hers, you hips lined up with her left thigh. "lets do it like this..." you start kissing her neck again as your hand slips under her jeans. "raise your thigh..." ellie is complete mess right now so it takes a while for her to take your words in. she raises her thigh, pressing it against your cunt. "mmh...yes... im gonna fuck myself on your thigh... and touch this pretty pussy of yours, ok?" you whisper breathlessly in her neck.

ellie whimpers at your words. "y-yes... so... g-g..."

you whimper with her. "so good, right, baby?" you're pressing your clothed cunt against her thigh and gasp when ellie moves her body with you, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. ellie is a whimpering mess when you slowly start to rub her little clit with a light amount of pressure. her hips are trembling and she has her face buried in your neck, her lips brushing against your skin. you're desperate. it feels too good to be close to her like this. you wanna make her cum. you wanna cum. and just like that, like she was reading your mind, ellie presses her thigh even harder against your pussy and you moan. you quicken the pace of your fingers on her clit and she cries out. her veiny hands grip hard on your hips moving them on her thigh. you cry out too.

ellie starts babbling. "want... you to... fucking... sit... on my face... wanna taste your pussy... so fucking bad..." she rolls her hips against your hand.

"yeah?" you whisper in breathy tone cause now you can't stop staring at her pretty lips without picturing them wrapping around your clit and sucking it.

"nngh... yeah.... so bad..." she grunts. "oh fuck... im g-gonna cum" her eyes are tearing up when she throws her head back. "cum with me... please..." she whimpers.

you nod desperately as you grind you pussy against her thigh even harder, the fabric of her jeans rubbing right on your clit. "im c-close, els..."

"shit... are you?" she whispers with the same desperate expression as you. "please, babe... cum with me..." she grabs your ass and presses your pussy against her thigh even faster. you bite her shoulder when you feel your orgasm hitting you and that was all ellie needed. she came hard on your fingers with a loud curse leaving her lips. you're both panting as you take your slick covered hand off ellie's jeans. her gaze is following your every moment so when you take your fingers inside your mouth and moan she moans with you. you kiss her lips with your fingers still inside your mouth. it's kinda nasty... and disgusting... and everything else on the book but ellie doesn't mind. in fact she seems very eager to do more of these nasty things with you in the future. and so are you.

◇

#i ❤️ loser!ellie #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #tlou 2 ellie #tlou #tlou 2 #ellie williams smut

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rad-batson · 1 year

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The Batkids and The Arts (Feral Edition)

They’re all musical theatre nerds. Every single one of them. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Cass, Jason, Steph, Tim, Duke, Damian. They go see Broadway shows together then don’t stop talking about it for like a week. It is the one bonding activity they will never pass up.

Jason and Steph once entered a ballroom dancing competition and won after some pompous rich kids insulted their moves during a gala. Since then, they’ve entered a competition every month or so just for fun. (And for the prize money :P)

Tim is an avid believer that Culinary Art is one of The Arts. (Can he cook? Absolutely not. It was Bernard that convinced him, but he stands by it.)

Duke talks through every single movie he watches. He always promises to be quiet at the beginning, but then he gets too excited and whispers commentary to the people around him. This habit has since bled into the entire family. They are no longer welcome at the local AMC.

Every single one of them is pretentious about something.

Dick is pretentious about any and all performance arts featured at the circus. Once, someone made a joke about going to “Clown School” and Dick screamed at them about how not even their pinky would have the privilege of being admitted into clown school.

Jason is pretentious about classic literature. They can no longer tell if his jokes and references to Shakespeare and Jane Austen are correct or if he’s just fucking with them.

Cass gets pretentious about martial arts being a performance art. She is also pretentious about ballet being a martial art. She could kill a man in fifth position without losing her balance, and that’s a fucking fact.

Stephanie is very good at acting pretentious about the arts. She absorbs everything she’s learned from the rest of the bat family’s interests then pretends to be pretentious about it to mock them while sneaking in just enough correct information so no one can call her out on it. (Her true interest is graphic design.)

Tim has no professional experience with photography, but he will be pretentious about it like he knows everything. (Bruce: Tim, why is there a filter on this evidence photo you took? Tim: I thought it looked nicer that way. Really makes the blood splatter pop.)

Duke isn’t exactly pretentious about writing, but he will lay down his life for the Oxford comma. (Bruce didn’t use it until Duke called the punctuation in his mission reports “insulting.” He now uses it.)

Damian is pretentious about studio art. If he ever hears his family or friends say, “I don’t get it,” at an art museum, he will make them look at it for five minutes as he explains in painstaking detail what’s so revolutionary about it.

The kids decided to take an improv class together once for their undercover work while Bruce and Alfred were out of town. It was so fun that they still play improv games when they’re bored.

Cass is secretly a metalhead.

Whenever one of the younger kids needs to write an English paper, they will just walk up to Jason, riddle off a dumb opinion about the book or poem they had to read, and record whatever Jason ends up lecturing them about. The most recent incident resulted in an award-winning paper about how the theory that William Shakespeare never wrote his own work is deeply rooted in classism.

Damian always has paint under his nails. It just never comes out.

Dick has personally taught everyone in the family how to do The Perfect Backflip. They all get a little ceremony once they’ve mastered it. There is cake.

Whenever Cass is standing around with nothing to do, she’ll practice her foot positions for ballet. The others always notice and follow her lead.

Jason: dramatically recites a poem in the living room Steph: starts beatboxing

Steph is always the first to find typos or continuity errors in a book, play, or movie. She doesn’t intend to; it’s just second nature to her. (She is now Duke’s official proofreader.)

Duke: So how’d you like the movie? Damian: I really loved the mise-en-scène, especially during the breakfast scene and that one shot near the end with the warehouse doors. Duke: *nods thoughtfully* Everyone Else Leaving the Theater: wtf is a meez on sen?

When Duke is finished writing something and wants to share it with his family, he’ll give it to Jason and Cass first.

Jason and Duke have frequent passionate arguments discussions about who is the best poet. Never bring up Dickinson, Poe, Shakespeare, Hughes, Plath, Wilde, Kipling, Sappho, or Angelou in their vicinity unless you want to start it up again.

Damian is surprisingly good at acting. Too good.

Dick knows your music taste before you do. He has a carefully curated playlist for every single family member, every possible combination of family members, and every possible mood at the ready.

They can and will correct anyone who mistakes Gothic architecture for Victorian or Gothic Revival and vice versa. (It’s really a Gotham thing.)

Tim: How dare you call The Grand Budapest Hotel the best prison break movie when it’s clearly The Shawshank Redemption! Jason: Well, as someone who’s BEEN TO PRISON, I think I should know! Dick: It’s clearly Chicken Run! You’re all just Chicken-ist. Duke: But what about Midnight Express?! That one’s so good! Steph: Has anyone mentioned Toy Story 3 yet? No? Damian, watching from the sidelines: I liked Escape from Alcatraz. Cass: Same.

There are several art pieces in the manor that have been positioned directly over top of bullet holes and other suspicious damages.

Damian and Duke made an animated short film once for the Gotham Film Festival. Dick and Cass were their models for the concept art. Tim did historical research. Jason helped Duke edit the storyboard, and Steph was the continuity supervisor. It was about a British super spy working for MI6 that saved the world in the late 70’s. It was titled Agent A.

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bimrwolf · 1 month

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Let's Meet in the Middle

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 8,603 warnings: ermmm for once no smoot and not edited LMAO im lazy anyways summary: Secretly yearning for your friend and no one notices is a blessing and curse at the same time. a/n: oh boyyyyyyy i havent wrote in ages. im a lil rusty lmao

The twinkling milky stars stretched across the deep pool of midnight, casting an illuminating glow over Sugar Maple Park. It was the only park nestled in the small town of Hawkins. Four swings, a merry-go-round, and a jungle gym. In the corner there was a soon-to-be skateboard ramp under construction.

You were laying on top of a wooden table, legs dangling over the edge, arms crossed over your stomach, and eyes closed. The crickets sang their summer song and from a distance you could hear an owl hooting. The sweet smells of maple and pine made you feel at peace.

There was the sound of tires dragging against the loose gravel, pulling into the small parking area, headlights glaring. And although your eyes were closed, the bright light made you squint. The car turned off and the doors opened. The engine running had been replaced with arguing voices.

“I’m telling you, Michaelangelo is far superior than Leonardo. His abilities are out of this world.”

“Dude, not only is Leonardo smart but he is the most disciplined and trained. Thus, making him the best.”

Their footsteps made a crunch sound, getting louder as they approached you. You sat up, a little sad that the peace was over, but that didn’t stop you from greeting the two strangers– who were not really strangers– with a big smile. Steve and Robin continued their argument as Robin hopped on top of the table next to you, throwing her arm over your shoulder. Steve stood in front of you two, hands on his hips.

“Are we seriously arguing over Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, again?” You had rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny that you were intrigued with what they both had to say. You nudged your foot against Steve’s leg. “I would think that nerd shit wouldn’t interest you.”

Steve huffed. “Mutant Ninja Turtles is not nerdy. It’s badass.”

You and Robin shared a laugh. You knew she didn’t actually care for the show, but she loved to piss off Steve as much as she could. “Did you bring it or did I sit out here for ten minutes for nothing?”

Steve looked over at Robin, giving her a pointed look, letting her know that the conversation was not over. Robin rummaged into the breast pocket on her shirt, pulling out a nicely packed joint. “Eddie promised us it isn’t the cheap shit this time.”

Steve threw a lighter towards you to light it. Robin was the one to take the first hit, then you, and finally Steve. “When will I ever get to meet this Eddie Munson?”

They gave each other another look. The same look you had seen them give each other for five months since you had moved to Hawkins. The look full of secrets, too afraid to put you on it. Because what if it was too much? Or maybe because you wouldn’t understand. Either way you respected their decisions not to share whatever it was.

You had met Robin and Steve your second day in Hawkins. Your father had been hired to help rebuild the town after a massive earthquake. Everything about the town seemed shady. It wasn’t just Steve and Robin who hid the secrets of the town. It was everyone.

You should be upset. Agitated. Furious. But you weren’t. Well, to be honest, at first you were a bit irritated with the hushed whispers, but the more you got to know the duo, you realized it wasn’t to exclude you or to be mean. It was to protect you.

And maybe the secret that bubbled inside you made up for it.

You tried not to stare too long at Steve’s pink lips as he took a drag of the joint. The way he licked his bottom lip after he blew the trail of smoke out, sighing loudly. “Tough day?” You didn’t mean to make it aware that you were watching him. That you were paying attention. But like always, no one seemed to notice that your question was deeper than just a check-in. You quickly averted your gaze to the joint that had found its way back to you.

“He’s had to work doubles all week because this guy Martin has mono.” Robin answered for him.

“He’s lucky.” Steve grumbled. “The time off part, not the mono.”

Robin elbowed you. “He’s lying. He’s so touched starved. He complained for an hour that he wished he had mono because it meant that he was actually–”

“Okay, Robin. I think she gets it.” Steve grabbed the joint from your hand, fingers brushing against yours. Did you just imagine him pausing, looking at you endearingly? Must have because he turned away and walked to the swing sets.

“Aw man, he could have at least left the jay with us.” Robin frowned, leaning back, elbows holding herself up. “Don’t mind him. He’s been in a pissy mood since Esther Clark called him a geek when he asked her out last week.”

“I didn’t know he was crushing on anyone.” You hoped you didn’t sound jealous. “I mean, because he doesn’t really talk to me about that sort of thing.” Nice save, you thought.

But Robin didn’t seem to notice the waver in your voice. “Steve likes anyone with long hair and boobs.” She looked over at you, eyeing you from top to bottom. “Surprised he hasn’t made a pass at you yet.”

You awkwardly laughed, eyes wide, and looked over to make sure Steve was still moping on the swingset. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. Me and him would… ha… it’s hilarious just thinking about it. He’s totally not my type.”

Robin shrugged. “That’s what I love about you. The one girl who isn’t my friend to get to Steve.”

You smiled weakly, looking at your fidgeting hands, something you always did when you weren’t exactly telling the truth. You had only lived in Hawkins for eight months, but it only took three for you to wake up in the middle of the night and realize you felt more for the brown haired boy. No one had caught onto you either, keeping it quiet, going on dates with random boys you didn’t care about.

Robin grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the swing sets, letting go to plop in the one right next to Steve. She leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder. You felt a pang of jealousy on how easy it was for them to be friends. How they could put an arm around the other without it being weird or romantic.

Whenever Steve even looked in your direction your whole world spun.

You kicked the mulch, hugging yourself, softly laughing at a joke that Robin and Steve really only understood. Pretending was so much easier.

***

Eddie Munson was erratic, eccentric, obnoxious, but probably the most real and down to earth guy you had met. He was hilarious, making your friends laugh more than you had ever seen them laugh.

Robin and Steve finally orchestrated a get together that involved Eddie Munson. Steve picked Robin and you up, and drove about ten minutes out of city limits, pulling up to a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t help but feel your heart race. This was Robin and Steve’s evil plan all along. They spent these past months getting you comfortable when really they were trying to kill you.

But then a man burst through. His hair was short and curly. You could see scars run up his face. It was clear he had a story, but that didn’t seem to matter from the huge, cheesy grin on his face. “My my my. Thought you guys weren’t gonna come.”

Steve had his window rolled down, and you could see him roll his eyes when you glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Can you just get in? Don’t want to get you back past your curfew.”

It confused you. By the look of Eddie, he looked well past the age to still have a curfew.

Eddie blew out a raspberry, picked up a bag on the ground and strode over to the car. He must have not realized you were there until he approached the back door, brows furrowed when he saw you. You quickly scooted to the other side, thinking you were most likely in his usual spot.

Eddie didn’t say anything as he opened the door and got in, throwing his bag on the floorboard. Or at least, never said anything to question your existence. He threw his head back and sighed. “Thank god you guys called me. My uncle was trying to convince me to help him with what to wear to his date tonight.” He rubbed his face.

“No way, Wayne has a hot date tonight?” Robin turned to face him, a big smile on her face. “Is it JoAnn from Dolli’s? I’ve been telling him for months he should ask her out.”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, he stayed with her until the diner closed one night, and she calls him almost every day.” Eddie leaned over and patted Steve on his shoulder. “Sorry man. I bet it’s hard hearing that my fifty-something-year-old Uncle is getting more action than you.”

Steve let out a sarcastic laugh. You swore he glanced into the rearview mirror and looked at you. But his gaze left as quick as it came. You couldn’t help but look away, flustered.

It was then Eddie finally acknowledged you. “And you must be the fair maiden that my friends have been spending so much time with.” He had a warm smile across his face.

You told him your name, holding out your hand. He took it. “Name’s Eddie Munson. You can just call me Eds, or even good-looking if you want.”

You let out a laugh that sounded more like a cackle.

Robin reached over and his leg. “Put your dick back in your pants, dude. This is why we don’t introduce you to strangers.”

Eddie seemed to have a permanent cheesy grin on his face. “Can you blame me? I’ve been on house arrest for almost a year. When I see a pretty girl, it’s pretty much an insult not to make a move.” He looked over at you. “Don’t worry, won’t do it again. I just didn’t realize when Steve said you were pretty he actually meant it.”

You felt that flustered heat rise up again. Pretty. Steve thought you were pretty? You couldn’t react. You couldn’t let anyone know that your stomach was burning with butterflies. “House arrest?” You took the changing the subject route.

Eddie sighed, shrugged, and pulled up his pant leg to reveal an ankle monitor. “You guys didn’t tell her she’d be hangin’ with a criminal?”

Steve spoke up. “He’s not even a criminal… well… not the way people thought he was.”

You should probably start thinking about how this was all a plan to kill you. But when you looked over at Eddie, the sincerity that gleamed in his eyes made you give him a small smile.

The rest of the car ride was mostly filled with Robin and Eddie bickering back and forth. You would join in the conversation if needed. And once in a while you swore you would catch Steve’s eyes in the mirror, both of you quickly looking away.

You had always been scared of heights. Something with the anticipation of potentially falling, landing with a thud. It made your knees wobble. You looked down at the creek beneath you, Steve looking up at you as you clutched the rope tightly tied to a branch above you.

“C’mon, we’re not getting any younger.” Robin said behind you.

You gave her a helpless look. “I shouldn’t have come up here. I can just climb back down.” Actually, the thought of you climbing down the steep hill of rocks made your stomach churn.

You heard Steve call your name. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Are you kidding? I am facing death right now. I can’t believe you and Rob convinced me to get up here.”

You felt Robin slightly pull you back. “Here. I’ll show you how easy it is.” With no hesitation, Robin grabbed the rope, ran forward, and swung into the air. She let go and her arms flapped until she wrapped them around her knees. Her, Steve, and Eddie who was sitting on dry land reading a book, all laughed as she crashed into the water.

Steve ran his hands through his hair, a playful smirk on his face when he looked back up to you. He took a moment as if thinking about something before he began to swim back to land. You watched as he quickly jogged to the edge of the hill. He joined you at the top.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled.

He chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. It took me months to get over my fear of swimming places like this.” He motioned for you to grab the rope again.

You did as you were told, giving him another pitiful look. “I’m going to die.”

“You’re not gonna die. I’m gonna jump with you.” He grabbed the rope, his hands beneath yours.

“Are you crazy? The rope is going to snap in two!” Your heart started to beat fast when his bare chest touched your arm as he scooted closer.

He rolled his eyes. “Me and Rob do it all the time. Do you trust me?” His eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. His deep pools were probably the only thing you wanted to jump into.

You bit your lip, giving him a nod of approval. He grinned from ear to ear, backing up to get the momentum to run. “Why were you afraid of the water?”

Steve looked at the ground. “That story isn’t ready to be told.”

You had never really talked to Steve like this before. In fact, you never spoke to him alone. You leaned into him, bumping your shoulder into his. “Well, I’ll be here when that time comes.”

He looked up, a glint in his eyes. “You ready? I’ll tell you when to let go.”

The two of you ran forward. You shouted in fear as you swung over the edge. Steve then shouted for you to let go and you did. Your screams turned into laughter when you felt the wind kiss your cheeks. You felt like you were flying.

Steve met the water first and you joined in not long after. When you resurfaced, Steve’s face was the first thing you saw. It was out of instinct. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Steve’s hands grabbed you by your waist, lifting you up into the air, making you squeal. “Look at her now. Facing her fears.”

You laughed as he threw you back into the water. You splashed him before swimming back to land. The sudden brave act made your stomach rumble, and you decided to eat one of the sandwiches Robin made.

Once you got your sandwich, you made yourself comfortable on a blanket right next to Eddie. He still had his jeans on but no shirt. You tried not to focus on his tattoos and many scars on his pale skin. You wondered if the story behind them had to do with the earthquake in Hawkins. If it had to do with Steve afraid of water. You leaned forward to see what book he was reading.

You hummed, taking a bite out of your sandwich, watching Steve and Robin arguing about Ninja Turtles again. You did a lot of that, watching.

“So, you ever gonna tell him?” Eddie broke your concentration on a water bug spinning around, making tiny ripples in the creek.

You swallowed, furrowing your brows. “Hm?”

Eddie wasn’t looking at you, his eyes still in his book. “You ever gonna tell Stevie boy you like him?”

You guffawed at the remark. “I- I don’t like Steve.” Panic washed over you. You wondered if maybe you were more obvious than you thought. “He’s like totally not my type.”

Eddie snorted. “Yeah. Okay.”

You opened your mouth, but whatever was going to be said stayed on your tongue because Robin and Steve walked over to the two of you. Robin sat down next to you and laid down with her arms behind her head. “You guys, I’m so ready to get out of here.”

Robin was going to college in a few months. She rarely brought it up knowing Steve was upset at the idea of his best friend leaving. You smiled, happy for your new friend. “I feel like I still have so much to learn about the place.”

Robin puckered her bottom lip. “Aw babe, it’s okay. At least you’ll still have Steve, and Eddie if he ever gets off house arrest.”

You glanced over at the freckled boy, noticing a mole on his stomach which was right next to similar scars that Eddie had. Steve kicked the dirt a little, pouting. “Rob, why do you have to be such a buzzkill?”

Robin had her eyes shut from the glare of the sun, but you could see her roll them beneath her lids. “You act like you don’t have other friends, dingus.” She smirked at a new thought that crossed her mind. “Can’t the girls in town keep you busy while I’m gone?”

Your stomach knotted, and you felt Eddie look over at you, wiggling his brows. “Harrington has gotten older and wiser. He’s looking for a fair maiden to settle down with.”

You knew if you reacted, Eddie would figure out you had a crush on Steve. Well, he already knew, but it would only confirm his suspicions. No one could know.

Robin snorted, “At his rate I’ll graduate before Steve goes steady with anybody.”

“Must you speak about me like I’m not here?” Steve put his hands on his hips. It was kind of cute when he got irritated, a small wrinkle appeared between his brows. “I’ll have you know I’m going out with Carol on Tuesday.”

Robin’s nose scrunched. “Didn’t you already go out with her? Said her breath smelt like tuna?”

Steve shook his head. “No, that was Carol Dill, I’m talking about Carol Fists.”

“Fists? I know what she can fist.” Robin and Eddie burst out laughing as Steve groaned in disgust, saying something about how Robin always ruins things. You pretended to smile at the joke. However, your stomach twisted. You knew Steve dated, but you never took into account the amount of girls he had gone out with.

Robin once told you he had only been in one serious relationship, but it ended badly. You didn’t know her name or what she looked like. A part of you wished you did so you could see what it took to stand out from the pool of girls. Were you that uninteresting?

Robin and Steve asked if you wanted to join them in one last jump, but you opted out, saying you were tired. They both shrugged and made a bet who could get to the top first. You waited until they were far enough before you brought your knees to your chest, biting your bottom lip. “Is it that obvious?” You didn’t look at Eddie but you directed the question to him.

It took him a moment to figure out what you meant. “Mm, only if you are one who observes the smallest of details.”

You let out a sigh. “Please don’t tell him.”

Eddie let out a laugh. “Sweetheart, I don’t kiss and tell. He probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway. He never thinks girls out of his league like him.”

There was an involuntary scoff that came out of you. “Don’t bullshit me. I am not out of his league.” You heard Robin scream, arms flailing as she fell off the cliff. Steve was bent over laughing which made you assume he had pushed her. He then ran and jumped off, making you smile as he cackled.

“If you don’t want people to figure it out, maybe you should stop staring at him with that stupid smile.” You realized if this was the birth of a new friendship, Eddie was going to give you hell. He must be bored being under house arrest and all.

***

Fourth of July at the Harrington’s was a big deal. The front door was adorned in red, white, and blue streamers. It looked like Uncle Sam had thrown up walking up the steps.

Robin kept slapping Eddie, who had recently gotten off of house arrest, because he kept trying to unbutton his polo that Steve had let him borrow. It was the only way Steve’s parents would allow him for the festivities. If he looked presentable.

But even looking presentable did not take his personality, eyeing all the wives and widows that walked past him.

You on the other hand were secretly sulking because Steve was across the living room, his arm wrapped around the new girl he had been seeing. You think her name was Lacy? You didn’t talk to her too long because it was like talking to a brick wall with breasts.

Robin scoffed when she heard Lacy laugh, clutching onto Steve. “Dear Lord, he’s really lowering his standards every day.”

You cracked a smile, hiding it behind your cup of punch, catching Eddie looking at you with a smirk. You prayed he wouldn’t say anything. “I’m pretty sure I heard her ask if Rome existed during the Roman Empire while Mrs. Harrington was showing some painting.”

You and Robin had to look away from one another, knowing you’d cause a scene if you laughed. It was like word vomit, jealousy had taken over you. “I don’t know what he sees in any of these girls. He’s like attracted to these non-spectacular bimbos just because they have big boobs.”

You heard Robin whisper your name, and her elbow into your ribs. You laughed when you looked up at your friend but her eyes were full of panic, glancing at something in front of you.

You turned your gaze to see Steve and Lacy in front of you. Lacy didn’t seem to realize who you were talking about. However, Steve’s jaw ticked. Lacy tried to get closer to him and he reacted by removing his arm from her and walking away.

“Uh hello? You’re going to leave without saying anything?” She called after him. He didn’t reply as he made his way to the staircase that you knew led up to his bedroom. Lacy huffed, “Whatever.” She crossed her arms and stomped elsewhere. You kind of felt bed for speaking badly about a girl who had no clue about your feelings. But it felt worse knowing you had hurt Steve.

You looked at your feet, ashamed of what you had said. “Didn’t Steve say his dad had a gun cabinet?”

Robin smacked your arm. “Not funny.”

“I thought the clueless look on non-spectacular bimbo was funny.” Eddie’s grin went from ear to ear. You and Robin looked at him with narrowed eyes. He put his hands up in defense. “Too soon?”

You groaned, turning around, laying your forehead on the wall behind you. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Jesus Christ. You like him,” Robin proclaimed.

Eddie laughed. “Wait, you didn’t know?”

You felt Robin roll her eyes. “She has literally never said or done anything that made me think… ugh this ruins everything. I thought you were different.”

You snapped your head to face her, brows furrowed. “How does this ruin everything?” You noticed people looking over at you, listening to the commotion.

“Maybe we should lower our voices,” Eddie mumbled.

The scoff that Robin made sounded like Are you kidding me? “Girls never want to be my friend unless they want to get closer to him. Then you came along and didn’t immediately start drooling. I thought I had hope.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself but you snapped it back shut. Your lips pursed together and you swallowed a large lump down your throat. You didn’t mean to start liking Steve. She was overreacting. “You don’t know anything Robin. And what does it matter? You’re leaving in like three weeks.”

“Not the point,” Robin said through bared teeth.

Eddie awkwardly steered some bystanders away, convincing them everything was okay.

You shook your head, laughing in disbelief. “I get it now. This whole time you’ve been jealous.”

“Excuse me?” Robin was fuming, almost nose to nose.

“Admit it, you’re in love with Steve and can’t stand that he chooses all these boring girls over you.”

You must have touched a sore spot that even Eddie was aware of because before Robin could do anything, he stepped between the two of you. He looked at Robin, giving her an assuring look before back at you. Immediately you felt desolate and little. You didn’t belong, because in only one look you knew Eddie was going to back up his friend. “Maybe you should…” he shrugged, motioning to the door.

You looked between the two of them, Robin faced away from you, but you could see her glassy eyes, brimmed with tears. Your heart sank, wanting to take everything you said in only ten minutes back in your mouth. But you were too stubborn to admit you might have been in the wrong. “Screw you both.” You pivoted, and suddenly the picture of Lacy looked familiar as you stormed out of the Harrington’s house.

It took you three days to find yourself at the front door of Robin’s house. You knew she would be home because she talked about it a few days ago. She would be packing for her move. When she answered the door, her face was expressionless. You held up a basket of banana muffins, her favorite. You smiled awkwardly. “Can I come in?”

You could tell by the grip she had on the door that she wanted to slam in your face. Nonetheless, she sighed and opened it wider for you to walk through. “Sorry about the mess. Packing and all.” Her voice was quiet as she led you to her bedroom. Sure enough, clothes, boxes, and other items were scattered all over her bed and floor. “Just got done packing my voodoo doll of Steve,” she joked.

You winced. One thing about Robin, she wasn’t beating around the bush on any confrontation. “Look, Rob. I didn’t mean what I said. LIke truly. I was the one that was jealous and always have been of your relationship with Steve. You two have all this history and I can’t compete with that.”

Robin ran her fingers through her hair. “Steve and I have been through a lot of shit… like a lot. But it’s not like that.”

You couldn’t help but perk up at the last part.

She continued, “I just don’t understand why you never said anything to me. That you thought you had to keep it a secret.” She plopped down on the ground, her arms hanging off her knees.

You followed the lead by also sitting on the ground, legs crossed. “I just didn’t want to be like every other girl I guess. I knew it wasn’t going to happen so I never said anything.”

Robin thought carefully of her next words. “I can’t deny that you were right.” She started to mess with a loose string on her shirt. “I was sort of jealous.”

Your face softened. “Rob, listen, I can get over him. It’s like a schoolgirl crush.”

The brunette put her face into her hands and groaned loudly. “No… I didn’t mean I was jealous of you.”

“Of Lacy?”

Robin bit her lip, looking away from you. Tears started to form at the corner of her eyes and she wiped one with the back of her hand. She sniffled and shook her head. “No.” She faced you again, “I was jealous of Steve.”

Your brows furrowed. Why was she jealous of him? Your eyes widened. “Oh.” You tried your best not to react extravagantly. It was mostly a reaction of guilt and understanding why Eddie jumped to her defense so quickly. You swallowed something hard. Your cheeks started to heat up. “So the person you like…”

Robin let out a breathy laugh, wiping her nose. “Not like where it consumes me but I can’t deny the idea crosses my mind once in a while.”

You couldn’t help but leap and hug her. “Rob, I value your friendship so much. Thank you for being so vulnerable.”

“I guess we both are good at keeping secrets, huh?” Robin asked once you broke apart.

You smiled. “Eddie too. He figured it out the first day I met him.”

She burst out laughing. “He figured out I’m a lesbian in like two days. For a man who won’t ever shut up he somehow sees things we don’t in a matter of minutes.”

There was a beat.

“Have you spoken to Steve?” You looked away shyly.

Robin smirked, rolling her eyes playfully. “He’s fine. You just hurt his ego a little bit. I think he misses you.”

You blew a raspberry. “Whatever.”

“Why do you think I was jealous? He definitely likes you and that moment I found out you liked him too, I knew it would be a matter of time.” Robin no longer looked sad, in fact she looked ecstatic. She blushed. “I think I only had feelings because you were the first girl who didn’t express feelings for him. That wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

Your mind had so many things to address. “No, I’m sorry for not being truthful. There were many reasons I never said anything. Number one being I valued our friendship more than anything.”

Robin reached over, placing her hand on your knee. “I don’t want to be the middleman. I’ve done that for him for almost two years. All I will say, he dates these uninteresting bimbos because he thinks those are the only girls who will ever like him. You should talk to him.”

You left Robin’s house two hours later. You both spent time packing, laughing about the summer, and telling her when you started having feelings for Steve. You both also cried because Robin was leaving. You had to convince her out of staying that college was meant for her.

The next day Robin asked you to go bowling. What she didn’t care to mention was that Steve and Eddie would be there. However it didn’t surprise you. You were tempted with running out the door, however; but Robin grabbed your arm quickly as if she knew your plan and walked you to the lane.

Eddie was facing you both, a childlike grin plastered on his face.

“Well well well. Isn’t it the two fighting pussycats?” Eddie stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

You could only see the back of Steve’s head. He had chosen to wear a baseball cap to hide his hair. He didn’t turn around, but he peeked over his shoulder, quickly averting his gaze to the ground as he put on his bowling shoes.

Robin walked up to Eddie, smacking him on the back of his head. “That was a gross comment, Munson.”

He rubbed the spot she had just hit. “Geez. Twas just a joke.” He then looked up at her, grinning. “I could’ve said it was kind of hot. But did I?”

Robin thumped his forehead this time.

“You make me want to scream sometimes.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“That’s funny, your mom said the same thing to me last night.” Eddie and Steve burst out laughing. Robin looked like she wanted to strangle Eddie. Yet, she didn’t react. She plopped in the seat next to him and put her shoes on.

You followed by sitting next to Steve, avoiding any type of eye contact. You noticed Eddie and Robin giving one another look. The awkwardness between you and Steve was too suffocating not to notice.

Your mind raced if he knew your feelings or did Robin and Eddie not say anything? Robin did say she wasn’t meddling but nosey is Eddie’s middle name.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, to Steve, but he had already gone up to enter names and take his turn. You looked at your hands, defeated.

And so it was like a tug-of-war. When Steve talked, he only spoke to Robin and Eddie. He wasn’t excluding you on purpose but whenever he spoke he never looked at you. Whenever you tried to enter the conversation or talked he’d act uninterested.

You even tried to flirt, going up to him personally and saying what a good bowler he was and if he could give you any tips. He glanced over at the scoreboard, noticing you were in second place. “M’think you have the hang of it.”

You could hear Eddie wince audibly for you. You shit daggers his way before turning around and rolling the ball down your lane. This bowling alley was not on your side because you somehow made a strike.

“Good job! I guess the trick is to make you pissed off.” Eddie laughed at his own comment. Robin elbowed him in his side, whispering that now was not the time.

“I’m not pissed off,” you defended, feeling your cheats heat up with embarrassment. “I’m fine, perfectly fine!”

Steve still was not looking at you, rather the ground.

You stormed up to him. “Are you just going to ignore me the whole night? You won’t give me a chance to even apologize because you’re acting like a child.”

He didn’t flinch.

You threw your hands up. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings the other day. I can own up that I shouldn’t have said it. But dude, it freaking sucks when I see you wasting your time on people who don’t care about you.” You regretted speaking up now, mostly because of other people looking over in your direction. You pursed your lips, trying not to cry. “Thanks for inviting me, Rob, but I think it’s time for me to go.” You stopped her and Eddie before they tried to argue.

You walked out of the building and sat in your car processing everything. Robin was moving away and now you had lost one of the only friends you had in this stupid town.

***

You contemplated knocking on the front door to the Harrington household for nearly fifteen minutes before committing. You let out a sigh of relief when it had been Robin who answered the door. Almost immediately you wrapped your arms around her.

“Hey, no crying. I told you that yesterday.” Her hug didn’t reflect her words as she pulled you in tighter. “Thank you for coming.”

She knew you almost didn’t.

Everyone was in Steve’s backyard, Robin told you, explaining that was the only way his parents allowed Robin’s going away party to happen if all the activities were not in the house. She even made a joke that his mom probably didn’t want them using the bathrooms.

You felt nervous when you heard all the voices walking to the backyard. You didn’t recognize anyone. It didn’t seem to phase anyone when you appeared with Robin. Eddie was lounging on a chair, talking to a dark-haired scrawny boy. He called out your name, greeting you. It brought the attention of others, including Steve.

He was in the pool, laughing with a girl you thought looked familiar but had no idea who she was. She was petite and shiny brown hair. This was the first time in weeks you had seen him, and he had actually acknowledged your presence. He smiled half-heartedly and gave you a small wave.

Robin grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the pair. “Rob, I don’t think–”

“Nance! I want you to finally meet who I’ve been telling you about.” Robin laid her arm on top of your shoulders.

Nance smiled. It was warm and inviting. “Steve said you were pretty.”

You peered at Steve who had begun to submerge himself into the water, his face still poking out. “It’s nice to meet you Nance.”

She chuckled. “Actually, it’s Nancy. Nancy Wheeler.”

You smiled at her. You normally found it hard to talk to new people, but she somehow seemed to make everyone around her comfortable. “How do you know Robin and Steve?”

Everyone gave each other a look, silently saying something that you didn’t understand. It was the same look Eddie would also give them whenever you asked a too personal question that no one knew how to answer. It was like they all were hiding something.

“We were close when the earthquake hit.” Nancy answered, smiling warmly. You felt not everything was being said but it didn’t matter. You knew you could trust there was a reason they didn’t say.

The afternoon consisted of conversations with all of Steve and Robin’s friends. Most of them were in college or had moved off. Your favorite was a curly haired boy named Dustin who seemed to have a special connection with Steve. It was like they were complete opposites but also shared the same mind.

Steve had spoken little to you, but it was a step up from ignoring you. It hurt knowing that you two were no longer friends. Yet, you accepted it. Even when you had gone to grab a drink out of the cooler outside, and Steve’s hand touched yours when he went to grab it at the same time. Or when you had found yourself sitting next to him, his shoulder still damp from pool water, brushing your bare arm. You swore when he laughed he leaned into you.

It wasn’t until you had gone inside to use the restroom, finding yourself in one of the hallways looking at all the pictures on the wall. They consisted of wedding photos of his parents, family portraits, and a lot of pictures of Steve. That’s when you caught the picture of Steve and Nancy on the wall. Your heart plummeted a little as you realized why you recognized her. Granted, it was only from what you assumed to be their prom, but she must be the girl Robin had talked about.

“That seems so long ago.” You jumped at the voice that came from behind you. Your shoulders relaxed when you peered behind your shoulder to see it was Steve. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t know you were there, that’s all.” You looked away from him, still embarrassed from everything that had been going on these past few weeks. You had made your apologies, and although you felt like he should apologize too, you just wanted your friend back.

He stepped forward so he’d be shoulder to shoulder with you, but he didn’t say anything. At first. “Isn’t it weird we think we meet everyone we’re gonna meet when we’re young?”

You looked back at the prom picture. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to meet me in high school.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to meet me either. I was a true asshole.”

“What changed? A girl?” You motioned to the picture on the wall.

Steve took a moment. You could tell he was thinking about what he would say next. “No. I was still a pretty big asshole. It was more of the break-up part that I decided I needed to grow up.” He looked down at you, but you avoided eye contact. “I guess I’m still not doing a great job.”

Your face softened, finally catching his gaze. “You are. We all have moments when we're assholes.”

“Yeah, but I never apologized for giving you the cold shoulder. After hearing what you said I had a lot of… self-evaluation.” Steve licked his lips. “I haven’t gone on a date in weeks.”

You took a second to process. “How is that going?”

He smiled, nodding his head. “It’s been good. I guess I was a serial dater because I was afraid of being alone.” His shoulder brushed yours. “I think I took my friendships for granted.”

The warmth of his hand made your stomach flip. You needed to tell him. “Steve.” Your tongue felt dry.

“Thank you for being patient with me. It’s nice knowing that even though Robin won’t be here I’ll still have a good friend around.” He patted you on the shoulder. You tried not to feel the disappointment in you. Of course he only saw you as a friend.

Did you need to say something? Maybe you could grab him by the shoulders and kiss him. You didn’t, praying it would go away in due time.

***

You understood why Robin was relieved when she had made a girl friend. Between the burps and jokes you started to miss her more and more. What was worse, you realized you were spending a lot more time with Steve. You began to notice he was getting older and stronger. The shirts he wore started to hug him. Mostly because he started going on runs again. He had told you and Eddie anytime he felt lonely, he’d just put on his sneakers and sprint out the door. He must have been running a lot.

School had technically started in Hawkins. You felt lame because you didn’t apply to the community college like you said you would. Work at the museum was boring. However, you found yourself at Steve’s house trying to get in as much swimming before it got cold. Steve didn’t seem to mind.

There was one particular day you, Eddie, and Steve were meant to go to the pond you had gone too with Robin. However, when you got to Steve’s house so he could drive, a downpour of rain began. You sat on his couch while he was on the phone with Eddie, saying that the three of you could go next weekend. Your eyes followed him as he walked over, plopping right next to you. He smelt like a mix between coconuts and bourbon. He put his arms behind his head, his bicep flexing.

Your crush had definitely not gotten any better. “I guess I’ll head back home then.”

Steve furrowed his brows. “What? Are you crazy it’s like a tropical storm out there”

You kicked his leg. “I’m not defenseless, you know? I know how to drive.”

“Defenseless, no. A good driver? Not according to those curbs you hit.” Steve’s eyes were closed, but his mouth broke out into the biggest smile.

When he had made that comment you had poked him. He poked you back. You returned by poking a sensitive spot under his armpit. He was then on top of you, tickling your ribs, making you cry of laughter.

You both cooled down, the heat from his body more noticeable when you noticed how close his face was to yours. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, his rough stubbles poking around his face. You couldn’t help drag your finger across his jaw to feel them. You were unsure how it happened. Who kissed who first was the dilemma going through your mind as your lips melted together.

He supported himself by having one hand by your head, the other hand cupping your face. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Your fingers played with his hair. He hated people touching it, but good friends don’t kiss one another.

Your eyes shot wide. Steve made a grunt as you pushed him off of you, standing up quickly, feeling a little light headed from the blood rushing through you. Steve sat up on the couch, lips red and swollen. His hair disheveled. You saw him run his tongue behind his bottom lip.

You held yourself, feeling so vulnerable. “I think the rain let up. Safe to drive.” Your voice was weak.

His jaw ticked. “Oh.” As if on cue a roar of thunder shook his house, the windows lit up from a lightning bolt. He gave you a look that he didn’t need to say anything for you to understand. He didn’t want you to go, but he knew you weren’t going to stay.

You walked out of the living room and to the front door. Your hand was on the door knob, ready to open it and run out. There was an urge to turn around and so you did. Steve had followed you to the entryway.

“Why do you tell your friends that I’m pretty?” You asked him.

Steve’s chest expanded and fell back to normal. “What do you want me to say?”

You raised your hands into the air. Your voice rose. “It’s not a complicated question, Steve. Why do you tell all these people that I’m pretty?”

Steve’s tone matched yours. “Because you are?” He said it so simply. Like it was easy.

Your arms fell to your sides. “Then why have you never told me?”

Steve was taken aback. The silence between you was full of palpable tension. “Haven’t I?”

You scoffed. “No, Steve. You haven’t.”

He swallowed hard, looking off to the side.

“Listen, we don’t have to talk about this. I know you’re lonely since you haven’t been going on dates and we just got caught up in the moment. It’s fine really.” You were looking at your feet, your shoelaces loose, dragging on the floor. You thought about how last week they did the same thing and Steve had kneeled down and tied them for you.

He said your name but he didn’t move to stop you as you bolted out the door.

The next weekend you debated telling Eddie you were sick when he had called to ask if you were still down to go to the pond with him and Steve. If Eddie knew about the kiss, he didn’t say anything.

Steve must have begged to pick up Eddie first or they were already together when they came and picked you up. You sat in the back of the car, arms crossed, staring purposefully at the rearview mirror. Eddie kept going on and on about how everyone from his old band, Corroded Coffin, had either left town or started a family. Eddie told you about after the earthquake he had lost everything, including his most prized possession— his guitar.

When you arrived at the pond there was an awkward silence as everyone carried blankets and the ice chest to a spot that seemed suitable to sit on. Fortunately, the ground was dry from the few days of rain Hawkins had received over the past week. You could see trees beginning to brown, and wildflowers wilting, telling you that summer was slipping away.

You looked over at Steve arguing with Eddie about forgetting to pack sandwiches. He had gone ahead and taken off his shirt. His muscles poked out and the hair on his chest was dark and unruly. Steve walked away from Eddie, mumbling that Robin never forgot to bring food. He caught you in the act of watching him, his face turning red.

This was ridiculous. You spent weeks being mad that he was avoiding you. “You wanna race to the top?”

Steve looked over at the hill where you could see the tan rope swaying side to side. He smirked. “I’ll give you a head start.”

You didn’t take a beat to think before you pivoted and started to sprint towards the hill. It didn’t take long for Steve to catch up with you. He was going easy, keeping a steady pace slightly in front of you. You might have gone slower because you were distracted by how his butt looked in his swim trunks.

You both climbed the hill, giggling as you almost slipped. His hand on the small of your back to hold you steady. You suddenly cried out, looking at your hand. Steve immediately went into action, eyes wide with concern. “What happened?”

He adjusted himself to look at the problem. You went to show him your hand, but then you stuck your tongue out and quickly climbed faster to reach the top. Steve called out your name, calling you a cheater as you pulled yourself to the top of the hill. You laid on your back, catching your breath, laughing once you saw Steve dragging himself on the top. “That was not fair.” He was on his arms and knees laughing almost as hard as you.

It wasn’t even that funny but it felt nice to just laugh. With Steve. You sat up, your face hurt from smiling so hard. Steve’s eyes softened. They were hazy and he looked stupidly drunk. You nudged him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked a few times. He sat up, taking his finger and brushing your cheek. “I couldn’t help but think how pretty you are when the sun shines on you.”

Your heart raced. Your words were struggling to form. You looked over at the pond, glistening underneath the sun. “I like you Steve but I can’t just be a fling to you.”

He looked sad. You heard your name said under his breath. “I like you so much. All this time I didn’t know what I wanted and when I met you it just got harder to click with anyone or feel the way I do about you. It was hard to avoid those feelings. I never said anything because Robin was so happy to have a girl as a friend and I couldn’t ruin that for her.”

Your cheeks were hot and you covered your face with your knees. You weren’t sure how to react hearing the boy you’ve had a crush on likes you back. The end of summer breeze kissed your nose.

His tanned skin was starting to fade, but you could still see all his freckles covering his shoulders. You leaned forward, placing your lips softly on his shoulder blade.

“Have you been to Enzo’s yet?” Steve leaned his forehead on yours, a cheesy smile painted on his face.

You messed with a loose string hanging off your swimsuit bottoms. You were almost too afraid to look him in the eyes. “Are you asking me on a date?” You had never been there. Someone told you it used to be the only nice restaurant before the earthquake. Most of the new residents didn’t go, leaving it to be a sacred place for the natives of Hawkins.

“Didn’t I just confess I like you?” Steve chuckled and you could feel the vibrations from how close he was to you.

You ducked your head, feeling flustered. “It’s intimidating to know I’m not the only person you’ve taken out on a date.”

Steve was silent for a moment, hopefully thinking carefully over a valid concern. He placed his hand on yours, trailing his fingers over yours. He then used the same hand to lift your chin up. “I don’t take just anyone to Enzo’s.”

Your heart fluttered. He was smooth. You tried to say something that Eddie was probably concerned the two of you had died or got lost. Steve disregarded it because his lips found yours.

It was soft and slow. It felt just as nice as the first time you kissed. Except now, you knew how he felt. You felt kaleidoscopic. It was overwhelming and sexy.

You hoped it would always feel like this. That anytime you felt the last moments of summer, you always remembered the beginning of a new season you had never felt before.

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