#starbucks level breakfasts

[lucyandthepen]

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.”

#mark x reader #mark x you #mark smut #mark scenarios #mark imagines #mark drabbles #mark scenario #mark imagine #nct dream x you #nct x you #nct 127 x you #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 drabbles #nct 127 scenarios #nct imagine #nct drabbles #nct scenario

[cyborg-franky]

Shopping Trip With One Piece Characters

Part of a trade with the awesome @softcenteregg

Doffy - The very definition of “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Has money but you will have to pay for him all day when it comes to lunch and drinks.

Will be sitting at a restaurant at 11 am with a cocktail as he tells you about his week, regardless of if you asked or not.

Checks out the mall hotties.

Laughs when people open push/pull doors wrong.

Always has a cocktail or a Starbucks clutched in one hand, waving his credit card around in the other hand.

Rude to salespeople.

You will be dragged through the mall for hours because he needs to go into every designer shop he can and try on at least seventeen pairs of $400 sunglasses or he’ll die.

Will be the most overdressed person in the area,

When your having lunch with him and he sees someone he doesn’t like, he will be like “Oh hey! Been so long since we hung out, should do it again soon!” then soon as they're gone he’s dishing the dirt.

Also, you will carry his bags, thx.

Roger

Makes you wish you could get those reigns for kids but in adult sizes.

In fact, the entire trip is like taking a child out for his birthday.

Ever seen a huge bearded man grinning in pure glee at the new limited edition Build a Bear products? Ever seen one make like 12?

Do yourself a favor and limit his booze and sugar intake.

Is confused he can’t do a pub crawl in a mall.

Buys alot of those ‘alcoholic chocolates’ by the box load in an attempt to get a nice buzz going.

Thrift shopping but he will try on everything he can.

Does not know how to dress but does it with style, oddly enough.

You won’t get a chance to sit down or rest unless it’s dinner time.

At least he’ll sleep well tonight.

Kid

Hit’s all the stores that sell music and band merch.

Will snort at people who buy things he doesn’t like.

Throws around words like ‘poser’ and judges everyone.

The kinda metal kid who hangs out at the mall with all the wallet chains looking like their parents grounded them, but in their late 20s.

Will spend hours looking for CDs and just say he’s too broke and he’ll download it online anyway.

Walks around the mall trying to find the right shade of lipstick with Killer, both their arms and hands are covered in testers before they both just get more black nail varnish and the same shade they always buy.

Has a reusable plastic cup that's full of jack and coke. 

Taunts mall cops.

Killer

Imagine all of the above but he also spends alot of time looking at fancy new cook wear.

Will spend nothing on food all day but will drop $90 on a brand new crockpot or air fryer for the kitchen.

Very metal of him.

Thatch

Thatch is fun to go with.

Treats you, buys the coffee and lunch.

Is happy to do whatever you want as long as he gets to check out homeware sections while you look at your things.

You will never lose him behind shelves because you can always see his hair.

Like Jaws but with hair and ozone layer murdering levels of hairspray.

Will flirt with staff, will get talking to them for far too long, and hold up the line.

The type of person who has alot of change and makes it a personal challenge to count out change exactly.

Will carry your bags though, he’s a good boy.

Bit judgey on eatery places pastries.

Shanks

I hope you enjoy getting nowhere because when you're at a mall with Shanks or out and about in town you will be stopping every ten steps because someone recognises him and comes over and chats.

Has no concept of how long he’s been talking.

Is the type to have a pint with breakfast or brunch when you guys hang out.

Sale on ugly pants? He’d push you down to get there first.

Always texting the gang when he’s out.

Lol Benn guess what, I saw Buggy and he was with that guy, you know, the one with the hook, lol lol

Will drop Uta off at the mall kids' soft play area even though she’s 18 and still forget to pick her up before leaving.

Ace

Low key baits mall cops by loitering around and looking like an issue but has no intention of being an issue.

Might skateboard inside the mall.

Poses with ‘no skateboard’ signs.

Hopefully, there isn't an arcade in the mall because if you had any intention of getting things done today, that won’t happen now.

Hungry every 20 minutes and has to grab snacks.

100% the kinda friend/boyfriend who sits on the seats outside the changing rooms holding all the bags and groaning, acting like it’s the worst thing in the world.

Is one of those people who opens push/pull doors wrong.

Marco

After taking five minutes to park correctly he’s happy to go with the flow. 

Likes to have a coffee and a people watch with you, chatty and social.

But he will drag you to shoe stores and you will be sat there for ages as he tries on every strappy sandal in the place, walking up and down and asking you what you think.

“I like this one but I don’t know if it makes me too tall yoi.” while you can’t for the life of you tell the difference between that pair and the last 40.

If you meet him at the mall he might be late, very much the shows up 20 minutes late with Starbucks.

Has a tendency to wander off in shops and you spend half your time looking for him.

Doesn’t give a warning when entering a shop if something shiny caught his bird brain.

Benn

He hates the mall.

Imagine a dad who has to take his teenage daughter clothes shopping and that’d basically be him with Shanks.

Benn is a very ‘I know what I am here for’ in and out kind of person but he doesn’t mind going to other places with you.

Ignores staff-only signs when he knows there is a smoking area on the other side of that door.

Is the person to remind you of the ‘insert thing here we have at home’ and is a shop sensible person, though he won't say anything if you do buy another T-shirt that looks exactly like the one you already have.

Pretends to be annoyed at carrying the shopping, but he offered and he likes to help you out.

If you complain about your feet hurting he’ll helpfully tell you he told you to wear your other shoes.

Sabo and Luffy

Banned

Both have their pictures up in the security office.

Sabo for giving the mall cops the finger, graffiti, and shoplifting.

Luffy peed in the fountain and kept stealing pick-n-mix.

#one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #marco the phoenix #one piece x you #sfw #one piece #portgas d ace #red haired pirates #red haired shanks #fire fist ace #fushichou marco #thatch #ace op #marco op #shanks op #benn op #benn beckman #gol d roger #sabo #sabo the revolutionary #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #massacre soldier killer #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #doffy #doflamingo #doflamingo x reader

[storiesofsvu]

Love Comes Quietly Ch 11

Alex Blake x reader warnings: language, mentions of smut, chaos. It's kind of a filler chapter, plenty of chaos (some of which worked better in my head/ spitballing with @prentiss-theorem but i included it anyways)

You stirred at the sound of a very loud magpie on the other side of the window, letting out a small groan as you rolled over, stretching out your body. You felt Alex’s arm that was draped over your waist tighten, pulling you closer to her and her lips brushed against your forehead.

“Mmm…” you nuzzled into the embrace, aching to stay in your little bubble for even a moment longer before the real world pricked it back open, “what time is it?”

Alex groaned softly, shifting so she could see the clock over your shoulder, “just passed ten thirty.” She settled back into the pillows, “what time did Prentiss want us in again?”

“Noon.” You grumbled back, “and I do not want to be subjected to the torture if we’re late, and I definitely need a shower.”

Very reluctantly you untangled your limbs from hers, slipping from under the sheets only pausing to scoop up your discarded swimsuit from the floor before you were opening the door.

“Hey, weren’t you doing laundry last night?”

“Fuck!” You groaned, “it didn’t make it out of the washer. I’ll throw it on a speed wash and hopefully it’s done in time.”

*

Thankfully there was enough time, and honestly it was good the two of you had woken up when you did. There was still a pretty big mess in the kitchen and a jug of sangria sitting out in the backyard. With the off chance that you’d be sent out on another case you didn’t want to leave any of that lying around for god knows how long. So you danced around each other while you made sure everything was in place, your go bags were adequately packed and managed to get some coffee and breakfast into your systems before it was time to go.

You were halfway to the BAU when your phone buzzed in the cupholder and Alex’s eyes darted from the road to it, letting out a small groan from the drivers seat.

“Please don’t let that be a case.”

You scooped it up, swiping open the message, “no. Em just wants me to grab her a coffee on the way in.”

“She can’t be bothered to go downstairs herself?” Alex chuckled and you huffed a laugh.

“Says she’s overrun with paperwork.”

“I seriously pray to whatever higher power is out there that paperwork is all today is.”

“Considering we haven’t even started ours from the D.C case and still need to wrap up the Phoenix closure files, if we do get something new she’ll probably split the team up depending on severity.”

“Okay, your brain is clearly caffeinated enough already. Give me that.” She swiped the coffee out of your hand with a grin and you scoffed.

“Rude Blake.”

“Just get yourself another one when you pick up Emily’s.”

“Ugh.” You rolled your eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile on your face as you sent of a couple more texts to Em. Your phone dropped back into the cupholder and you let out a small sigh, settling back into the seat, “are we gonna have to put the whole kiss thing into the report?”

Alex let out a hearty laugh, glancing over to you and you caught the pink tinge of her cheeks, “I’m not sure. Sounds like a Prentiss question.”

“True.” You laughed, managing to swipe the coffee back out of the holder when she put it down to make a left turn and she shot you a playful glare.

*

When you got to Quantico you split off, you beelining for the Starbucks on the main level while Alex headed for the elevator to get a head start on the day. Thankfully, the weather was warm and Emily had requested an iced latte so you were able to stop at your desk briefly, there were a couple of things that just needed a read over and a signature before they were done.

“Hey.” You knocked on her open office door in greeting, pausing to make sure she wasn’t on the phone.

“Hey.” She glanced up, tossing you a quick smile before she returned to whatever she was working on, the pile in her inbox way larger than the out, she really was drowning in paperwork.

“Hate to add to that monster of a pile.” You winced, dropping two folders down onto it, “but that’s the wrap up from Phoenix.”

“As long as it comes with coffee I won’t hate you.” She grumbled, scrawling her signature across the bottom of a page before flipping it shut and adding it to the outbox. Letting out a sigh of relief when you put the coffee down in the free space on her desk.

“Can’t have that now.”

“You’re a true hero.” She took a sip then her head tilted, eyes flitting between the bull pen and you, “Blake got here like twenty minutes ago, did you guys drive separately? Is there something up?”

“Didn’t realize we were playing twenty questions.” You laughed, tugging off your blazer to toss it over one of her spare chairs, “no we drove together, I just stopped for coffee, ran into Garcia and then quickly finished those.” You nodded toward the folders you’d dropped off, “sorry for withholding the caffeine.” You caught her eyeing you, her lips curving up in a teasing grin and your eyes narrowed, “what?”

“You put the bikini on, didn’t you?”

“What? Em...”

“I’m just assuming that’s how you got that hickey; I mean, Blake didn’t exactly go all Dracula in the bar.”

“What hickey?” You asked back in a very feeble attempt to steer her away from the topic.

“Oh, you’re telling me that’s dryer lint stuck to your shirt on the right side of your neck?”

Your hand raised as if you were trying to remove whatever definitely wasn’t a bruise on your skin and you couldn’t help the near wince when your fingers pressed into the mark. You were suddenly transported back to the previous night, Alex’s cock buried deep inside you as she’d made a very comfortable home in the crook of your neck and you knew there was no distracting Emily. You let out a huff, dropping back into the chair in defeat.

“Fine. It’s a hickey.”

“I fucking knew it!” Emily leant forward, suddenly very excited and invested, “so, just a steamy make out session in the hot tub? Please tell me that’s what it was, please tell me I made this happen because you two have been insufferable recently.”

“I.. well…”

“Wait…did you already—”

“Em!” You shot a glance to her open office door and she quickly shut up while you stood to cross the room and close it for some amount of privacy. “It turns out… your opinions on the red bikini may be shared by a certain linguist.”

“Oh my god! Yes!!”

The response was loud enough that it could only be muffled by the walls and Alex couldn’t help but chuckle to herself at her desk, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks as the memories of the night before came flooding back to her.

“Wait, did you guys fuck in the hot tub? Because now I’m never going to be able to use it again.” Emily nearly whined.

“Oh come on! No. That’s disgusting.” You huffed, dropping back into the chair, “there was just some making out in the hot tub. And…maybe a little more on one of the loungers… and then we went inside.”

“And?” She raised a brow, gleam prevalent in her eye.

“Well you were right on the nose about the mommy thing.”

“Blake you kinky motherfucker.” She chuckled, gaze drifting out to the bullpen briefly before she looked back at you. “Well, technically I think you’re the mother fucker here.”

“I take the time out of my day to bring you coffee and this is what I get, really?” You replied dryly, glaring in her direction.

“Okay, okay. I’m just happy you two finally hooked up. I take it, it was good?”

“Obviously.” You practically laughed, shaking your head at her before you settled back in your chair, your eyes glancing out toward Alex’s desk and you let out a sigh, tugging your lower lip into your teeth.

“Hey…” Emily’s voice was softer this time, watching the way you were watching the other woman.

“Hmm?” You didn’t glance back to her yet.

“Why’d you just shut down? I don’t need to know all the kinky details or anything, I know that might feel weird considering I know both of you.”

You let out a huff of a sigh, turning back to her with a shrug, “we…. didn’t exactly talk about things after. Like… maybe it was some one time thing fueled by booze and an undercover kiss…”

“And you don’t want it to be.” Emily replied and it wasn’t a question.

“No, of course not. I was fucking blind to what was going on until recently but like… I still haven’t found a house, what if it’s hella fucking awkward at home now? What if she was just pent up and wanted some sex post divorce? What if sex is all she wants?”

“Okay, okay.” She held up a hand, “I’m gonna stop you right there before you start to spiral. I wouldn’t worry about any of that Murphy.”

“You sure?” You raised a brow in her direction and she almost laughed.

“Absolutely. Alex likes you, she just needed to… un scramble some wires to figure out if it was a platonic thing or not and considering you’ve now fucked, I think platonic is off the table.”

“Wait.. have you talked to her about this?”

“A few times on and off, briefly, yeah.”

“So your whole little badgering chaotic thing was actually you legitimately trying to match make?”

“I have been waiting for the two of you to kiss since I met you and saw the way you acted together in that coffee shop in New York. Maybe the two of you took some time to realize it but you have some weirdly insane special connection. She likes you; she cares about you, she adores having you around, and now you’ve got orgasms added to the benefit list. Trust me. Because I’m the one who can see the way one of you is looking at the other when they’re not paying attention, and you’ve both had heart eyes for months.”

“When did your inner chaotic gremlin turn into Gandhi?” You half glared at her, but knew she was right. If things were going to be weird, they would’ve been awkward that morning, or on the thirty minute drive in, while there hadn’t been any conversation about the sex and you’d both been too distracted and busy to actually share a kiss, nothing felt different in that way.

“Hey!” She scoffed, “don’t hate me. I did this! You should be thanking me.”

“I’m standing up.” You warned with a point, “which means we’re back in work mode. Yes Chief Prentiss, I’m on it, paperwork is to be done. If you start talking about sex again HR is gonna have to hear about it.”

“Please, you would never.” She laughed and you rolled your eyes.

“But seriously, can you please keep this quiet? We really don’t need the entire team finding out, especially before we’ve even figured things out.”

“My lips are sealed.” She replied with a soft smile, “oh! Hold on.” She slid her chair over, digging through her go bag for a second before pulling out a couple of make up compacts, “cover up that hickey because someone else will call you out.”

Taking the items from her you flipped one of them around in your hands, noting that it was a colour correcting one, not just regular foundation, “you carry these with you?”

“Yeah, after this many years in the field you never know when you’re gonna take a punch and need to make a media appearance within twenty four hours.”

“Eck.” You winced, “thanks.”

*

Alex had disappeared into her home office shortly after the two of you got home, a soft instrumental playlist echoing down the hall through the open doorway. You knew she was lecturing at Georgetown in the coming week and there was no doubt she had some prep work to do for that. You took the solo time to head out on a run considering you hadn’t gotten the chance over the past couple of days and then jumped into the shower.

It was shortly after that that your stomach began to growl and you meandered out to the kitchen. A grocery trip was definitely in order, there really wasn’t much in the fridge, you stood staring into the pantry, eyes searching through the food to figure out what you could do for dinner. You registered the sound of Alex’s footsteps, followed by the soft thud of her phone being dropped onto the island and you figured she was grabbing a drink. What you didn’t expect was for her arm to wrap around your waist from behind, her body nestled into yours as her lips tenderly brushed against the bruise on your neck.

“Snack or meal?” She asked softly and you let out a little sigh, picking up a box of pasta.

“I know it’s not much but I’m thinking kraft dinner. You want some?” You half turned in her arm and she chuckled softly, her hand taking the box from you to put it back on the shelf.

“I was actually thinking that maybe tonight I could take you out?”

“Really?” You turned completely, your attention fully on Alex as her free hand came up to stroke at your cheek while she nodded.

“I know I should’ve bought you dinner before fucking you, but the thought still counts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” You smiled softly at her, “yeah it does.”

Her fingers trailed down your jaw, soothing over the bruise in the crook of your neck and she frowned slightly, “that doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“Only when Emily’s prodding at it.” You grumbled, rolling your eyes.

“I figured it wouldn’t take her long to put things together.” She laughed softly.

“Yeah. So what’re you thinking for dinner?”

“Not sure, nothing too fancy, you’re already cozy I wouldn’t want to make you change again.”

“What about Mezcalero? You were talking about wanting to try it out last week.”

“I think…” She started, her hand shifting back up to cup your cheek again, “that sounds perfect.”

She leant in, closing the small gap between you to meet your lips with hers and you let out a happy sigh, relaxing into the kiss as your arms circled around her shoulders. Neither of you could help the way your lips were curving up into smiles as they moved against each other, warmth blooming in your chest and flowing through your entire body. It was just as Alex slid her tongue across your lower lip that her phone buzzed against the island and she let out a groan, not wanting to pull away from you. As she reluctantly pulled away from you, a hand lingering on your waist, you closed the pantry, moving towards your own phone, waiting for it to go off.

“Oh fucking hell…” She felt her stomach plunge and when you glanced up you noticed how her eyes had widened, her face somehow both going pale and blushing at the same time.

“What?” You asked, your brow furrowing as Alex’s phone went off again, “ugh, is Emily sending you wildly inappropriate things?! I told her to stay out of this, I’m sorry, I’ll tell her to fuck off.” You picked up your phone with the intention of doing that when Alex finally found her voice again.

“Not Emily.”

“Please don’t tell me she blabbed already and it’s someone else on the team.”

“Nope.” Alex groaned, swiftly typing out a message on her phone, grimacing when it buzzed again in her hands and she dropped it to the island, running a hand over her face, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “I am so sorry.”

“You’ve lost me.”

With a sigh she slid her phone across the island and you picked it up to read the conversation,

‘Looks like you and bookstore girl really are getting along. Have to say, I saw that coming.’

‘Excuse me?’

A photo attachment, camera clearly aimed at the backyard with both the pool and hot tub in its frame, the part that mortified Alex, however, was that clear as day were the two of you all over each other in the hot tub.

‘Are you stalking my security cameras!?’

‘Relax. You said you weren’t going to be home until Saturday, I noticed a notification and thought some kids must’ve hopped the fence again.’

‘Definitely not the case.’

‘Hey, good for you. I’m glad you’re getting back out there. At least the hot tub’s finally getting some good use’

‘James, I swear to god.’

‘Don’t worry. Once I realized it was you I very quickly turned it off. While I’m not above teasing I’m not about to spy on your personal life.’

You glanced up to Alex, your eyes wide as she surveyed you, “James? As in your ex-husband, James?”

“That would be the one.” She let out a huff, accepting the phone back from you, “when we first moved in here it became pretty common knowledge that we had a pool and were both out of town a lot. We were both working when we got a call from local pd that a party had been shutdown at our house and one of the kids admitted it wasn’t the first time. So we installed the extra camera, James still has access since he keeps an eye on things when I’m out of town, he’s always on his phone, it’s a quicker call, easier for him to step away from work than me.”

“At least we waited until we were inside for the clothes to come off.” You suggested with a laugh, one that infected Alex and she chuckled, shaking her head at you.

“I guess that’s the saving grace. And believe me, he means it when he said he turned it off.”

“Well, one less semi awkward conversation to have next time you’re in Boston?” You offered and this time she couldn’t help but laugh, the ridiculousness of the entire situation settling down over her and she tugged you to her, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as laughter filled the kitchen.

“I am mortified. I didn’t even know how to bring up dating to James…”

“And now you don’t have to.” You laughed, prodding at her ribs, “the better question is… can you turn just that camera off?” You glanced up at her with a gleam in your eye and she raised a brow.

“Sounds like you have an idea.”

“Oh I have plenty of ideas. But they all involve a lens cap.”

“It can definitely be turned off.” She smiled, leaning down to kiss you.

“Good.” You grinned, “now take me to dinner.”

“You’re not going to share your ideas with the class?”

“Dinner first.” You kissed her, “dessert when we get home.”

“Now that, I like the sound of.”

________________

@svulife-rl rl @clarawatson @hbkpop @momlifebehard @alexusonfire @itisdoctortoyousir @temilyrights @alexxavicry @evilregal2002 @alcabots @ladysc @dextur @disneyfan624 @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @prentiss-theorem @happenstnces @whiteberryx @heidss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @emobabeyy @1974-sp @theclassicgaycousin @kalixxa @leftoverenvy @bigolgay @daddy-heather-dunbar @regalmilfs4me @scorpsik @riveramorylunar @h-doodles @maybe-a-humanbean

#alex blake #alex blake x reader #criminal minds #love comes quietly #alex blake series #alex blake: criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

[sillylittlestoryblog]

Meet cute

Greg Hirsch x Reader

Warnings: its cheesy romcom stuff, english isnt my first language, this isnt canon to succession at all, might be somewhere season one but shiv is working at waystar, use of y/n

Fluff nothing more.

Summary: Reader is Shivs assistant and has to bring some secret documents to Toms new assistant. He is your bosses cousin and has been working at waystar only for a few weeks. You are more than curious to meet him.

Notes: i loveeee succession and i love Cousin Greg the egg. I am not ready for it all to end. And damn the last episode is gonna air one day before my birthday. Another reason to cry at my birthday…it happens every year. Also none of my friends are into succession ( such bad friends ) so if you want to be my succession bestie pls dm me. Thx for reading this. And if you like it, just so you know, comments are like long hugs to writers :)

A loud knock on your office door interrupted your work. For hours you sat on the same boring documents and your head was literally glowing. The day had not started very well. After you arrived late at the trainstation and had missed your train, you felt you already knew that today would be awful. As you walked out into the New York winter air with cold ears, you almost collided with someone else. Why didn't this giant pay more attention to where he was going?

At Starbucks you quickly bought an overpriced coffee and two bagels. One for you and one for your boss. You had overslept and didn't really have time for breakfast and even though you were actually quite good at your job, you could get fired at any time. Waystar was not known for treating its employees well. The longer you worked there the more you hated the company. But you couldn't just quit. You have to pay rent and have enough money to keep you and your two cats alive. You needed that job. That means, that it happened more than often that you had to skip eating or sleeping. The main thing is that your boss has her hot coffee and snacks on her expensive coffee table every morning. And you need to do your job as her assistant perfectly, without ever being late.

But most mornings she wasn't even in the office. you could only wonder what happened to the cold coffee.

About four hours after you ran sweaty and red-headed to your little office to spend the next few hours in front of your computer, there was a loud knock on the door.

"Heyy, Good Morning Y/N. Nice to see you. Can you please bring these to my husband on the other floor. I have a meeting now. See you.“

And away she went again. Shiv Roy had handed you a pack of documents, at least thats what you thought it was. You read the word confidential printed on the envelope in red color. Even tho you were in the middle of something, you decided to take a break and bring that envelope to Shivs husband.

You weren't sure where it suddenly came from, but on the way to the elevator you got a little nervous. Not only because of Shiv's somewhat strange husband. Tom Wabsgans had given you the ick from the beginning. He was tall and rich, like almost every other man who worked here. And yes money can make people a bit peculiar. But Tom... he was on another level. You had once heard him yell at a co-worker for "breathing too loudly". Also, there were rumors going around that he offered to give some employees a fortune, if they would be his "human furniture" for a week. If anyone in this building would claim that Tom had a piece of meat cut out of his own body to eat as a steak, no one would be surprised. You least of all. He gave you a strange feeling every time. But your nervousness came from something else.

The day before, Inej, one of your best friends who used the office next to yours, had whispered to you at lunch that she had seen tom's new assistant. She had grinned and said:

"so if I wasn't already in a happy committed relationship with this awesome guy, I would have given him my number for sure. Fuck Y/N, he's really cute."

Since this talk you had caught yourself wanting to know more about this guy. Because cute wasnt how you would describe most guys who worked for Logan Roy. Most of them where sleazy, moneyhungry guys with big watches and tailored suits. They catcalled all the women who worked with you, honestly you hated their guts.

Inej had sent you a message the night before. She'd heard from two of Tom's coworkers that the assistant was probably part of the Roy family. A cousin or nephew or something. If this rumor was true, then it was definitely the hottest gossip in ages.

The elevator ride didn't take long and with the envelope in your hand you walked confidently towards Tom's office. You had already raised your hand to knock on his office.

But it should not come so far, from the side came a great force that almost made you fall. But before you could curse again the shitty "all women must wear high heels rule" and hit the floor, someone held you by your waist.

"Oh god sorry. Uh. I'm really sorry about that."

You had no idea how you could have almost been knocked over for the second time today. You were kinda getting angry. Why was this day so awful.

"oh fuck, can't you be more careful?!"

When you turned to the side you almost regretted your loud harsh tone.

In front of you stood a tall guy, brown hair, crooked tie and an apologetic and quiet adorable puppy look on his face.

„So, uh, i m sorry. Truly? uh…Truliest.“

You didnt really know how to respond. Damn that guy is tall.

„Wait, uh, are you Y/N? You know because i, uh , i didnt stalk you or something, i saw you on a photo, this coworker, uh, i think her name was Inej, she showed me a picture, like of you guys, and - well i just assumed that might be, uh, you? And i…“

„What?“

„I am Greg, i uh work for Tom, and yeah so yesterday- i talked to this wom…“

„No i get that part. You really need to look where you are going…Greg.“

You were putting on a little smile. Inej was right, he was cute, and apparently also very clumsy. And nervous?

Greg was tucking his hair behind his ear. He didnt looked that shocked anymore. A small smile creeping on his face.

Damn. You really liked that face.

„I am really sorry, Y/N. I kinda, uh, feel like i owe you something?“

You were blushing. Nervously you looked down. He is so tall he probably can’t see the blushing like that.

„Would you maybe give this to Tom?- its from Shiv. And probably important.“

You handed him the envelope. You could have sworn your hands touched. You felt like cringing. This feels like you are in a stupid romcom. Stop blushing and smiling this isnt pride and prejudice.

If you hadn’t looked down while being flustered, you could have witnessed Greg’s cheeks turning a little red too.

Nervously he gave you a thumbs up.

„ sure. Uh - and, eh, maybe i could buy you something for lunch? I don’t know… there is this really cool pizza place i always wanted to go, i … sorry, maybe you don’t even like pizza. Eh i just thought we could maybe go there? And i would pay - obviously. -Not because i am a man or something, uh like i am a feminist and i believe you could pay for yourself, but, uh i you know almost knocked you over because i didnt look where i was going…“

His nervous rambling continued. Your little smirk turned into a genuin smile.

„Hey Greg.“

„Uh yeah?“

„I would love that.“

On the way back to your office, you forgot how horrible this day started. With a smile on your face you pushed the button to go up. Entering the elevator you looked around, he was still standing where you left him. Grinning to himself. You saw him looking back up to search for your face, right when the elevator doors closed in front of you.

#greg hirsch x reader #nicholas braun #nick braun #succession #fanfic writer #gregory hirsch #greg the egg #succession hbo #succession fan fiction #shiv roy #tom wambsgans #fluff #l to the og #greg hirsch #cousin greg #logan roy #ao3 author

[glamrpevents]

Located in Palm Desert, the JW Marriott Desert Springs Resort & Spa offers a luxurious retreat for Coachella attendees. Surrounded by lush greenery and set against the backdrop of the desert landscape, this resort combines modern elegance with desert charm. Guests can enjoy stylish accommodations, gourmet dining options, and rejuvenating spa experiences. With its idyllic setting and upscale offerings, it's the ideal destination for festival-goers looking for relaxation and indulgence.

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Savor innovative cuisine made from the freshest local ingredients at the Rockwood Grill. This popular Palm Desert restaurant offers amazing water views from its patio, serving breakfast, lunch or dinner.

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Come into “T&T” Time & Temperature Innovation Kitchen for an ever-changing five-course tasting menu designed by our restaurant chefs, who mix and mingle offering their insights on each course. Available for private events only.

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Casual American cuisine served for lunchtime dining at Oasis Poolside Bar & Grill. Enjoy beverages at 10:00am daily with the Kitchen opening at 11:00am Daily.

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Enjoy California bar bites and cocktails at Blue Star Lounge. This lively bar and lounge open for lunch and dinner and features an inviting indoor lounge and charming outdoor patio with fire pits. Live entertainment Fridays & Saturdays.

Starbucks®

Begin your day with rich coffee and a delectable pastry at our recently remodeled Starbucks®. It's also a great spot to refuel with freshly made sandwiches and snacks before heading into meetings or out to explore Palm Desert.

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Indulge on freshly-caught seafood and local produce, as well as decadent desserts at the award-winning Fisherman's Landing restaurant.

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Enjoy classic American comfort food without leaving your room. Our In-Room Dining menu offers a variety of breakfast, lunch and dinner options.

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Bedroom 1: 1 King

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Sofa bed

Rollaway beds not permitted

Cribs permitted: 1

ROOMMATES:

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#glamcityevent003 #glamcitycoachella

[billetwoes]

Too Serious! Billet Woes Part 3

Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at fanfic. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, rudeness is not.

Word Count: 4,255

Synopsis: It has been slightly over a week, and so far so good. Everything seems to run smoothly as expected, until Tomas decided to have a serious conversation with you.

*****************************

The next morning went on as normal. Breakfast consisted of a savoury breakfast crepe consisting of truffle oil scrambled eggs, spinach, mushrooms, leeks, and red peppers with hollandaise sauce (Yay to the Vitamix!) topped with cilantro. You made some potato wedges fried in beef tallow and seasoned it lightly with a Parmesan, truffle and black garlic seasoning.

“Hmm, by the way, I wanted to ask you first,” Tomas began, washing his food down with a swig of orange juice, “A friend of mine wanted to send me an important package. Would it be alright if I gave him your address?”

You furrowed your brows, as you are apprehensive to give out personal information.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I understand,” he went on further.

You sighed and then thought of a solution.

“You can give him my business address. It’s a UPS mailbox, so I can pick it up for you when it arrives. Plus, it’s safer,” you offered.

“Great!”

You gave him the details and were told that his friend would be sending something via same-day shipping.

Once breakfast was done, you did your routine clean up and making sure that the cats were well-fed. Once you let the kitties out of the workshop, their demeanor changed rapidly to happiness and started to roam around the house. You noticed that Bijoux had been slowly yet surely warming up to Tomas and was now allowing him to pet her.

Minou was not having it; she gave a jealous yowl and swatted at Bijoux violently. She hissed then began to circle and rub her body around Tomas’ booted legs. Bijoux huffed and then left for her favourite cat tree.

“No, no! Don’t do that! There’s plenty of pets to go around,” he chuckled, picking up Minou and chastising her gently while scratching her behind the ears, “I let you sleep with me already. Give your sister a chance.”

“He’s such a good cat dad,” you mused. It was a nice to see that both the girls have taken to your guest very well. In fact, you were missing the warm lump of Minou’s body between your legs, where she typically likes to sleep.

He then set her down, while she protested pitifully. He picked up the lunch bag and headed towards the door, “Shall we?”

You are starting to like driving at this time of the morning, as there was no traffic at all! Lord Liu Kang really did think this through and was grateful for the consideration of your lifestyle. Plus, you found your energy level to gradually pick up.

After you dropped off Tomas at the muster point, you decided to treat yourself to a Starbucks before heading back home to clean up some more, spend quality time with the girls, and work on more orders. You loaded the packages in a couple of tote bags and took them to the post office before heading to work. You checked your Etsy account and were pretty pleased that you will be getting a nice pay soon.

During work, you got a notification that the package had arrived. “That was fast!” You thought, amazed. The shipping cost must be awfully high.

When work ended, you bumped into a couple of colleagues on the way out.

“Hey there, girl! How was your day?” a well-dressed slender and tall man with short, curly brown hair in his early thirties greeted you with a hug.

“Hey Andrew! It went well. Uneventful, but boring is beautiful,” you replied cheerfully, “How was yours?”

“I love it when you say, “Boring is beautiful!” a tall Nigerian lady laughed. Her name is Alisha, who is level-headed, no-nonsense, but positive and funny with great fashion to boot. The two of you have been good friends since you started working where you work.

“Right? I have no complaints; nothing bad happened, so,” you responded just as cheerfully. “Are you going to the staff get together?”

“Oh, no, I’m leaving in a week, remember?” Andrew reminded, looking sad, “I’m moving to a different city.”

“Aww, that’s right! I’ll miss you, hun!” You hugged your colleague with a sad pouty face, “We wish you all the best!”

Andrew hugged you back firmly, then Alisha hugged Andrew.

“We need to go for dinner before you go!” Alisha said, “The three of us.”

“Yes! We should do that,” Andrew agreed, “Oooh! How about Uccelino?”

Your eyes widened along with your smile, “Yes!” You exclaimed, pointing a finger, not at him but to emphasize what he said, “Love that place!”

“Sounds great! Let’s keep in touch, k?” Andrew started to walk away, “Bye, ladies!”

“For sure! See ya!”

“Take care!”

“How was your day, Alisha? How was Madison’s performance?” You asked about her 5-year-old daughter.

“Oh, you know, she loves performing. She lights up every time she gets to sing. She was so excited to be a fairy and was showing off her dress to everyone,” Alisha shared happily, “She says she can’t wait for her next performance!”

She pulled out her phone to show you a few pictures of a cute girl in a yellow organza-tulle dress with a tiara holding a wand with a large star on top; she had the biggest smile and twinkling eyes. She then showed a video of her singing “When You Wish Upon A Star”.

You can’t help but coo because this was the cutest thing that you’ve seen ever!

“Aww, she’s so precious! She’s got such a beautiful voice!” And you meant it. Some children are gifted with beautiful voices, and she sounded like a miniature Marcedes from Glee, “I hope that she goes far, because, girl, she’s got it!”

“Thank you so much,” Alisha beamed, clearly touched, “I am proud of her.”

“You should be!” You were hit with this realization that these are the kinds of moments that the Earth Realm and Outworld Protectors were protecting, and you felt guilty for taking the days that have been passing your life for granted. You respect and appreciation for them have deepened.

You and Alisha continued to chat all the way to the parking lot.

“Anyways, I gotta pick up the kids. See you tomorrow, girl!” Alisha hugged you, and you’ve always felt good interacting with her.

You hugged her back and you exchanged good-byes.

You nearly forgot to go to the USP store to pick up the parcel and accidentally sideswiped someone in reaction to turning back to head in the opposite direction. You heard a loud series of horns at you.

“HEY, BITCH! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!!!” You heard a driver shout at you.

“I’m sorry!” You waved apologetically. Red-faced, your alertness returned in a flash while feeling yourself shrinking. Taking a few deep breaths, you calmed yourself down enough to stay focused on your way to your destination.

You entered the store to open your mailbox, but it was empty, which meant that it was a larger package. You walked over to the clerk and gave your box number. The clerk went to the back and produced a box for you, which you received. You thanked the clerk and headed back to the car. Once in, you inspected the box; it was a 4”x 4”x 4” made out to “Tomas Vrbada” from the US.

You let out a “Hmm,” raising your eyebrows before stating the car. Then you noticed the time. You were 20 minutes late from picking up Tomas! You cursed under your breath but the initial shock of a near miss followed by being cussed out by an angry driver was still fresh, so you took a moment to calm down. Once you were ready, you shifted your gear to drive.

When you arrived at Lisa’s friend’s place, his name is Kyle, you drove up to the driveway where you saw Tomas and another warrior sparring. He delivered two kicks, which his partner blocked.

Upon noticing you, he stopped what he was doing, picked up his mask and lunch bag, said his goodbye to his partner and walked towards you, sweating and smiling. His grey ninja uniform made him look formidable and intimidating, and you reminded yourself that this man was capable of killing someone. However, every time he was friendly and polite in behavior, it threw you off and had cognitive dissonance. You smiled and waved sheepishly.

“Oh, my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t meant to make you wait!” You apologized profusely, looking shameful, “I had a difficult time on the road.”

“Don’t apologize! I kept myself occupied,” he said reassuringly, still slightly out of breath, “How was your day?”

“Well, other than nearly sideswiping someone, I’m alive,” you admitted sheepishly, “Totally my fault.”

“I’m sorry to hear that! Are you ok?” His expression was genuinely concerned, and it was reflected in his voice. Those eyes, though. So piercing!

You were touched by the concern he was showing and relaxed a little. “I am, thank you for the concern. I’m sorry again for being late!”

“You don’t need to apologize so much, Y/N. I’ve noticed that tendency in you.”

“I’m sorry,” *shit!* you did it again! You mentally beat you head on the steering wheel again and again.

He laughed, “But then it must be a Canadian thing, yes? So I’ve been told!”

Yet again, another save. He must have this sixth sense of you being embarrassed and verbally taking you out of it. Well, there’s a positive!

“Oh, I’ve picked up your package.” You reached to the back to get the box and handed it to him.

He received it gratefully, “Thank you for doing this for me. I wonder what he sent…” he muttered, inspecting the box and shaking it.

You kind of stared into space for god knows how long.

“Y/N…Y/N…hello?”

He waved his hand in front of your face to snap you out of your fog.

“Are we going home? I am starving and want to see what you will be cooking next!”  

“Oh, right! I’m sorry!” You shut your eyes tight, and he laughed even more. Smiling stiffly, you started the car, “Let’s go.”

You were grateful that you managed to bring the both of you home safely. As soon as you entered your apartment, you made a beeline to the coat rack to hang your purse and coat, then straight to the kitchen. Using whatever’s left of the shock in your system, you channelled that into preparing your meal. You vaguely heard Tomas go into the guest bathroom and a few minutes later you heard the shower.

Food time: Pressure Test! (skip if you’re not interested)

You took out ingredients and mentally started to plan on making your meal. You first pre-heated the toaster oven to 400 F, then took out the container of tomato basil bisque that you have pre-made during the weekend out of the freezer, which you threw into a medium sized pot to boil. You were grateful for having pre-made some soups and pre-portioned main courses for lazy days and for frantic days.

Next, you tackled the ceasar salad. You took out a bag of romaine lettuce to cut up, then soak in a bowlful of water and some vinegar to sit for a few minutes. You would have made the dressing yourself, but since you were ridiculously late coming home, you had to cheat. Luckily, you had THE BEST ceasar dressing from Costco!

Next, you heated some water for pasta and you chose spagettini as the pasta of choice. The boiling comes later.

While that was happening, you went to the fridge and pulled out a package of 4 chicken breasts, which you butterflied, seasoned, layered basil and half a bag’s worth of Italian Cheese, and then rolled them up. You washed your hands thoroughly to prevent killing anyone so that you can prepared the dredging ingredients in three rectangular deep dishes. You added salt, pepper, Italian herbs, garlic and onion powders, paprika and shredded parmesan cheese. The doubly dredged stuffed chicken breasts, which were held by toothpicks were pan fried on both sides until golden brown, and then transferred to the oven to cook the rest of the way.

While that was happening, you decided that it wouldn’t hurt to handwash the dishes under barely tolerable hot water and soap, which you did in a jiffy, while also effectively washing your hands, too.

To jack up the chicken, you sauteed mince garlic and onion then threw in a can of crushed Roma tomato sauce, and seasoned to taste to which you put on top of the breaded crispy chicken at the 15 minute mark, topping it with more Italian cheese then sticking it back to cook the rest of the way for a total of 25 minutes and a little longer until the cheese is golden brown, which the latter happened. Once done, you made sure that all the toothpicks were removed, again to not kill anybody.

You lowered the temperature of the soup after it was thoroughly melted and piping hot down to a simmer and you washed the tomato sauce pan thoroughly.

For the final task, you made the Aglio e Olio Pasta as the companion pasta for your chicken. You turned up the heat to boil the pasta water and threw in the pasta once boiling. You took a clean stainless steel pan and poured the amount of olive oil required for the recipe and heated it up on medium-low, then thinly sliced 1 ½ bulb’s worth of garlic which went into the pan along with chili flakes to infuse the oil with flavors until the garlic started to turn brown. Dragging the perfectly cooked pasta pot right up against the pan you used tongs to transfer the spaghettini into the pan and added pasta water and salt as needed in between tossing the pan’s content until it was beautifully glossy. Once this was done. You threw in chopped Italian parsley and tossed some more.

You turned your attention to the lettuce, which you drained then spun in a salad spinner until they are as thoroughly dry as you can get them. You completed the ceasar salad in a large wooden bowl and topped it with store-bought croutons and wide shavings of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese.

(The end 😊 Can you guess how long this all took on a time crunch?)

By this time, you had noticed that Tomas was sitting on the dinner table, now wearing a fitted gray t-shirt and pajama pants, looking at his phone intently. He was in his own world, which made you feel relieved, because that bought you some time to make some of those herb and garlic sourdough toasts, which you forgot to make. 

You quickly set the table and plated the food with the chicken beautiful with the golden-brown cheese on top on one side and the Aglio e Olio on the other, making the Italian Flag proud! Next were the bowls of soup, which you decorated with two whole basil leaves, then assembled the toasts neatly on a separate plate. You bought a bottle of cold sparkling Italian lemonade from the Italian super market, which you’ve been stocking up on.

Hooooo boy, you felt like a hot mess after all was done. You quickly went to change you clothes so that you don’t look like a hot mess before finally sitting down at the dinner table ready to eat.

“Itadakimasu!” He exclaimed happily, “Let’s eat!”

You quietly dug into your food, and you didn’t realize how starving you are until you reached your last bite in under 15 minutes. You surprisingly beat Tomas, who was halfway done, partly because he was also paying attention to his phone.

You happened to look up to ask him how his dinner was and you were startled to see him staring at you. If you’ve watched Season 4 of Love Is Blind, he had the same intense, creepy stare as Zach. His lips were curled up in a smile.

You decided to ignore the sensation of your skin crawling to ask him how his dinner was. He didn’t reply and continued to stare at you with that smile.

“What?” you asked, you shifted your eyes to one side briefly before returning to his stare, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why are you so serious?” Tomas asked, now grinning.

“I’m sor-what?” you spat out, stunned.

“You’re so serious,” he repeated. He pursed his lips, seemingly deep in thought, “Am I scary?”

“No, you’re not scary,” you answered slowly after your own pause.

“Then why do you look.....serious? Why are you so quiet?” he asked. You perceive there to be a slightly teasing tone in his voice, “Are you normally like this around people?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean,” you said, confused. Is he right though? In your head, you went over your interactions with him from the past week. You were civil and respectful in your interactions with him and have done your best to make sure that he was comfortable. However, you remember the first evening when he made the comment about how you were serious. In your defense, you tended to be focused when you’re working on a task.

“You’re doing it again, you have that look in your face! It’s like you’re……uh…….pondering the meaning of life!” he quipped with the same creepy expression, this time his eyes looking off momentarily to the side before returning to yours, “Like figuring out how the……….caramel got into a Caramilk Bar.”

You nearly choked on your drink. That came out of nowhere! Did you hear this right? Was he joking?

You opened and closed your mouth a few times trying to respond to him, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Tomas. I shouldn’t ha-“

“I interrupt you, sorry!” he countered, “I didn’t say that you made me uncomfortable. I said that you were serious. And to be honest……”

“Okay?” you were paying attention now. You felt terrible, as you can feel a mental lashing from your perfectionist brain beginning.

“It hurts my feelings,” he finished, expression changing to that of a pouty demeanor, like a 10-year old, “You want to know a secret? I’ve never told any one about this, not even my own brother……..The Grand Master of the great Shirai Ryu……Best Clan ever.”

He gestured for you to come closer, and you leaned forward a few inches.

He gestured even harder, “Closer! Closer! You’re too shy!”

You gave a slight incredulous scoff and leaned forward a few more inches.

“Closer!” He beckoned even harder.

You stopped just over a feet away from him, “No, this is close enough.”

“Okay, I’ll lean closer,” he bobbed his head side-to-side and leaned closer so that his face was 6 inches away from yours.

You instinctively leaned away from him. You were made to feel uncomfortable with this sudden behavior change, and you kept wary eyes on him as his piercing silver-gray eyes bore into yours.

“What is your secret?” You asked.

After a long pause and eyes still locked into yours, he said, “I’m a Cancer.”

A burst of involuntary laughter erupted from you. You leaned your elbows on the table with a thud, and burried your face into your hand, convulsing.

“This is funny to you?” Tomas asked, “I’m telling you my secret……..it is very precious to me!”

It was hard to take this seriously, and you couldn’t help but find this sudden shift of behaviour amusing.

He waited until you to calm down. “I-I’m so-sorry! I-I d-didn’t me-mean to-“

“I interrupt you again,” he cut you off, waving his hand dismissively, “As I said, it is a precious secret…very…very…..very………very precious.”

Swallowing hard, you managed to stop laughing, “Thank you for sh-sharing your secr-secret with me.” Your were finding it hard to keep a straight face, so you smiled and gestured for him to go on.

“I know I look scary on the outside………like, very…very, very, very, very, very scary. I look tough like a Russian Villain!” This he said with an over-exaggerated tough guy look pumping his fist in front of him. Then he softened his demeanor to the same pouty expression, “But I’m very soft in the inside.” He rubbed his left chest emphatically, “I’m a sensitive man. Very, very, very, very, very sensitive……….like my feelings get hurt very, very easily.”

“How have I hurt your feelings, Tomas?” you asked trying to be empathetic, a chuckle betraying you.

“You don’t talk to me,” he answered, still pouty-faced.

Despite your amusement, you were taken-aback since you’ve always responded to his questions and when he initiates conversations. To be honest, you’ve always kept to yourself and minded your own business, until you got to know someone well enough to open up to and engage in more than superficial conversations,

“I don't talk to you?" You repeated, "What do you want to talk about?”

“Ask me about………my hair,” he said, “Ask me why it is gray.”

Now that he brought it up, you seized the opportunity to satisfy the curiosity, “Is that your natural hair colour?”

He cocked his head to one side, “My mother was a moon sprite…my father was a fire lord….he is human. It’s a sad story, I’m sorry.” His face contorted as if about to cry.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m listening,” you reassured, “I want to hear it.

“My people were persecuted, so my mother put me in a basket to help me escape. It travelled down the river from my kingdom all the way to China and my hair turned from red to gray……because it was cold. My fire became smoke,” he finished now with a deadpan expression, “The end!” He finished in a sing-song voice with a cheery expression and raising his hands with upturned palms.

Reluctantly, you told him it was a good story. It sounded ridiculous to you, but knowing about the existence of magical realms and beings, you thought that there may be plausibility in his story and that he’s using humour to cope. It is also possible that he was trying to connect with people and was secretly lonely. You now felt terrible for laughing.

“Thank you for sharing your story with me, Tomas. I’ll be sure to ask more questions about you,” You reassured, “I normally don’t ask a lot of questions when I don’t know people very well, because I don’t know if a question is personal or not.”

“What personal questions?” Tomas asked, leaning in curiously, eyes wide like a child.

“Well, you know, like if someone’s married, how old someone is, or what their family life is like, or-“

“Are you married?” he asked.

You paused, “I decline to answer.”

“How old are you?”

“I’d rather not say,” you replied warily.

“Why?”

“And it’s rude to ask someone that.”

“Why?”

“Some people are sensitive about their age.”

“Why?”

You paused, “They just don’t like being asked that question.”

“Why?”

“Okay, this is getting nowhere,” you smiled awkwardly, trying to get out of the topic.

“You’re being serious again!” Tomas exclaimed, “Even your food is serious.” He gestured at his plate.

You blinked, “I’m sorry, what? My food is “serious”?”

“Your food………it’s too serious,” he picked up his fork and poked through the salad, the chicken, and the pasta, “Where are my brownies? Where are my Skittles?”

The then spooned the soup, pretending to look for something, “Where is my ice cream?”

You shrugged, “Well, I want to make sure that you eat health-“

He held a hand up to stop you, “Sorry, I interrupt you,” he said, “Now you hurt my Cancer feelings again.”

“Go on, please explain,” you gestured for him to continue.

“I like tasty food…..just not too serious…….If everything is too serious, there is no fun.”

Nodding slowly, you agreed empathetically, “You’re right.”

He slammed a hand on the table, “Of course, I’m right!”

This action made you jump, but you looked at him expectantly to continue.

“I am a human being! I have feelings,” He said, rubbing his left chest again, “…..…needs……..I want fun! Please consider my feelings.”

“You right, I’m sorry, I sh-“

“I don’t want your, “I’m sorry!” he said loudly, he slammed his hand on the table again, “I want action!”

You shut your eyes with a suppressed smile, processing the interaction. You were undoubtedly amused, but what part of this was serious? You wanted to read between the lines to find the meaning, but that was a task for later.

“How about this?” you began slowly, “Why don’t I bring you on my next Costco run after I pick you up during the weekend, then we’ll eat out. What do you think?”

“No serious?” He asked, wide-eyed.

“No serious,” you affirmed, nodding and smiling.

“Ok!” He then cracked a wide, innocent smile, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

You let him finish his dinner, and proceeded to clear the table and clean up after he was done. Once your duties for the evening were done, you headed to your room and hit the shower.

He reverted back to the self that you were familiar with, like the entire strange conversation never happened. But you got a good laugh out of it.

You let the cats out. Instantly, they gravitated towards Tomas, who gladly indulged them. He also insisted in helping you, you explained that since he was a guest, he wouldn’t be doing any of that. However, interacting the kitties would always be welcomed.

Was it ever an interesting day, and it ended with you laughing your self to sleep. Little did you know, your dinners would become…interesting.

#mk1 tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada #tomas x reader #mk1 #mortal kombat #funny #comedy #mk1 smoke #smoke #mk 1 smoke x reader

[ratrrriot]

Sonic takes him to Starbucks once and gets the receipt with just how much two coffees with a breakfast sandwich costs and immediately goes to Dunkn donuts afterward he needed less expensive coffee to deal with his stress level he endured XD

They get out of the shop,he puts his hands on Tail's shoulders and tells him to remember the flavor of his first frapuccino cuz it'll also be the last.

#rat answers #ok but honestly? i bet that if tails wants to #he can make himself a drink that's 10 times better than a frapuccino

[kitwalker02]

The Evan's favorite flavor of milk

Tate

Tate is a basic, emo alt boy and likes his milk dark like his soul

Aka true moo chocolate milk is a staple in his fridge

Tate also only uses chocolate milk in his cereal and that is a really specific pet peeve of constance's

His afternoon snack is a bottle of chocolate milk and string cheese

Lactose intolerance? Tate doesn't know her.

Kit

Actually severely intolerant to all milk so he either had to take lactaid or suck it up and drink almond milk

He only likes the chocolate almond milk

Something about almond milk makes him really passive aggressive though so he'll drink a lot of strawberry milk with Julia and act like he made a great fatherly sacrifice when he gets really sick

Truth is Kit REALLY just has a thing for strawberry milk

So it feels like a betrayal when Julia gets her hands on some of his chocolate almond milk and decides that it's her new favorite drink

She literally refuses to drink strawberry milk from then on and Kit wonders what he did to hurt her so much that she'd do this to him

Kyle

Kyle is definitely a basic white milk drinking boy

However he prefers to drink juice rather than milk and only uses it for the basics like cereal and dipping oreos

Although one time he almost killed himself trying to chug a whole jug of milk at a frat party

Jimmy

Jimmy is a simple 1950's boy and drinks a glass of milk breakfast, lunch and dinner

His calcium levels are through the roof and bones are very strong

Milk is his preferred beverage and he's totally the type of guy to act all tough and sexy and then order a glass of milk

James

James has never even heard of different flavors of milk

He literally lives under a rock lol

Every night before bed he drinks a glass of warm milk because his mom use to make him do that and now it's the only way he can fall asleep

But it gets in his mustache and is kinda gross cuz he drinks it after brushing his teeth

#milkbreath

Rory

A strawberry milk guy through and through

Every Saturday morning he goes and gets a Boston cream donut and a bottle of strawberry milk

It is his favorite ritual and one time he did it every morning for like 6 weeks straight

But then his agent called him fat

He also has a weird obsession with strawberry icecream

And don't even get him started on Starbucks' pink drink....

Edward

Definitely has an oil painting of it

Idk if chocolate milk was even a thing then (lol don't call me dumb) but it would totally be Edward's jam

Also believes chocolate milk comes from brown cows

Kai

(Ngl guys I wrote this whole thing and didn't realize I forgot kai until I was doing the hashtags lol that's what he gets)

Kai likes white milk but only because it is basic and boring and restored his eye sight or whatever

Brings back fond memories of when he was little and with his mom

Puts a shit ton of whole milk in his coffee

Mr. Gallant

He likes the pink milk

He calls it aesthetically pleasing and takes a picture of it for his social media

There's like a month old bottle of half dranken strawberry milk on his dresser

It's absolutely disgusting

Not even the Apocalypse was able to get rid of it...

Jeff

He'll only use the powdered milk so he can snort it up his nose

Jk jk

Eats coco puffs every morning for breakfast and uses one of those edible straw things to drink all the milk out of the bowl

Likes that the milk starts off white but then becomes chocolate milk

This never ceases to amaze him

His taste in cereal is not superior...

Austin

Milk is a very important staple in Austin's diet. He needs that calcium to keep his teeth sharp and strong

He likes chocolate milk the most though

Only drinks Yahoo chocolate milk

In elementary school the other kids would bully him and steal his chocolate milk and make him drink strawberry milk instead

This made him so sad

Strawberry milk has a very bad connotation to him because of that

#american horror story #evan peters #ahs #tate langdon #ahs murder house #evan peters fanfiction #kit walker #kyle Spencer #jimmy darling #james patrick march #rory monahan #edward mott #mr gallant #kai anderson #jeff pfister #austin sommers

[ransomnote]

how the fuck am i not supposed to have disdain for the people i love in real life when i see them going to starbucks or breaking any other boycott or having a "taylor cam" count going while rafah is being bombed. how do i look these people in the eyes the next morning or respond when they ask if i want to get breakfast when they turned their heads away like good little dogs to untold levels of human suffering exactly like they were supposed to, exactly when they were supposed to. how do i not let last night fester in my fucking chest forever.

#i'm venting mostly just. jesus christ.

[deadlifts-and-deadlines]

One thing that makes me sad about getting on prednisone is that the energy burst always makes me realize how much I’ve had taken away from me. Yesterday I got up and showered and took Ender to breakfast, then we hiked, played at the park, went to Starbucks for treats, then I took him to the gym to run some obstacle courses. When we got home, I played with him some more, walked my dogs, and cleaned the house and made dinner. It was such a great day, and I wish I had the energy to get up and do those things all the time.

I’ve actually had the energy to cook and eat lately too. It is so much easier to do these things when I have an appetite. In the last three days I’ve made Stromboli, salmon, and enchiladas, and I’m making spaghetti tonight. The enchiladas made me sick, I had a feeling they would, but I figured it was probably the best time to try them bc of my Stelara levels and prednisone. Nope, lol 🤣

[fereldanwench]

it's dragon con day! ヽ( °◇°)ノ

husbando and i decided after last year that going all-out and doing the full weekend with a hotel and eating out every day etc etc for 10 straight years (well, excluding 2020) was enough--it's an awesome convention, such a cozy home-away-from-home vibe, but it's expensive and we wanted to start saving that money (and time) for new experiences

but we were talking a few weeks ago and he, much to my surprise (bc although he does enjoy it, DC has always been more my thing) was like "it'd be fun to go down there and find a perch and people-watch at least" so i was like "say no more" and got us Saturday passes

and i think im gonna cosplay for the first time since 2019--it's gonna depend on the comfort level of some shoes i forgot i had replaced after 2019 and never thoroughly checked out, but i think they're gonna be fine

will find out in about an hour or two

but first! traditional dragon con breakfast: starbucks grande iced latte with a breakfast sandwich

#t: wench.txt #event: dragoncon

[misscammiedawn]

Charmed! Recap Day 4 (Saturday)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (you're reading it!) Part 5

AAAAAAA!!!!

I bolted upright, terrified and activated.

“It’s okay, Cammie. It’s 2023. You’re in Annapolis. It’s Charmed. You’re in a hotel room. It’s 2:30am. Everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

Puppet and Sleepyhead take such good care of me…

I fell back asleep. I wasn’t even certain that moment had happened, but my journal notes said “panic attack in middle of the night?” And I asked Sleepyhead, who told me her version of that event.

I woke again at 7:30am, took a test and got myself dressed for first event of the day…

Yoga with Copper!

A presenter I had a firm connection to ran the class and it was nice to have an event with Copper. The two of us remained close during the event and did our best. I’m a bendy bitch but my reach is kind of limited.

The presenter was another person I really wanted to catch up with this weekend as we had a friendship built up from when we both lived in the same state. Alas, this was not the best time for it as I had a 9am coffee date scheduled with Daja and Nath…

Charmed! Outfit 5: Miss Dawn's Default Attire For those who want to look exactly like their Tumblr avatar.

Which I dressed up for in my “Miss Dawn Default Attire”, which is the outfit all of the online art depicting me wears. Well. Most of it. Some of it has the red magician’s outfit I wore at Beguiled.

For the Starbucks run, Daja wanted to ensure I got to eat a proper breakfast and was eager to get some time with me and her Lady at the same time.

Unfortunately what didn’t work out with our plans was that the first Positive COVID test of the convention had been announced and it was someone both Puppet and Tigress had spent time with. Puppet, for a few minutes while masked and Tigress while eating lunch.

Though it broke her heart to do so, Puppet opted to remain in the room until 48 hours after exposure to take a PCR level test to confirm she was safe to continue enjoying the con. Good news is that I am posting this on Tumblr a week later and all of Oikos have received negative PCR tests. None of us got sick.

But I at the time I was worried about a LIFE CHANGING appointment which would not have happened if I got sick. COVID anxiety played a big part of my weekend.

The knowledge of that important appointment meant Oikos needed to discuss how to handle this. We decided that masks should remain on during demos and classes, no inviting people outside of our bubble into rooms (Daja/Turq are inside bubble) and any major play required tests before hand if possible.

Sleepyhead was booked solid for the entire day full of demos and fun. I was OVERJOYED that she was getting all of that…

Though I will write a little more about that later…

I pulled into the tail end of the hairplay demo class and sat next to Daja who cuddled me close and ensured I paid attention, even going as far as to forbid the nuzzle trigger from working for the next hour. She was interested in my reactions. The way I gasped and whimpered at the wall slams, the way I shied up at the neck nape grab. How I giggled and enjoyed one of the presenters hamming up her role and another turning himself into a wall for the demo bottom to be slammed against.

There was a Kodak moment in there. You had to be in the room. Or the online stream.

Hairplay is always a highlight for me any time I go. Daja was in Toppy space and was being playful. My reactions must have been feeding her.

“And, sweetling, when the next demo happens you’ll feel whatever happens to the demo happen to you.”

I whimper just to remember.

The presenter was showing off his D.A.N.G.L.E the most advanced hairplay tactic where the hypnotee goes limp and their whole weight is held up by the hair pull and…

In 2022 I wrote:

"Eventually Daja’s second demo came about. The Directed Angle Neutral Grip Leverage maneuver. Dangle. A tall grip where the subject goes limp in your group and is held up by their hair.

Daja later told me she went as limp as she felt safe to but she knows her body.

I know how gorgeous that looked. Outside of skill level, but I wanted that. I wanted it. I.

I wanted it."

Daja knew this and wanted me to FEEL this… and feel it I did.

Mmmm…I…

Oh… *whimper*

I just

*Whimper*

I felt it…

The class ended and we decided to go up to the room quickly before the Topping Is For Everyone class and my own Communication With Deep Self class.

I was feeling a little destabilized so told Daja that I’d be looking at my tablet, but I’d be in the room and present as she taught the class. I sat in the corner of the room because the person sitting next to me in the front row was enjoying a teaching lunch and I still had hospital stuff in the back of my mind.

It was a good class. Last time I attended it Miss Dawn was eager to learn all the ways that Daja enjoyed topping and use her own tricks against her. Those memories made me smile then as they make me smile again typing.

EnScenic reached out to me via Discord to say that she was looking to give me a gift and that we should meet up. I told her my location and she said she would stop by.

Daja spoke about how seeing Captain Marvel helped her utilize Carol Danvers energy to overcome any social programming about manifesting her power. She said that she is beyond needing that, but outright said “I have nothing to prove to you.”, which reminded me of a brat taming scene I had done with her once, and that made me smile. I love her so much when she’s bold and strong and sure of herself. I always love her. But my heavens that glow when she is firm and certain in her conviction and determined.

I am still beyond smitten.

She went over a little bit about the vampire fantasy which was going to end our weekend and how things were looking from her perspective.

I simply couldn’t wait. The way Daja went through my fantasy list and wanted to make them all a reality was just—

I cannot even begin to find words for how honored, flattered and overjoyed I am by everything from the weekend.

After the class EnScenic stopped by and handed me a hand drawn image of a Dalek yelling FRACTIONATE - FRACTIONATE!

I near died laughing when that image was posted online. Apparently EnScenic remembered my reaction because she went through the effort of bringing it to the con and hunting me down…

So many people did so many nice things for me this weekend…

I— I’m so happy to be part of this community. I’m finally home. I finally came to the party. I’ve always been welcome. I’m here. I’m happy. I’m home.

I want to hug every single person. Just squee about what they all mean to me. How humbled I am by their encouragement and acceptance. I may have cried again. I don’t know. I was all over the place.

After a quick lunch it was time for my class, Communication With The Deep Self.

Daja and Copper were in the audience as well as a Twitter community writer of whom I have great respect and admiration for and the gentleman who was being an issue on the Discord, along with a group of folks he seemed deeply engaged in conversation with, hyping up Ormund as the best hypnotist.

The Zoom coordinator hopped on and began to start the intro schpiel, it was quite loud. Loud enough that Daja plugged her ears.

It did not seem to dissuade the disruptive party from a conversation. They even seemed to be standing up and testing balance or measuring feet size. I was not certain. I was simply bewildered. I could not understand what I was seeing. The class had started. Please sit the ever living fuck down you *intruder*.

The class went okay. I feel I gave a better version of the talk a year ago, but I was discombobulated and in the wrong headspace for it. Dawn would have done a better job of it.

I recall explaining the concept of the mirror lake trance I use on Sleepyhead versus the “Ceiling Unlimited” version that I use on Daja. The concept is a complete and utter tranquil state of peacefulness. I used it on either of them to try and induce Esdaile. Succeeded in both cases.

Copper told me that I had misinterpreted the meaning of Ceiling Unlimited, but it’s okay because it likely matches the meaning of the Rush song I was pulling from.

I wish I had a better recollection of the class but it was a blur. I do not wish I had a recording for that one. Still wish I had one for the Presence class.

It proves that I need to tailor my output to be more akin to Presence.

Daja and I returned to the room and had a few quick scenes. I was still riding a bit of Top energy from the class and so did my absolute best to pounce her, pushing the “feel me” trigger as far as it could go. I was feeling fair triumphant but Daja appeared to be a loving brat and proved that she is not the only one who can stretch the “feel me” trigger.

As I pulled her in with a “Daja, Kiss Me!” And a Freeze, I enjoyed keeping her at the egde of my range. I then hypnotically bound her wrists to a surface and released her. Hung right outside of her ability to reach me.

“Feel me make you kiss me.”

…!

That!

She!

….!!!!!

UNFAIR! TRICKERY! THIS IS MUTINY. 

And that is how Daja successfully flustered a Fae.

And then made her sweetling go deep.

I tend to write “eclipse” as a descriptive in prose. For when someone stands above someone and engulfs their entire vision. To block out light and make the entire world a single focus that is the person commanding your attention.

Daja eclipsed me in that moment. She was delighted by how my eyes rolled up and asked for permission to take the photo above.

We paused for food and enjoyed a quick date before moving on to evening events.

With that, we prepared for the soiree. This was when the blue fire scene had been scripted to have happened, so I simply skipped the ceremony and used the forehead press to have her get dressed and pulled on my own outfit:

Charmed! Outfit 6: The Soiree

For lovely queer ladies who are going to the ball to flirt.

As we left the hotel room there was a Moment which feels too private for me to truly intrude upon. But Daja and I got to be there for a friend. I’m glad I was there. I am glad I could be of assistance…

Once that I accompanied Daja to the Soiree room but did not have much time to enjoy the queer ambiance as Sleepyhead showed up looking for me.

She did this because she is a good Dolly.

Earlier in the day she and I had discussed hitting the vendor’s hall together. I wanted to get her a lovely birthday present. That was always on the cards. My presence with her in the vendor’s hall was no longer a request, though. It was a neccessity.

See… while I have been off attending Topping Is For Everyone, teaching Communication With The Deep Self, having coffee and subs and curry— Dolly, sweet little thing she is, had been keeping herself VERY busy. Dollification class, fractionation class, memory play class, hypno-roulette…. she had been demoing nearly constantly since 10am.

I posted this on Twitter and I find it to be the most accurate representation of how Saturday was for Sleepyhead:

And so I hooked her arm and lead her up the stairs. I was in my most fancy outfit, wearing heels and a swooning blissed out dolly was leaning against me barely lucid enough to do more than sigh and murmur when I softly asked her to stay with me and follow along.

The vendors room was a very small part of my weekend. I doubt it lasted more than 30 minutes and yet I was able to fit in quite a number of potent memories. From bumping into a number of folks I had longed to speak to all weekend while dressed up in my best; to taking my sweet girlfriend around each stall to examine the wears while softly teasing her with little promises of what each item could be used for.

It is rare for me to get these pure dominant moments where I get to embody the style and grace of a Top in a non-scene space. She was so very sweet and tender and her passion for hypnotic trinkets was so refined. Every book on sale she owned. Literally every single one.

After a full cycle we discussed what she enjoyed and went back to look at the ones that she had her eye on. A necklace with a near Disco Ball level of sparkles surrounding it. “We’ll take it.” And I paid while she admired. Then another trinket, a sibling of the bottle I uncorked earlier that weekend.

I tipped Linny $10 extra for being responsible for my best scene of the weekend. I feel it was more than well earned.

Feeling dominant and confident, I lead Sleepyhead back to the room so she may enjoy a little more of her hypnotic reverie. Puppet, who was now taking her PCR level test, was still confined to the room. As I settled down, Puppet explained that Sleepy was intending to go stay with someone important to her and needed to prepare for that. The test pinged negative and I proved to everyone, including myself, that Bad Pain Days have incredible highs as well as lows.

See when I’m in a BPD day I am so overwhelmed by my own emotions that I cannot filter or apply appropriate levels of reaction to things. Typically this is set off by upset, paranoia or frustration.

It can also be sparked off by moments of love, moments of relief, euphoria. Even as I skipped through the day there had been several moments where I had cried and been torn asunder by raw emotion.

Puppet got the negative. Sleepyhead had the Most Perfect Day Ever.

I broke down in happy tears. Blubbering that I was so worried about Dolly.

About this time. Saturday night of Charmed! 2022, Puppet and I knelt side by side in front of our Goddess and were asked to, under no compulsions and free of any influence, give ourselves to our beloved Goddess.

That memory means the world to me. It was *special* it was *important*. But it was in the Oikos living room, in the light of a make-shift studio I created for the occasion. It was lovely. But it was not the plan.

It would have taken place in one of the classrooms. Surrounded by loved ones. Witnesses who loved Goddess. Witnesses who were overjoyed to see Puppet and I’s big moment of accepting our collars.

Omicron crushed that dream. Just 3 weeks before the event and that impacted all of us in ways we’re still not fully over, yet. When Beguiled happened, Puppet and I went rogue. We needed to be there for our sanity and mental health.

Sleepy refused to go. She couldn’t handle another dream being snatched away.

I was carrying so much worry that Sleepy’s anxiety would keep her from enjoying the con, but here she was, fractionated to oblivion and with even further evening plans. Puppet was not going to be confined any longer.

It turned out okay. It was alright. Thank heavens. It was alright.

I love them both so very much. I love them and I’m so glad they got to have this and no one can take it away from them this time.

So fucking happy.

I returned to the Soiree to finish up but it was *loud* in there. I sat on the outskirts of the room and chatted mildly with Joy but Miss Daja informed me that if I was uncomfortable, I should leave. She was proud of me for speaking up for myself earlier in the day, she wanted to ensure I was always rewarded for speaking up and seeking my comfort.

So I slipped out… around about the same time another friend from the local hypno-community did.

This person was someone I’ve not seen since March 2020. She was a member of the HYPE monthly hypnosis meet-up in Grand Rapids.

We bonded a little bit over old memories and for a brief moment I felt calm and comfortable. Like I *could* just start up conversations without shyness or feeling stupid.

After she left I confessed this feeling to Kitty Sylvie who was door dragon for the moment. 

And then I started crying again.

Because Sylv said such kind words about my presence in the community, especially online and then Psy just appeared out of nowhere backing them up and I was just left without words. Two lovely humans who I trusted and wished I were better at being open, casual and conversational with.

Perhaps in another world I would have stayed in that hallway. I would have opened up and made a connection with two people I actually *do* desire to know better. I would have channeled some of that adorable cuteness or that flashy performative charm or my level serious empathetic conversational energy.

In this reality, I let the tears win and I retreated to the room. There I ran a hot bath to activate physical extreme stimulus. Unlike some of my friends who go through this, I couldn’t be feeling rope bite tonight. Nor would I seek it.

Some music and heat will do the trick… and they did.

Daja IMed me to let me know that not only had the soiree ended pleasantly and she had met up with Tennfan. Thanks to some banter during the Topping Class she discovered that Tenn had enough training to handle drops and falls and things that Daja had assumed no one in the community was physically capable of doing with her other than the ONE PERSON SHE WOULD NEVER EVER EVER.

I was summoned to meet them after Daja had run a scene and listened to them chat a bit. Tenn is one of the 5 major asexuals in the community who I find trust and kinship with. 

Tenn and I really need to build a rapport and just get to talking. I may have to be the one to throw the first signal.

But that chat we all had was really nice. Really really nice.

Apparently the topic did not elude my devious Faelike nature because once Daja was free we snuck into my room for another scene. Puppet was enjoying post-quarantine freedom and Sleepy was away for the night.

Dawn *pounced*. To the point where Daja once again had to invoke the pact the two of us had made.

Sometimes I worry about going too far; understanding that, Daja made a promise that she would enforce our agreed upon boundaries if I do, so I can let go and enjoy the moment.

She enforced them then. I am glad she did. There is a certain level of “out of control” where I essentially hit trance state and for lack of better wording, my voice in Dawn’s actions goes away. It’s a liberating moment, especially when I think about it in her headspace, but it’s like throwing away the safety and I’m terrified of breaking something when I lose my over-controlled behaviors.

Daja is supplementing that and makes it easier to feel no fear. I am grateful to her for that.

After the scene was ended, I settled back to Camden space and cuddled her. I was still a little caught up by how INTENSE the day was and bemoaned how I hated that I cost her spoons to deal with. Spoons she needed for running classes and meeting partners and traveling.

Daja just told me I refill her spoons. She feels energized when we talk. When we play. When we’re together like this.

…what do I even say to that? I was lost for words. Well… most words. I had a few left.

“I believe you.”

Daja tucked me in again and fed me a chocolate. We had another day of fun and games. Tomorrow would be the vampire scene. Tomorrow was worth looking forward to.

Part 5

#charmed recaps #hypnosis #hypnokink #hypnocons

[fandomwriterstuff]

A Seat at the Round Table (8)

Mob!Stucky x Female Reader

Rated T

~1.4k words

You woke up wrapped in the blanket Merlin had given you earlier, but you were back in the guest room you were staying in. Your head was aching and your wrists were still red, but you were warm and safe. 

You wondered how the ongoing situation with your father was going for Merlin and Arthur, but soon your mind wandered. You’d made a bold choice to formally leave your guards and your father’s protection. It did make you nervous on some level, but you weren’t sure what else you could do. 

There was a knock on the door and you stood slowly, calling out for whoever it was to come in. 

A blonde head peeked in and Sharon offered a small smile.

“I brought Starbucks,” she came in with a pink beverage in hand and passed it to you. You sipped on the drink, enjoying the sweet and tangy flavor while you allowed Sharon to examine the side of your head. 

“You don’t need stitches, and those two did a good job of cleaning this up. It will bruise though,” she noted and you nodded slowly. “Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?”

“It aches but other than that it’s okay,” you replied and the other woman nodded in satisfaction.

“Likely no concussion. You’ll want to shower though, and wash those clothes. Your sweater has blood on the collar,” you frowned, that would be fun to get out. 

“I’ll shower now, I feel gross,” you muttered, thinking about the blood, sweat, and tears that had been spilled over the past day. Your skin felt grimy and your face felt gritty with salt and dust. Sharon nodded and sat on the chaise in the corner of the room, picking up a book you had brought from your home that first day… It felt crazy that only a few days ago you’d snuck out.

“Do you mind if I wait here? I want to make sure you don’t have a concussion or fall in the shower,” you shrugged, you didn’t mind. Sharon nodded and flipped to the first page of the Fellowship of the Ring, one of your favorite comfort books. 

Once you got into the bathroom and stripped, you took stock of your appearance in the mirror. Your wrists were raw and red, you had puffy red eyes and tear tracks through what was left of your makeup, but the boys had cleaned the blood from your skin and you appreciated that. 

You spent what was probably way too long in the steamy shower, but you wanted to feel renewed and refreshed as well as clean. You exfoliated and shaved. You put a conditioning mask in your hair and let the water stream over your face. It stung the cut on the side of your head at first, but you were just happy to be clean. 

When you finally emerged, feeling warm and comfortable, you noted that somebody (likely Sharon) left a terry cloth robe on the counter, which you gratefully pulled on before going back into the bedroom to find clothes. 

“Feeling better?” Sharon asked, looking up from where she had actually made a significant dent in the pages of your book. 

“Much,” you sighed and moved over to the dresser where you had all of your clothes neatly folded. You ended up picking out a pair of cozy black leggings and a waffle-knit thermal shirt. You wanted to be comfortable and warm. 

“Good, because Merlin and Arthur want to see you, they’re waiting in the dining room,” you raised your eyebrows as you pulled on some knit socks. Sharon was generous enough to turn around while you changed. When you told her it was safe to turn around, she put the book down and stood. 

“Come on, let’s get some food for you.”

Sharon showed you to you the dining room where your two knights in shining armor were seated, engrossed in conversation. 

Before they noticed you, you took a moment to admire the sight.

They sat at a table full of fresh fruit and breakfast goodies, but you were more enthralled by the appearance of the two men. Merlin’s hair was silky and shiny in the late morning light, and he wore a red thermal with plain blue jeans. The sleeves were rolled up and you wanted to admire the thickness of his forearms for a longer amount of time, but you drew your eyes to the blonde at his side. Arthur’s hair was also glowing, a halo atop his beautiful head. He wore a plain white t-shirt that was decidedly too small, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. The khakis he wore highlighted his strong thighs. You were trying not to drool.

“Ahem,” Sharon finally spoke and the conversation stopped as the two men looked up at you with twin smiles. 

“Good morning,” Arthur spoke to you, and you made your way over to them. 

“Please, take a seat,” Merlin added and you found a seat close to them at the end of the table to sit cross-legged in. 

“Thanks, Sharon,” you called as the woman exited, and she threw you a thumbs up and a wink before disappearing. You turned back towards your hosts and smiled. “Good morning,” your voice was soft, not wanting to spoil the moment. The sun was shining in, you felt warm and safe, and there was a breakfast spread and two attractive men waiting for you.

“We wanted to talk to you, but we also wanted to make sure you got some food in you. You were gone for a while yesterday,” Merlin spoke and as he did, your stomach audibly growled. 

“I am pretty hungry,” you laughed, much to their amusement. So the three of you each piled food up on your plates before getting started. You took a sip of the coffee in front of you before looking expectantly at the others. 

They looked at each other briefly, making some sort of significant eye contact before looking back at you.

“We were thinking about yesterday. You displayed a lot of trust in us, and we’re grateful. We wanted to get to know you better, but it feels like the past few days have been longer than just a few days. We feel a strong connection to you, and if we’re not wrong, you feel the same,” Merlin was speaking and Arthur nodded at the end in agreement. 

You gulped, this felt important. A moment later you realized they were waiting on a response.

“I do feel a strong connection to you. And you’ve proven to be trustworthy to me. That’s why I chose to come with you yesterday. When I first came here I was scared, but I’m not anymore. I came with you because I believe you have my best interests in mind, more so than my father,” as you spoke, a smile grew on Arthur’s face.

“Well, you did show us a lot of trust, and we’re glad you came back with us. We wanted to let you know that we trust you, too. Isn’t that right, Bucky?” Arthur turned to the brunet and your eyes widened. 

“Yeah, Steve. I think she deserves a show of trust,” the brunet - Bucky - said. You looked between the two men, eyes flitting back and forth as you processed this information. You couldn’t help the bright smile that grew on your face. You were a little shocked by their admission, but happy nonetheless.

“That’s awfully kind of you,” you murmured, looking over at them in a whole new light. “Steve and Bucky, huh?” You let their names roll off your tongue, and savored the way they tasted. You got boyish smiles from both of them in return. 

“Thought you might like to know,” Bucky added with a smirk and you let out a giggle. 

“But we really should get to eating before the food gets cold,” Steve reminded you and you nodded seriously.

“Wouldn’t want the food to get cold, would we?” You all tucked into your meal, but you couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face every so often when you thought about the exchange you just had. It felt like things were taking a turn for the better.

Part 7 Part 9

#stucky #stucky x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x steve rogers x reader #mob!stucky #mob!steve rogers #mob!bucky barnes #female reader #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #marvel #avengers #au #alternate universe

[billyjosephjr]

Some Fat Burning Tips

First, I am not a fitness expert (I only play one on TV). Just kidding...unless you know of a role that's open then I will surely audition! You all know that I like to joke around. I can really only speak to things that have worked for me personally, so that is how I will approach the topic at hand...fat burning. I also enjoy writing so I am hoping to merge my love of writing and my passion for fitness into these occasional blog posts. While I am not an expert, I am going through my personal trainer and nutritionist certification, so I at least have a textbook to look at!

Like I said, I can only speak to things that have worked for me, personally and over the last 9 months I was able to cut my body fat percentage from about 25% to 11.5%. That required regular exercise but also being very intentional with my diet. So here's what I did in a nutshell and if you have questions let me know.

Try to get 10,000 steps per day. I work at my desk most the day so I have to make sure I get up and walk or park way out in the parking lot to force myself to walk or just simply go with my wife or kids and dogs for a walk in the evening. Also, one way I increased my steps was actually at the gym. Instead of staring at my phone between sets, I try to walk around in circles. Walking is one of the most effective things you can do to burn fat, hands down.

Eat my final meal and/or snack of the day by 7pm and eat or drink NOTHING after that....no cereal, no hot weenies, no leftover chicken wings...nothing.

Don't eat anything until about 10:30am the next morning. There is science behind it, which I am not citing btw, but for men, our bodies produce testosterone and burn fat best and sometimes only in a state of starvation. This occurs most effectively while we sleep so going to sleep hungry is not a bad thing if you want to burn fat and keep your T levels up (with all the benefits that brings to the table-wink, wink).

Yes, don't eat anything until 10:30am but start the morning with a large glass of hot water (not scalding, just tapwater hot) with a pinch of sea salt and a few squirts of lemon juice. Man, you can feel it run through your veins, wake you up , and get you going. After the water and before eating breakfast (at 10:30am) you can drink black coffee (black means no cream and sugar...be a man). Awe, don't cry I'm just Joshing you Starbucks fanboys, but seriously...black coffee only. The sugar will mess up that T building/fat burning state you got going on.

Try to get at least 8 hours of sleep, distraction free. This can be hard especially if you have to piss a lot (like me). We will save the prostate discussion for another post. But do the best you can on this because, again, this is when you are making testosterone and burning fat. We all like it when have to pole vault out of the bed in the morning and this is when your body is making all the stuff needed for that to happen.

You see I like to write as much as I like to talk so this could go on for a while, but the biggest thing really is diet. You gotta be eating healthy. Track your macros. If you don't know what those should be then reach out to me and let's figure it out. It's different for every guy based on height, age, weight, and activity level but once you know what those goals are...be intentional about staying within your target goals.

So that's enough for now. Like I said, ask any questions you have. Let's work together to get and stay fit as we get older so we don't feel like we're over 40!

Cheers...Billy

Oh P.S. I forgot to include but NO MORE CHIPS, FRENCH FRIES, or SODAS! I'll talk more about this later, but for now CUT THEM OUT!

#fitness

[becausewecareatlanta]

A 12 Story 5 Star Hotel, Costco , Sprout’s Organic Grocer, Whataburger, Bahama Breeze, Salad To Go, First Watch, and more confirmed at the Bridges at Jodeco! We are Dreaming the Impossible Dream in Real Time watching it come to fruition in Stockbridge District #5! All the Glory to God! ❤️🙏🏾

A 12 Story, 5 Star Hotel with a Rooftop Lounge and a Premium Steakhouse is coming to the Bridges at Jodeco in the newest site layout confirmed by the Bridges at Jodeco team! The new editions also include a WhataBurger restaurant. It will be located along the Jodeco Rd frontage next to Starbucks which is currently under construction! Bahama Breeze lands a premium location directly in front of the new Costco that is under construction with a November 16th Grand Opening date already announced. First Watch the popular breakfast & brunch location is located in front of the Costco Fuel Center with Jodeco Rd frontage as well. Salad to Go lands next to the new Whataburger location, then Bank OZK rounds out to west side frontage along Jodeco Rd. The west portion also includes the new state of the art 2 level Chick Fila that will be the first one of its kind in America.

We previous announced Sprouts Farmers Market! Wouk’s join the mixed and they will be located on the interior of the development in a multi tenant

building. LaHacienda is picture across the street from the Argento at the Bridges resort style luxury apartments opening the first week in October of all goes well or shortly thereafter. A new Peach Cobbler Factory will open in the space below the commercial space below the residential unit at Argento at the Bridges.

Finally new Chipotle location is coming along the main road connecting Jodeco Rd to Argento Drive and then on to Mt. Olive Rd. connecting to Jonesboro Rd. The new $50 million road project will actually stretch from Hudson Bridge Rd to Jonesboro Rd providing an alternative to I-75 for local residents!

Elton Alexander,

Stockbridge City Council

District 5

#stockbridgega #atlanta #stay tuned #Bridges at Jodeco #Instagram

[thekimdelacreme]

Today's Workout:

90 minute walk Jillian Michaels 6 Week 6 Pack Level 2 Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred Level 3 Jillian Michaels Shred It with Weights Level 2

Today's Food:

Breakfast: Fresh Donuts: lemon donut, chocolate cake donut, Starbucks venti pumpkin spice frappuccino, coffee Dinner: Grilled cheese sandwich, corn chips, Pumpkin Creme float, 2 chocolate chip cookies Cocktail: Flying Pegasus 1 L water

#workout #diet #exercise #jillian michaels