#thinking ALWAYS of the baseball au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucyandthepen · 8 months

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salted caramel | lmh ( m )

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

read the first part here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is no exception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking impossible!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh…” you say smartly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that mean?”

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

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

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

“Meaning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening to me next time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gotta study all the same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bingo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“If… who’s right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just promise me.”

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

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

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would if I could.”

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

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

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

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

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

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

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

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

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

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

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

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

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this even about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No kidding.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that have to do with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop doing that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A mouth made for you to kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you not want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least give me a full minute.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… still a no for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to hear it anyway.”

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

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

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

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

“Mark, what—”

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

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

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

“What’s your passcode?”

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

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

“What’s funny?”

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

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

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

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

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

“With my life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Hyuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m doing it right now.”

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

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

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already am.”

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emchant3d · 5 months

Text

modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington

Stevie Harrington is not having a good day.

By all accounts, she should be. Robin woke her right on time by pressing a perfectly made brown sugar shaken espresso into her hand. Nancy and Chrissy got to the venue earlier than expected. The hair and makeup people were on schedule. Their boozy charcuterie brunch during their prep time was perfectly served, the mimosas delicious and the food fresh and light enough to put on her nervous stomach.

Everything’s gone off without a hitch. She looks gorgeous. She’s got her something old, her something new, her something borrowed, and even her something blue. Her hair’s done in a soft blowout, framing her face but out of the way, ready for the combs of her veil to slip into. Her makeup is elegant, not too showy and not too dramatic, neutral and warm and sweet. And her dress. It’s what she always dreamed of, clingy and silky with a dramatic leg slit and a long train, off the shoulders, perfectly white. She’s staring at herself in the mirror knowing that in forty-five minutes, she’s going to hold the world’s most beautiful wedding bouquet and walk down the most perfectly decorated aisle in the quaintest, sweetest church she could find, and she’ll stand across from her fiancé and take his hands and say “I do” and all of her dreams will come true.

So she should be having a good day.

Because it’s her wedding day, and Stevie Harrington is about to become Stefania Hagan.

Maybe that brunch wasn’t so perfect after all, because she thinks she’s about to puke.

“I can’t do this,” she says, but her voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper and the girls don’t even glance at her. “I can’t do this,” she repeats, and Robin - bless her, her favorite person in the world, her soulmate, her other half, her maid of honor - glances up.

“What’s that, Evie?” she asks, and the others look over at her, and Stevie stands there beneath their gazes and knows if she just says it again, says I can’t do this, don’t make me marry him, get me out of here, all three of them would drag her to an exit and get her the fuck out.

They don’t even like Tommy. Robin actively hates him, actually, and that should have been enough for Stevie to never look at him twice.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

She thinks back to a few days ago, drunk in a bar with a white sash wrapped around her torso, a tiara on her head, and mascara running down her face as she desperately sobbed on Robin’s shoulder during her bachelorette party. That little meltdown wasn’t enough. And she thinks back further, to when Tommy proposed - in public, at a fucking baseball game, on the goddamn jumbotron. Dread had settled in her chest at the sight of the ring (huge, gaudy, she hated it on sight) even as she pasted on a smile and said yes. That hadn’t been enough.

But somehow standing here done up head to toe, about to walk down the aisle in her absolute dream wedding - that’s enough. Because everything about today is right. Everything’s in place. Everything’s gorgeous and going to plan and she should be so, so happy - but it’s the wrong man waiting for her at the end of all of it.

She can’t do this.

She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes and forces a smile. “I said I need to get my veil,” she lies, and she slips into her shoes (red bottoms, a gift from Tommy’s mother, perfectly white and pointed and it’s her dream day, how can she be throwing this away?) and walks into the other room where her garment bag is hanging, and her veil is there with its delicate detail and it’s scalloped edges and it’s all so fucking perfect she’s going to scream, she wants to rip it to pieces and she wants to tear this dress off and she wants to sob, she doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to get married - not to him. Not to Tommy.

She could ask for help. Robin would have her out of here in five minutes flat, Nancy would craft an excuse to tell everyone, and Chrissy would cause a distraction. But even that’s too long of a wait. Even that’s too much attention, too much suspicion. She needs to move faster than that. She needs out now.

She quickens her pace as she crosses the room, dress dragging along the carpet, and she snags her phone where it’s sitting on the end table next to an overstuffed love seat, and in three long strides she’s out the door and in the hall and the church has been busy and packed all day but somehow, miraculously, there’s no one here.

No one sees Stevie as she gathers up the fabric of her dress in her hands and starts to walk towards the exit. No one sees as her walk speeds to a jog, and then a run, and then she slams out of a side door and she’s on the sidewalk and she’s sprinting, her heels are going to get scuffed by the pavement but she can’t care, she’s running as fast as she can and dodging people on the sidewalk as they turn and gawk at her and she cannot give them a thought, cannot focus on them even a little bit because she has to get away, escape is the only thought on her mind as she gasps for air, her dress is so heavy and it’s not made for running that’s for goddamn sure, and the last few years with Tommy flash through her mind - every time he’s undermined her or given her a backhanded compliment or policed her, told her she wasn’t feminine enough, told her she wasn’t trying hard enough to pass, told her to just keep it all to herself so no one would know she wasn’t cis, wouldn’t embarrass him by making a scene, all the times that come together to a glaringly obvious conclusion that he doesn’t really love her and she kind of hates him a little actually, and obviously she can’t fucking marry him and–

There.

A beat-up four-door with an Uber sticker in the window.

That’ll do, she thinks, and she changes course, shoulder-checking a man and not apologizing for it as she makes a beeline for the car. She pops off an acrylic wrenching the door open and tossing herself into the backseat, and she yells “DRIVE!” at the top of her lungs and somehow, through some miracle, they listen, swerving into traffic with a loud curse and a myriad of honking horns and a quaint, sweet little church growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

She’s gasping for breath, chest heaving, staring out the back window like she’s waiting for someone to follow her - and maybe she is, maybe Tommy is hot on her trail, or maybe Robin is coming to kill her for not including her in her mad dash to freedom and instead jumping in a stranger’s car going God knows where.

“So uh,” a voice says, and she whips around, staring wide-eyed at the brown eyes fixed on her in the mirror, and no, no fucking way– “where to, ma’am?”

“Um,” she says, and her voice is shaky, cracking a little, she brushes her hair out of her face and stares and– wait.

There’s a beat. The driver’s eyes widen. Recognition flashes over his face at the same time it registers for Stevie.

“Stevie?” Eddie Munson, her ex-boyfriend of several years, the man she hasn’t spoken to since that fateful night they went their separate ways, is staring at her in shock, not even looking at the road, and the only thing she can think is how he’s just as averse to road safety now as he’d been way back when.

“Eddie,” she croaks out.

Too many emotions are overwhelming her at once and it feels like the biggest cliché in the world, but honestly, Stevie feels like she’s entitled to some dramatics. It’s her goddamn wedding day, after all.

Her failed wedding day.

Where she just left her fiancé at the altar.

“Oh god,” she manages. Her lower lip wobbles. Her vision blurs.

“Stevie,” Eddie says again, like a warning, and that’s enough to push her over.

She bursts into tears in his backseat.

“Hey hey hey!” he says like she’s a fucking spooked horse or something, which only makes her cry more, ugly sobs that shake her shoulders and drip tear drops onto her dress. “Stevie, honey–”

“Do NOT call me honey right now!” she manages, and he raises a hand in surrender before flipping on a turn signal and finding a parking lot to pull over in.

“Okay, okay! No comforting pet names, you got it,” he agrees, and he shuts the car off, turning in his seat to look at her, concern painted all over his face and that’s just really not fair, she thinks, that he still looks so earnest and sweet and fucking worried about her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, urgent and serious, and she shakes her head quickly.

“No! No, I’m - I’m fine, really,” she insists and he proves that he is a gentleman after all, because he doesn’t call her out on the blatant lie.

“Okay,” he says, level, his hand hovering in the space between them like he wants to touch her. “What do you need?” he asks, and she wipes at her face with her hands, swallowing down yet another sob.

“Get me out of here,” she pleads, and he searches her face for - something, she doesn’t know what, because she’s sure all she’s showing him is how much of a fucking mess she is, but he must find whatever he’s looking for.

He gives her a sharp nod. “Anywhere in particular, sweetheart?” he asks, turning to start the car again. She doesn’t call him out on the pet name this time.

“Anywhere but here,” she says, and he puts the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road.

“You got it,” he says, and some of that old charm must kick in - he winks at her in the rearview. She resolutely ignores the spike of emotion it gives her.

Then she takes a deep, shuddery breath, and opens the group chat to break the news to her wedding party.

part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #trans steve harrington #transfeminine steve harrington #stevie harrington #runaway bride stevie #my fic #apologies in advance but i don't do tag lists <3

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jobean12-blog · 15 days

Text

Aftermath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 2,318

Summary: Bucky has kept you safe for as long as he's had you but the first time you don't follow his orders is definitey going to be the last.

Author's Note: These new pics are giving lots of mob/mafia vibes and I love it! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some angst in the beginning and illusions to violence, mentions of a gun, Bucky is soft and there are lots of fluffy moments but he's pissed you didn't listen and he needs you.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily when Nat doesn’t pick up the phone. She only called you two minutes ago. Right after she sent you a text telling you she needed to talk. Under any other circumstances you would never leave your perch at the bar. Never leave the safety of Bucky’s club and go against his orders.

However, your best friend needs you. She just had a bad break up and things are still rocky so any time she calls you were sure to be there for her. So here you are, standing on the sidewalk outside Bucky’s nightclub, phone pressed to your ear and your foot tapping rapidly against the concrete.

Bucky told you about the heavy tension building between him and a rival boss trying to impede on his territory. He told you that your safety was his first priority. That’s why you were with him at his club right now. He didn’t want you out of his sight.

But you were only just right outside the door…

You’ll try Nat one more time then go back inside and wait for Bucky like he asked.

The phone starts ringing and you hold your breath, hoping she’ll answer. Just as you hear her voice on the other end a car pulls up at the curb and with one glance the occupants have you swiftly turning on your heel and heading back toward the doors of the club.

“Nat,” you say quietly. “Are you ok?”

“I’m having a rough night,” she sighs. “I need your opinion on something.”

“Of course.”

You’re walking at a brisk clip, realizing that during your musings you had wandered farther from the door than you intended to.

Nat is still talking but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears starts to drown out any other sounds.

Four men get out of the car, none of which you recognize. You need to get inside quickly. One of them, carrying a baseball bat, twirls it lazily in his hand as he saunters closer, looking you over appreciatively.

Apprehension shoots up your spine, intuition guaranteeing that they’re here to start trouble.

“Nat I have to go. Call Bucky.”

She starts to reply but you hang up before she can, hoping she heard the trepidation in your voice and does as you asked.

Before you can reach the entrance, two of them lunge in front of you and block your progress.

“Where are you goin’ so fast beautiful?” One of the men asks.

“Excuse me,” you say.

A third man circles up behind you.

“Let me by,” you tell them.

The man holding the baseball bat ignores you.

“You belong to Barnes don’t you?”

Your suspicions are right. These are bad men and they are definitely looking to cause some trouble for your husband. And you.

You shrink back on purpose, appealing to their inflated arrogance and hoping they will underestimate you.

“Please. Just let me go.”

The man with the bat laughs as he runs the coarse wood along your bare calf.

“Think your man will miss you?”

Before the bat reaches your thigh you smack it away. Even though the attempt is most likely useless you’re hoping to pass more time. One of the men behind you snakes a hand around your elbow and yanks you toward him.

“Get in the fucking car baby,” he sneers. “It’s for your own good.”

The fourth man, still in the car, pushes open the back door and lets out a whistle.

“Come on gorgeous. I’ll keep you warm for Barnes.”

You take a deep breath as they propel you toward the car and only put up a small amount of resistance. As soon as you sense they are under the false impression that you’re coming willingly, the hand on your elbow weakens and you act.

With sharp and quick movements you reach for the baseball bat now dangling loosely from the leader’s hands and grab it, swinging it in a large arc to buy yourself some room.

Two of the men jump back, having been caught off guard, but it connects with the leader’s rib cage and he let’s out a vile curse, falling to his knees.

You back up as the other two men approach. Unfortunately, it’s in the direction away from the doors.

“He should have locked this one up,” the man closest to you laughs. “She’s full of fire.”

“And I’m going to enjoy that,” he leader says as he stands, still holding his ribs.

You bring the bat down hard as he lunges for you, but he dodges the weapon and barrels himself closer until he can wrap a strong arm around your waist.

The bat is ripped from your hands and your back is plastered against the man’s chest, his hand creeping up between your breasts to wrap around your throat.

He squeezes hard, tight enough to cut of your air and reflectively your fingers claw and try to pry his hand away.

You try to focus, getting ready to go limp and convince him you’re out cold, so you can somehow disable him.

Just as you’re about to put your plan into action the front door of the club flies open, hitting the side of the brick building with enough force to crack the metal.

Through your dimming eyesight, you can make out several men, including Bucky, before his ferocious growl of denial echoes through the air around you.

It startles the man choking you enough that he eases up on the pressure, allowing you to suck in precious oxygen.

Guns are drawn just before your knees hit the concrete and your stomach twists with renewed fear.

“Bucky,” you whisper, getting to your feet and stepping closer to him.

His haunted gaze makes you swallow hard and you can see the emotional battle written all over his handsome features. With his long finger poised on the trigger, he clearly wants to end the man who had his hands on you.

Without a word he tears his attention away from you, indicting your captor with a nod of his head.

“Steve.”

Steve, his own gun held in a tight grasp, moves in front of Bucky and toward the other man.

“He doesn’t go anywhere,” Bucky seethes.

The other two men from the rival group, still outside of the car, lower their weapons, watching with no emotion as Steve wrestles their leader to the ground with the gun to his head.

Finally, they let out a string of curses and hop back into the car, leaving their ‘friend’ behind as they peel away from the curb.

Bucky motions to Clint and Sam. “Follow them. This ends tonight.”

As Clint and Sam rush off to follow Bucky’s order he slowly saunters forward, the open collar of his shirt blowing wider in the light breeze.

He picks up the bat with a nonchalance that contradicts the tightness of his body and swings it deftly in his metal hand. When his fingers close around the handle you hear the wood crack under the pressure.

Bucky comes to a stop directly over the left-behind leader, and his gaze meets yours for a brief, heavy second, before he raises the bat high and brings it down with enough force to make you gasp.

Your heart races out of control, breathing shallow in your ears. The bat connects with the sidewalk next to the man’s head, sending shards of wood in every direction.

Your relief is short lived.

Bucky crouches down and looks the cowering man straight in his eyes.

“You. Are a dead man.”

Slowly and purposefully he rises to his feet and holds his hand out for you. You swallow the hard lump in your throat and place your fingers in his. In a split second you’re swept into his arms and tugged against his hard chest.

He drags you toward his car and tucks you into the passenger seat, buckling your belt and then slamming the door shut.

Through the closed window you can still hear him shout to Steve. “You know where to take him. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The silence stretches long and thin through the car and you can almost feel Bucky’s rage. You open your mouth to speak but promptly shut it when you hear his huff of warning.

He hates the feeling of fear so instead he welcomes the anger, focusing on it, wishing it’s enough to block out the image of you being choked, your feet scraping at the ground and hands clawing at your neck.

If he dwells on it too long his whole word will collapse and he has to get you home. To safety.

At the reminder of what he saw as he walked out of the club, his grip tightens on the leather steering wheel, almost making the car swerve.

When he pulls up in front of your house he checks his surroundings before driving in through the gated driveway. He looks to you, a silent demand to wait, before he gets out of the car and does another sweep of the area.

Once he deems it safe he opens your door and helps you out of the car.

When you’re safely inside the house he leaves you standing just inside the door, inside the large and opulent foyer, as he flies around the nearby rooms and checks every window and lock.

Your gaze follows him the entire time, trying desperately to draw him in and away from the rage. He staunchly defies it and after he feels satisfied the house is safe he takes you by the arm and leads you toward your shared master bedroom.

He walks to the nightstand and opens the drawer, reaching deep into the back to retrieve a gun.

“Bucky, please. Will you just talk to me?”

He can feel you standing close.

“You will stay in this room, with the door locked, until I come back. Anyone tries to get in that isn’t me, you shoot them. Understand?”

When your silence becomes too much he turns to you, keeping his eyes steady as he pleads.

“Tell me you’ll listen. That you understand.”

You take a deep inhale but still don’t speak.

“I’m waiting for my answer doll.”

You move closer and everything inside him tenses up.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

You lay a hand on his chest, immediately making him tremble from head to toe. His eyes close defensively as your hand moves higher and sneaks under the open buttons of his shirt then to his neck and finally into his hair.

Your lips press to his neck.

“Please Bucky. Don’t leave me. Stay.”

He shakes his head, unable to speak and it only makes you drag your lips higher, along his jaw until they hover just above his mouth.

A groan leaves his parted lips before he can stop it.

“I’m scared. I need you.”

Your lips brush over his, once, twice. The hand in his hair runs smoothly along the back of his neck and then coasts over his broad shoulder and down his chest.

“I have to go doll.”

His words are gritted and tortured before his name leaves your lips in a soft whisper.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“You know where I’m goin.’ Don’t make me say it.”

When he notices the glossiness of your eyes it strips him bare and he falls back a step, ready to fall to his knees for you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

He’s shouting now.

“If I hadn’t gotten to you in time? One minute later, baby. One fucking minute!”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for him.

“I know, I…”

“You would have been gone. How can you expect me to survive that.”

He breaks off, not able to put the horrifying thought into more words.

“Fuck. I’m so mad at you doll. So mad. But all I can think about is how I need to be inside you. Need to feel you wrapped around me. Feel you everywhere.”

You tightly grasp the lapel of his jacket and drag him closer. He comes easily. Willingly.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just thought I’d be outside for a second. Nat needed me…I never thought…”

Every word you speak continues to topple the reinforced barrier of anger he’s built. The only thing keeping it standing is that there’s still some physical space between you both.

But then you take a step closer and curl your fingers in the hem of your dress to draw it up over your head, the whole time letting your knuckles and hands brush along his heaving chest and every ounce of his self-control vanishes.

His heated gaze rakes over you and his hands fist at his sides.

You press yourself against him and deliberately untuck his shirt, slipping your hands underneath the lush fabric and running your fingernails up his rigid stomach. His muscles contract beneath your fingers.

“I need you baby doll. So badly.”

You unhook your bra and drop it to the floor, tingles racing over your skin as his jaw grinds with his devouring stare. You lower your hand to palm and squeeze his straining arousal.

“You can have me now Bucky. Now and always.”

His expression softens long enough for you to catch the brightness in his eyes and then his mouth is on yours, his hands frenzied as they grasp and smooth over every inch of your bare skin. He never breaks the kiss as he walks you backward toward the bed, letting you gently fall to the soft mattress before he settles himself between your spread legs.

“I can’t touch all of you at once and it drives me crazy,” he whispers against your lips as his hand slides down between your legs. “I need everything, always.”

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50 @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #mob!bucky barnes #bucky x reader #mob au #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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halfagone · 2 months

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One of the things I love the most about AUs where Danny moves to Gotham City is how easily he fits in. There are AUs where Danny makes a statement and gets noticed for the great guy he is and I enjoy those too, but I love the AUs where Danny fits in as if he's always been here. Where he doesn't stand out, doesn't make a statement.

There is something so quietly compelling about this transition in Danny's life. Danny has always stood out in a negative way. His parents are the town hacks, his sister is a genius that he'll never compare to. Friends who create rallies for their respective causes and actually makes people listen. Even amongst the outsiders, Danny sticks out like a sore thumb.

Danny likes Paulina because it's safe. Anyone would have a crush on the most popular girl in school. That's expected, that's normal. Of course he wants to be popular, what kid doesn't want to be popular?

The A-Listers stand out, not because they're particularly special, but because everyone else has set the standard that only they can reach. They present these kids as what every student should be, and everyone else is just failing to reach their level.

Danny has always striven for normalcy but the only way to achieve it is to fundamentally change who he is and he can't. No matter how hard he tries he can't be that person. He can try, and god has he tried, but he can't change who he is.

And then Danny moves to Gotham.

You can use all sorts of reasons for the move. Maybe this is a scenario where a reveal goes sideways and Danny has to flee. Maybe he has a bad breakup and he wants a fresh start. Maybe he's going to college out-of-state. Maybe he received a promotion at work and his boss wants him to manage the new Gotham branch.

No matter what reason you use, it all leads back to square one. Danny is in a city where he hardly knows anyone, but has heard all the horror stories for. The crime here is nothing like he's ever experienced before. At least with the ghosts, Danny knew they were coming thanks to his ghost sense. He doesn't always get the same courtesy with Arkham breakouts.

But he adapts. It's his specialty. He adapts to new powers and new enemies all the time, he can adapt here too. Human crime might not be his specialty but he knows how to protect himself. And for once he doesn't stand out for it.

Danny is paranoid and hypervigilant? Don't worry, most people here are. They have to be. Danny has scars on his knuckles from fighting ghosts? That's not the mark of a troublemaker, that's the mark of a survivor. Danny keeps a metal baseball bat by his front door? Okay, maybe that's a little strange; most people keep their weapons by their bed.

The point is that all these habits ingrained in Danny's psyche aren't out of place in Gotham. Here, no one thinks strangely of his behavior because they've all developed habits to help them survive. There is a different normal here in Gotham, a different standard, and for once Danny can reach it.

For once Danny is normal and he didn't have to change himself in any way to achieve it. It's proof that there was never anything wrong with him. He just didn't fit in with Amity Park anymore, but there is a place out there where he can.

Gotham City might not have been the home he grew up in, but it's accepted him more than the one he left behind. On the outside, this community might seem rough and harsh and brutal. But these people understand Danny better than anyone else could, because they know what it feels like to fight every day just to survive.

And I think there's something so cathartic about leaving one home, and all the fears that come with that, only to find a better one you never thought you could have.

I don't know. It's just so personal to me.

#dpxdc #halfagone rambles #character analysis #dpxdc au #danny fenton

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writemekpop · 1 month

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Forgive and Forget | Lee Donghyuck (Haechan)

Summary: Haechan claims that you’ve been ignoring him – but he hasn’t been the best boyfriend either.

Genre: Established relationship AU, angst, baseballplayer!Haechan,

Word count: 1k

From the moment Haechan walked in the front door, you knew something was wrong. His footsteps were too slow, too lazy.

Haechan trudged into the living room, head hung low.

"You're home!" You shut your laptop and walked towards him.

You wrapped your arms around Haechan's firm body, but he wasn’t hugging you back. His arms hung limply by his side.

You stood up on your toes and leant towards him, but Haechan dodged your kiss, swerving his lips away at the last moment.

He pushed you off him and trudged towards the bedroom.

"What's up, baby?" You asked, following behind him. "Did you lose the game?"

Haechan scoffed. "Actually we won, not that you'd know... or care." He mumbled under his breath.

You frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Haechan's dark eyes met yours. He stared at you, as if contemplating something. Then he broke your gaze, shrugging.

"Forget I said anything." He pulled off his top and sweatpants, and went into the en suite bathroom.

“Want me to give you a rub down?" You smirked, thinking of all the times in Haechan's career as a professional baseball player that you'd met him for a steamy post-game massage.

Placing your hands on his waist, you started to follow him into the bathroom… but the door slammed in your face. You barely had time to yank your hands away. You stood staring at the white wood, your ears still ringing from the sound.

There was a hiss of water as Haechan started the shower.

You slumped down on the bed, unable to work out why your boyfriend was in such a foul mood. It seemed like the only emotion he had left was anger.

Haechan hadn’t kissed you for weeks. At this point you were more like roommates, not girlfriend and boyfriend.

Haechan came into the bedroom. His brown torso was dripping wet, and a towel hung low on his hips. The sight of your nearly naked boyfriend sent tingles running down your entire body. But you knew better than to approach him right now.

Haechan sat on the bed beside you, still naked. He stared at the floor.

"Why do you never come to my games?"

"I do come to them," you said. "I was there just last… last…" You stopped mid-sentence.

Actually, you couldn't remember the last time you'd been to a match.

Haechan scoffed. "All the other guys' girlfriends come to every single one. Jeno's girl always brings these amazing cookies that she bakes from scratch. Why don't you ever do anything like that?"

You frowned. "I'm not your personal cheerleader, Haechan. I have a job, you know. I’m busy."

Haechan sighed. "How busy can you be? All you do is sit at home all day and write stories for kids. Anyone could do that."

Haechan’s words felt like a blow to the face.

"Would you prefer if I didn't work? Would you prefer it if I came to all your matches... like some kind of trophy girlfriend?"

The look in his eyes was enough to know that he meant ‘yes’.

You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. "Unbelievable."

Haechan sprang off the bed. "Why do you always make our arguments about you? I'm the one who is supposed to be upset, but now you're crying." He rolled his eyes.

You swiped away the tears from your burning cheeks.

Haechan turned towards the wardrobe and put on a black T shirt and jeans. You watched him from the bed as he laced up his trainers.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

"To the after party. To hang out with people who actually care about me."

Haechan stomped into the hallway. You ran behind him.

"Wait,” you said. "Don't go."

Haechan's hand was on the front door. He paused, turning to look at you. "Why not?"

You gripped your hair. "Because... I love you."

Haechan sighed. "I love you, too, Y/n. But that's not enough. I need a girlfriend who can spare three hours for a baseball match! You know I'd do the same for you."

"Would you?" you asked, voice quiet.

Haechan frowned. "What do you mean?"

You tugged at the hem of your shirtsleeve. You hated being this open. "When was the last time you came to one of my book signings?"

Haechan scratched his head. "I guess I've been busy..."

"Have you ever read one of my books, Haechan? They’re ten pages long."

“I’ve been… meaning to.” Haechan gulped. He let the front door go. It fell shut. He stepped towards you.

"Do you even know what my latest book is called?"

"It's called the owl and the... no wait, the little girl and the..." Haechan sank down onto the floor. "Shit."

You shrugged sadly. "Don't I deserve a cheerleader, too?"

Haechan buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking. "I'm so sorry.”

You crouched down beside him and rubbed his back gently. "I'm sorry, too."

Haechan raised his head to look at you. His chocolate eyes were glassy, and the tip of his nose was red.

"I want to be there for you." He said, sniffing. "I understand if you want to break up but-"

You put your finger on his lips, shushing him.

"I don't want to break up, baby. We just need to make time for each other."

You stood up and held your hand out. Haechan took it, smiling weakly.

"What happened to us?" He asked, wrapping his hand around your waist.

You shrugged. "We're not perfect."

Haechan smiled. "I think you're perfect. I just… lost sight of that."

You bit your lip, cheeks warming. "Come here, you."

You cupped Haechan's face with your hands, stood on your tip toes and pulled his lips onto yours.

When you kissed him, it felt like you were kissing him for the first time. Every sensation was new, his touch, his lips, his body. It set you alight.

—

MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

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kingofbodyrolls · 4 months

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BTS fic recs: December 2023

HAPPY NEW YEARS!! 🥳 May every single one of you lovely people out there have the best and brightest year to come ✨

I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹

❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell, so minors dni.❗

If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post 💜And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂

BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (jjk)(knj) | Oct (pjm) | Nov (*) | 💜 (ksj)(kth) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻, personal favorites = 💯.

Namjoon

⭐Good Neighbor @sugaurora [0.7K] // knj x f.reader // neighbors!au, winter!au // 🥰🥰🥰

📝 Namjoon’s solitary tendencies versus the cookies. Spoiler: The cookies win.

🗨️ God, this was so fucking sweet 🥹 like sugary sweet fluffy fantastic! I loved it 💖 the way Namjoon just observes oc, and then helping her in the end 👏🏾 even though this is short, it’s fucking brilliant. The writing is just 😘😘 like I wished there was so much more, but I’m also so pleased with just what is 😌

⭐A Word from our Sponsors 💯 @ugh-yoongi [17.5K] // knj x f.reader // podcast!au, f2l, idiots to lovers // 😂🥵🥰

📝 You’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it.

🗨️ Okay. This. Was. Exceptional ✨🥹 I am slightly speechless, so this review might be short or long or just a rambling of my dainty thoughts. Here goes: it was amazing, seriously one of the best fics I’ve ever read 😭 everything just had that perfect flow, the writing was incredible, like I can’t even speak? The characters, out of this world fantastic ✨ the whole thing, just, perfect. Perfection. I don’t know what else to call it, sorry. The world building and tension was so fucking delicious I just ate it up! 😭 And their banter and chemistry was just off the charts amazing. Perfection. And it was so fucking hilarious too!! Many times I was just laughing or chuckling, like the lovesick fool I am 😂 it was definitely worth it to stay up late tonight to finish this masterpiece ✨ And them reading the fanfiction 💀 😂 priceless ✨👏🏾

Seokjin

⭐The IKEA Test by @yoon-bug [9.1K] // ksj x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰😂

📝 One review on IKEA’s website called the BRIMNES bed frame the leading cause of divorce due to its difficult assembly. You and Seokjin had laughed when you read it. Now, you weren’t so sure.

🗨️ Their banter and all the sexual innuendos are damn hilarious! I thoroughly enjoyed this very much 💜

⭐I Don’t Think I’m Okay by @ressjeon [4K] // ksj x f.reader // slice of life, idiots to lovers!au, childhood friends!au // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 With many chances wasted, you couldn’t even resist anymore.

🗨️ A cute little Seokjin fic 🥰

⭐Turn Back Time 💯 by @raplinesmoon [13.3K] // ksj x f.reader // time travel!au // 🥵🥰🌩️😂

📝 After total humiliation at his middle school baseball try outs, Kim Seokjin wants nothing more than for his awkward years to fade away until he’s thirty. Cue a magic baseball glove, and his wish is finally granted. Seokjin suddenly wakes up seventeen years later, now the star pitcher of the team he’d always dreamed of playing for. Confused and overwhelmed at the prospect of the new life waiting for him, he turns to the only person who seems to understand him — you. Will Seokjin learn what it truly means to be thirty, flirty, and thriving? Or will he find himself wishing he could turn back time?

🗨️ Seokjin’s childhood/school was just, ugh, I really felt heartache for thirteen year old Seokjin 🥹 So very common as a kid, to wish you’re older – and then it’s just not what he expected at all. I really loved it! There were a few times I was laughing so damn hard, times where I was shedding a few tears as well. Just, incredibly good; very well written, the story was captivating and motivating, just yeah, brilliant. (Sorry, I’m suddenly bad with words). I loved the ‘lessons’ he learned, and then having the luxury (I’m using that word because we don’t have that irl) of going back to his childhood (almost like starting over) and damn it was good 👏💯

Yoongi

⭐Sinful Lust [series; ongoing] 💯 by @oddinary4bts [wordcount loading…] // myg x jjk x f.reader // established relationship, bisexual boyfriend!Yoongi, slice of life // 🥵🌩️

📝In an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating…

🗨️ Holy 😱 😱 😱 this is just completely unadulterated sin 🥵🫣 I can not describe how much I love this fic! It has A LOT of angst and at times it’s just sad reading how each character falls apart 😭 it’s amazing! If you’re into stories that will have you question your own morals and who to root for, this is for you 💖

⭐In Between the Pages of You [series; ongoing] @unique-high [wordcount loading…] // myg x f.reader // s2l // 🥰😂🌩️

📝 Yoongi fell in love with you. A girl he had never even met before. Knew everything that you were made up of within 96 pages of a worn red journal with a nirvana sticker on front, with coffee and tea-stained pages that also smelled of lilacs and summer.

🗨️ I can already tell that this story will be amazing; it’s so sweet, cute and tender. The storyline/idea is really cute and fluffy, like who wouldn’t love that?? 😭 And as someone who wrote countless journals as a teen, this one just hits differently. It’s so cute and the concept is gold 💜 I really, really look forward to reading the next chapters and what Yoongi will uncover of OC through her journal. And if he can return it to her sometime and they meet! 🥹

⭐F*ck Christmas 💯 @sailoryooons [23.4K] // myg x f.reader // f2l // 🥰🥵

📝 Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

🗨️ Gosh, I remember reading this sometime last year and it was perfection - it still is! ✨ It’s so so so fucking good. If you haven’t read it, please do so 🥹 it’s also one of the best Christmasy fics 💜

Hoseok

⭐Ho Ho Horrible 💯 @ugh-yoongi [5.6K] // jhs x f.reader // e2l, neighbor!au, holiday!au // 🥵🥰😂

📝 (or, the one where your neighbor is a relentless christmas caroler and refuses to take a hint, but at least he's really hot.)

🗨️ No– this was just so freaking cute! 😭 Like fluffy cute and also extremely funny, just what I love. I loved this so much 💜 OC’s friendship with Tae, their banter was 💯 and then with Hobi, just so so good! It was so cute and OC’s internal dialogue is just funny 😂A really cute holiday themed Hoseok fic that I can’t recommend enough!!!! Everything was just great. Had me smiling and giggling a few times – please go read it 🥹💜

⭐Started with a Sparkle, now we’re on Fire @the-boy-meets-evil [6.5K] // jhs x f.reader // f2l // 🥵

📝 You're feeling self conscious about your recent break-up and hoseok is more than happy to teach you a thing or two.

🗨️ Really really good! I really liked it 💜 I really loved how both sweet and demanding Hoseok was, guiding oc through everything.

Jimin

⭐Couchsurfer 💯 @heartbeatan [6K] // pjm x f.reader // s2l // 🥵🥰

📝 This was left intentionally blank 🫥

🗨️ Omg this was so fucking good! 💯 First, really well written and the pacing was lovely, even though it’s short and one night they spend together 🥹 the build up of their tension and their chemistry was off the charts! So impeccably done! Fuck. I loved it ✨ it’s insane how good this story is and Jimin is just so sweet, romantic and nasty 🥵 I can’t tell you how turned on I got by the description of how Jimin handled OC, like damn 🥵 this is so fucking good, please don’t sleep on the this beauty 💖 Normally, I’m not one for one night stands, because I catch feelings for the characters, but this has a lovely ending that I loved - so fucking good!

Lol. Can not stop screaming about this one. Please go read it, fuck. PLEASE 😌 ✨

⭐Paper Hearts @namfinessed [9K] // pjm x f.reader // f2l, college!au // 🥰

📝 hearts fragile like paper, tear it or don’t?

🗨️ I think it is both cute and heartwarming, with their foolishness and stubbornness towards each other. I loved how the fic becomes full circle with the description of love by both Jimin and reader and then again at the end - really, really beautiful! 😍 I really loved this, it was well written, their friendship and love really shined through too! If you haven’t read this one yet, you really should 💜

Taehyung

⭐The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles [series] by @gimmethatagustd [14K] // kth x f.reader // frenemies to lovers // 🥵

📝 You’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s hipster, wannabe-photographer ass. You’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s stupid smile and stupid jokes and stupid way of getting under your skin and sticking in your brain.

🗨️ At first I did not realize that this was a series, therefore I’ve linked to the masterlist, lol. Anyway, this series is just so fucking hot, like WHAT 🥵 There’s a lot of banter and their mutual ‘hatred’ for each other just makes this hit incredible hard. Really amazing ✨

⭐Loverboy 💯 by @kookslastbutton [7.1K] // kth x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 After a startling conversation with your coworkers, you start feeling insecure about your sexual prowess. You don't initiate as much, you haven't worn lingerie yet, and you're still timid about doing much seducing with your body–are you giving your boyfriend boring sex? Taehyung reassures you that you are perfect and have nothing to worry about.

🗨️ These coworkers gotta go, okay?! 😠🤣 Planting seeds of doubt in OC’s head, no, no. Tae to the rescue!! He is so sweet in this too, yes a real ‘loverboy’ 😍 Gosh and then best friend Jimin - that was just pure gold, their relationship and how he helps OC 🥹 That is friendship goals!! A sweet, loving and comforting Taehyung fic - I loved it ✨

⭐Hush, yeah? [series; ongoing/hiatus] by @kithtaehyung [wordcount loading…] // kth x f.reader // brother’s best friend!au, music festival!au // 🥵

📝 Who knew an innocent accident could turn things so dirty..

🗨️ Pure gold ✨ — I don’t really have much to say, except GO READ IT.

⭐Under wraps by @jungkxook [15K] // kth x f.reader // e2l, fake dating // 🥵🥰

📝 There’s nothing you and taehyung seem to hate more than each other - except for christmas. having recently been dumped by your (now ex) boyfriend only seems to make this holiday even worse. but when taehyung suggests that you should pretend to be dating each other to save you both the embarrassment, pity, and bothersome questions from family and friends alike for a fun carefree month of celebrations, you can’t possibly say no.

🗨️ I just love me some good enemies to lovers AU 🥵 the relationship between OC and tae is really good, I think the tension between them was well built 👏🏾 I loved how their relationship unfolded and grew through their fake dating 🥹 the way OC realized she had feelings for him, but he had showed her before in his subtle moves, how much more he relaxed in her presence. I loved the interaction between oc and tae’s parents too, the way that they could obviously tell that OC was head over heels 😂 ah just, It was really really good! It was funny, it was comforting, and such a lovely read around Christmas! And the smut was sweet and tender (also hot!) 😍 a really great fic that I’ll add to my Christmas re-reads for years to come ✨ I loved it! Please go read it if you haven’t already 🥹

⭐Somebody Else 💯 by @jamaisjoons [4.2K] // kth x f.reader ft. yoongi // established relationship + post break up!au // 🥵🌩️

📝 Yoongi doesn’t want you anymore. but he can’t stand watching you with someone else.

🗨️ Holy s– 🥵 I don’t even know where to begin with this one! It’s really good and the that is mainly from Yoongi’s pov makes it truly special – he is observing them and damn is it hot 🥵 Aish, really good 💯

Jungkook

Nothing this month 😞 — I AM SO SORRY that I haven’t read any with JK this month (though he is featuring in some with the other members). My JK ‘to read’ list is the LONGEST imao 😂 I’ll hopefully do better next month – but you can always check my Jungkook Library 💜

I have spend most of December being on holiday/time off, which gave me a lot of time to write my own stuff, which in the end gave me less time to read 😣 But it’s all good! I loved getting some stories and thoughts out of my head and now there’s space to read and obsess over other’s stories again 😀

Borahae 💜

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

Text

I am procrastinating homework and finals studying so I'm making another DPxDC au -- or more accurately, I am making an au of an au. or combining two aus to make a third one, because I am Procastinating And thinking about it.

(the part two for my Danny is Jason Todd au is like,,, half-made and I will get around to finishing it, promiiissse)

So the two aus I had in mind were combining, of course, the two clone aus - the Danny Clone and the Damian Clone au. For folks who haven't seen either posts (or saw one but not the other) here are summaries of both:

Damian Clone Au: The LoA make a clone of Damian Wayne specifically to either kill Damian Wayne and have the clone take his place as the heir to the LoA, or to bring him back. At 6 years old though and through magical teleportation mishaps, Baby Damian ends up in the warehouse district of Amity Park and picked up (and later adopted) by Danny Fenton. They develop a brotherly dynamic with one another.

Danny Clone Au: Danny is straight up a clone of Bruce Wayne, doesn't find out until a year after he has his accident. And, for the fun of it, is also mostly-powerless (he retains his ghost sense and a semblance of a ghost core and signature, but no ghost form). His reasoning for becoming Phantom is because he has walked into the lab watching his parents dissecting ghosts post-portal working more times than he can count. And due to this, changes his beliefs from "ghosts are evil" to "ghosts are sentient and sapient beings who don't deserve this treatment". (masterpost pinned on my blog, its currently incomplete) He is also a little GNC, as a treat. Long-haired Danny ftw. Ellie is a halfa because of the ectoplasm that Vlad used, and also the same age as Danny. They call each other twins and she is viciously protective of him. He uses a baseball bat and brass knuckles that I call 'jawbreakers' to fight ghosts.

Now admittedly, not much probably changes with the combination of these aus other than the potential parallels between Damian and Danny, and Bruce and Damian - and of course, I am always a sucker for parallels. Plus Damian's running off would take Danny finding him much longer, since he can no longer fly, but all the more meaningful because he still took so much time to find him.

(It probably also makes their first meeting different as well - Danny wears a ROTTMNT Casey Jones Jr. esq. mask when he goes out, but Damian would recognize lazarus green anywhere. He'd probably try harder to kill him though once he sees his face, since he knows that its not his father but an imposter.)

It also includes what I consider a hilarious conversation: "Since I'm a clone of Bruce Wayne, does this make me your dad or your brother?" "Don't be an idiot, laeazir." "You didn't answer my question."

The biggest change that comes from this is, of course, the fact that Danny now no longer has a leg to stand on with the "you're a human, I am a ghost" excuse in order to prevent Damian to help him with ghost-fighting, because now Danny is also a squishy, fleshy and fragile human just like Damian. And a human who, arguably, has less combat training than Damian and no powers to make up for it.

Now, Danny in both aus are about 16-17-ish in age, so they've had time to adapt to their new vigilante-hero lifestyle, but its still not the same as Damian's training as an assassin. Damian, unlike in the original clone au, remains insistent on his want to help Danny.

And,,, eventually wears him down after weeks or months of sneaking out after him, helping in fights, interfering, arguing, etc. Danny eventually agrees, exhausted, but he makes Damian promise, promise, that he will be careful and to focus on dodging and distraction. At least until Danny can figure out a safer alternative. He wants him as far removed from the fight as he can, he's a child for ancient's sake, after all.

Which is another issue too - if we follow Damian Clone timeline, then Damian is six years old when this happens. I'll be point blank, I do not see Danny ever actually agreeing to let a literal 6 year old go with him. SO, solution, I bump Damian's age to 7 when he arrives in the Fenton Family, and make him freshly eight years old when he finally gets Danny to agree.

It still SUCKS. He is still very much an itty bitty child, but as someone who has seen the difference between a six year old and an eight year old due to working at a daycare, an eight year old is still... slightly feasible. And an 8 year old assassin even more so (even if he hasn't trained properly in nearly a year or so)

So Danny, reluctantly, agrees to let Damian come with him on patrols.

He ghost-proofs Damian's sword (as he has since learned to do with his bat and jawbreakers), makes him a grappling hook and a Fenton thermos, and reluctantly lets Damian come with in his old LoA uniform that he appeared in (with some tailoring and ghost-proofing, because he has since begun to grow out of the uniform).

(and Danny himself also finally starts looking into alternatives to improve his own "suit" - which is all but a hoodie and reinforced jeans and a hockey mask. He needs to set an example to his little brother, goddammit.)

Then, as they're planning for Damian's eventual (dreaded on Danny's part) debut, they sit in their shared room and brainstorm for what to call Damian. "Ellie already uses the name Spirit." Danny says, sitting criss-cross at his desk with the eraser nub of a pencil chewed between his teeth.

(Behind him he has an investigative corkboard set up -- his accident left him with the ability to see ghosts not capable of being seen on the visible plane. 'Stereotypical' ghosts. Between school work, his social life, and ghost fighting, some of his downtime is spent figuring out ways to help them move on. His most recent is a cold case.)

(Bc with Danny, I loove to have him have some sort of trait that ties him in with his original counterpart. Nature vs Nurture and all that. Investigative work can be part of that.)

"What about Wraith?" Damian suggests from the floor, leaning against the bed frame while he goes over one of his english books. They've been practicing his reading and writing.

Danny furrows his brows. "A ghost seen typically shortly after or before someone's death?"

Damian nods. "Yes, it's of a similar cadence to 'Batman and Robin'."

"What's with you and your thing with Batman and Robin?" Danny asks with a playful half-smile, Damian shrugs and looks at his books. Danny sticks the eraser back between his incisors. "Phantom and Wraith... that works, though."

The first night out together, Danny fusses over Damian, making sure every bit of uniform was secured and in place -- something Damian took mild offense over. His outfit was far more reinforced than the juvenile get-up that his older brother wore.

But he let him fuss anyways. It made him loved.

"Now remember, Wraith--"

Damian interrupts him: "Yes, I know, Dany. Avoid and distract. Stay situationally aware. I fear that is something I should be telling you, however. Mother would have your head if she ever saw what your training was like."

(It was, not for the first time, that Damian wondered how his,,, "mother",,, would react if she ever met Danyal. Not good, he knows.)

Danny's shoulders sag, and he sighs. "I believe that, what with that super-secret spy--"

"Assassin."

Danny sends him a half-hearted chagrined look, "Assassin," he corrects, "organization that made you. I'm sure I'd give your mother an aneurysm." When he's finally okay with whatever make-believe issues he found with his suit, Danny reaches for the nearby side table and carefully slips on a black domino mask over Damian's eyes. It was thin, flexible, and made with some kind of material that Danny reassured was environmentally safe.

("Some kind of matieral that Wayne Industries invented awhile ago, Sam bought it for me." Danny told him when he first showed it to him.)

It was also cold. But the chill was made up for, slightly, with Danny's warmer hands smoothing it out over his skin, and ridding of any ridges that could form. Damian isn't sure entirely what Danyal did to keep it stuck onto his face, but when he touches it with his fingers he feels a very faint seam at the edge, and it doesn't budge against his hands. It felt like a second skin.

"There we go." Danny smiles, pulling his hands back. He still looks nervous. "It's not the same as my hockey mask," which sat atop his head, ready to be pulled down, "but I think a domino mask will work better for you considering your background."

He was right, a hockey mask would only hurt Damian's peripheral vision. This mask was thin enough that it didn't.

"Ready to go, Wraith?"

"After you, Phantom."

+++

Damian has much issue with Danny's suit. He can think of a million ways to make it better. It is one of the things he and Samantha Manson can get along with, and the few times they have spent time together they have brainstormed suit ideas. He knows that since Danny took him on as Wraith, he has started to look into better suit alternatives.

However. They are both aware of the same thing:

Danny is not Batman, nor Superman, nor Wonder Woman, nor Aquaman, or the Flash, or Green Arrow, or Nightwing, or any single hero on the public roster. He is also not rich like Lex Luthor or Vlad Masters or Bruce Wayne himself.

He has no money and no contacts, and thus, no way of properly improving his suit to be something even half as safe as the other supers.

And he refuses to let Samantha Manson help him find a way to fix that - even with all that money, Samantha Manson is on an allowance from her parents, and also, despite her other range of abilities, not capable of getting those materials without putting herself on a list of some sort. They are at a standstill.

Damian knows this, because he has asked.

Until one day when Danny is talking about a case he is working on and telling Damian about old adventures he had in the Ghost Zone, does he see his brother get hit with a lightbulb.

He slaps a hand against his forehead and straightens up from his swivel seat. He huffs a laugh, "Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner?" And he turns on his heel and hurries to his bookshelf, pulling down a notebook and flipping open to an empty page.

Damian frowns, "Laeazir?"

"I know you don't like my suit, Damian," Danny says, striding over to his desk and snatching a pencil out of a cup. He begins jotting something down on the notebook. "And there's nothing I can really do about it because, well, I'm poor in comparison to my facesake, and I don't have the resources to get my hands on someone who would make me a new suit."

"Yes, we have talked about this..." Damian nods slowly, still frowning, and trying to follow his brother's line of reasoning.

Danny shoots him a megawatt, half-tilt smile, his hair tied up into a half-bun. "But! I was thinking about it from the wrong angle. I don't have the living resources to help me get a suit, but..." he trails off, staring at Damian intently.

It dinged in Damian's brain to where he was going, "But you have the undead resources instead." He says, his eyes widening slowly. Of course, of course! Danyal was ridiculously charismatic by accident, and Damian has seen plenty of times where his heart-of-gold had one or two non-hostile ghosts be incredibly grateful to him.

His brother makes a loud, 'ding-ding-ding!' sound, pointing his pencil at Damian as his smile stretches further across his face. In a few quick strides, he was sat down next to Damian and showing him his notebook. "Correct! When I first started out as Phantom a few years ago, I managed to help a ghost who called herself Taylor, and apparently she was a seamstress both in and out of life."

Damian watches as Danny writes the name at the top of the paper, and creates bullet-points down the page. "She said that in return for saving her, I should come find her in the Ghost Zone if I ever need clothes made for me. It's a one-time thing, but I was thinking that she could perhaps help make me a new suit."

Danny turns a bit pink at the ears, and rubs his neck, "I never thought much of it because I didn't think I'd ever go into the Ghost Zone, or ever need ghost clothes, so I forgot about it up until now."

A scoff forces itself out of Damian's mouth, but he is smiling. "Danyal, you are the smartest idiot I have ever met."

For the next hour, both he and Danny make a bullet point list of what both of their suits would need. Reinforcement in certain areas, gauntlets with reinforced knuckles to replace Danyal's jawbreakers. A different weapon than a bat.... a utility belt, reinforced boots. Anything they could think of.

It was Damian's idea to add a cloak to both of their suits, asymmetrical and torn at the edges for a more 'ghostly' look. They have a theme, after all. It's quite fun.

Then Danyal calls up Sam for help in drafting up design ideas. And while Danyal steps mostly to the side when it comes to the design itself, Damian and Sam fill pages with designs until coming up with one they both agreed on and like.

"What about a lightning bolt on the chest?" "Why are we using my traumatic accident as a symbol of my identity?" "Ghosts do it all the time, Danny. Ember sings about her death." "I'm not dead?" "No that won't work, Manson. Shazam already has a giant lighting bolt emblem." "Okay, but I still want to use it somewhere." "How about this?" "...That could work. Okay, now onto your emblem--"

Last was the hard part: getting into the Ghost Zone without the Fenton parents noticing the disappearance of their precious Fenton Specter Speeder. They employed Jazz's help with that. She would get the Fentons out of the house long enough for him and Danny to get into the ghost zone, hopefully find the seamstress, and cash in that favor.

They went through with their plan that following weekend. Danny tossed Damian a small jumpsuit as they both climbed into the specter speeder, but did not grab his own. He had a small duffle bag on him that he threw under the seat.

"What is this?" Damian asks, nose scrunching up at the gaudy picture of Jack Fenton's face square at the center of the chest. He held it far away from it, as if it had a disease.

"Your hazmat suit." Danny replies, settling himself into the driver's seat as the door hissed shut and he began turning it on. He had some sort of gas mask on in his lap, too small to fit Danny's head, but certainly the right size to fit Damian's. "Normally you wouldn't need it since you'd stay in the speeder, but we're both getting out once we find Taylor. It's to protect you from the ectoplasm."

A scowl forces itself across Damian's face, "You don't have one." He points out, finding seat in the passenger chair next to Danny. His arms cross over his chest, and he was not pouting.

Danny looks at him amusedly, "I have enough ectoplasm in my body that I don't need one, you however, do not." He retorts, poking a finger into Damian's ribcage pointedly. "If you don't put it on now, you'll put it on when we find Taylor."

Damian's scowl deepens, feeling petulant as he sunk into his chair. Danny turns back to the console and flips a few more switches. "I will not, it looks ridiculous." He turns it around to show Danny the Jack Fenton Face.

The Specter Speeder hums to life, and there's a moment of turbulence as it lifts off the ground. While it does, Danny turns back to him blankly, stares at the emblem, and then reaches forward and yanks it off with a scriiiiich of the emblem. He crumples it up with one hand, and throws it into a small bin at his feet.

"There, fixed." He smiles. Then turns back to the controls, taking the yoke with both hands. "And I'm calling Dad Rights; you will put it on when we find Taylor or you'll stay in the speeder."

Damian sputters, sitting up incredulously. "You are not my father." He argues.

"Teeechnically, I am." Danny says, "I'm a clone of your father, and since I am fully his clone, that makes you my son by a technicality." He says cheerfully, pushing the specter speeder forward and into the swirling green portal.

Before Damian can retort, they're passing through the portal. This was his first time going into the Ghost Zone, and for a few seconds there was nothing but bright, swirling green filling his vision. His body felt like it was being twisted and pulled, his up and down reversing and returning. It was painless, but dizzying.

It only lasts for a few seconds, but it feels like a minute, and when they exit out the other side, Damian is holding his head while his vision spots and swims. Internally, he felt like those cartoon characters when their eyeballs rolled around in their head.

The dizziness fades away slowly, and as Damian regains his sight, he notices Danny's hand splayed over his sternum, gently keeping him pressed against his seat. It fell away when Danny saw that he was alright.

"Put your seatbelt on," Danny orders, nodding to his chair. Damian listens absently, before remembering their conversation before they went through the portal.

"That is not how it works." He scowls, and, annoyingly, only gets a challenged eyebrow raise from Danny. He could see the words written on his face without Danyal ever having to say it.

Because, dangit, he was technically right. Damian refuses to say this aloud. He screws his jaw shut, and crosses his arms back across his chest.

Danny chuckles under his breath, and turns his eyes back to the ghost zone. "My point still stands, either you wear the suit, or you don't leave the speeder."

"Fine."

+++

They eventually find where the seamstress is. Through quite a lot of Danny stopping to ask questions with any friendly ghost he came across, they eventually locate an island with a strange, urban city bustling with life on it. Massive, rocky stalagmites grew from the ground, and buildings were built on top of it or around it, with strange, warping architecture.

It was oddly beautiful.

Danny parked the speeder on the side of the street with a two hour parking sign on a nearby post. As he turned off the engine, he flipped a switch on the console that darkened the windows. He unbuckles his seat, and stood up, stretching out his back with a deep groan.

"Alright, put your suit on. The windows are tinted, so nobody should be able to see into the speeder." He orders, pulling out the duffle he brought in earlier and unzipping it. He pulls out his hockey mask and the hoodie he wore out for patrol, and the notebook they'd been using to jot down ideas for their suit.

Danny even had the hindsight to write in their respective heights, and with Tucker's help, some of their measurements. While he did that, Damian sourly pulled on his hazmat suit, irritated by the need to wear it.

Unfortunately, he also had to wear the boots and gloves for 'extra precaution'. Damian nearly bites out a grumpy 'you're as paranoid as father', but holds his tongue. He wasn't going to tell Danyal that secret.

Once he was done and Danny has his hockey mask and hoodie on, Danny grabs the gas mask and helps fit it over Damian's face. It was a sleek, simple design, shaped similarly to a regular face mask, with little filters on both sides of the mouth and a clear, protective covering around the eyes and forehead. Danyal improved it from the original his parents made.

He was smarter than he gave himself credit for.

Danny checks, then double checks that it the mask is tight, then smiles. Patting Damian's shoulders before standing up fully. "Taylor's shop should be somewhere nearby." He says, grabbing the notebook and tucking it under his arm.

Damian nods, and follows him out the door and onto the busy streets.

Finding Taylor becomes remarkably quick now that they were inside her city - something that Damian silently wondered was based loosely off NYC. Danny kept a firm arm around Damian's shoulders the entire time they walked down the street, keeping the both of them on the inside sidewalk.

Barely anyone passed them a second glance, spare the few odd looks shot at Damian. Danny whispers to him the first time it happens that it's because he has no ghost core, those more attune to their signatures might've been picking up on it.

They didn't notice Danny, because he had one, albeit a weak one.

Taylor's shop has a big sign on it in logographic writing that Damian has no idea how to read. The text shifts slowly, a jambled squiggle of lines, dots, and connected curves that look like a mix of messy cursive, gibberish, and logographic alphabets. He only knows its Taylor's shop because Danny pulls them towards it, stating that it was the place.

"You can read that?" He asks, incredulous as they draw closer to the door. Danny moves his arm off his shoulder, and wraps his fingers around Damian's instead.

"Yep," He replies, then scrunches his nose up, "sort of. It's - uh--" he stumbles over a word that Damian's ears cannot comprehend, but fills his head with slight static regardless. Danny winces. "It's the written form of ghostspeak, but since I'm not a ghost, I can only read some of it. Like uh, dyslexia."

"...I see." Damian says after a moment of silence, trying to replay the word in his head. His mind can't grasp the sound.

When they enter, the door doesn't ding with the sound of a bell, but rather it makes a low scream. Nobody bats an eye to the sound, keeping to their slow search through the racks of clothes.

At the counter was a woman talking quietly to another woman, one of whom Danny recognizes, as he walks over to her.

He doesn't need to say anything, because the woman behind the counter sees him coming, and her face positively lights up with delight. "Phantom!" She cries, and gestures to come over. "I was wondering when in the high ancients you were going to come see me!"

Danny's face is obscured by his mask, but Damian knows he's smiling sheepishly with the way he tilts his head and the way he tenses his shoulders. "My bad, Miss Taylor," he says, reaching the counter and standing beside the woman she was talking to, "It kinda... slipped my mind."

Taylor waves her hand dismissively, "Well you are here now!" She replies, grinning wide. Then her eyes pop open - literally - and she puts a hand over her chest. "Oh, how rude of me!" She turns and gestures between Phantom and the lady next to him, "Miss Mabam, this is Phantom. I told you about him a couple of years ago. He saved me from humans. Phantom, this is Gigi Mabam, she funds my shop. In return I make clothes for her and her staff."

The 'Gigi' woman turns just as Danny does, and smiles wide at him. Damian narrows his eyes at her, shuffling behind Danny legs as he looked her up and down. She had silvery-white hair and purple skin, and wore a darker purple business suit, a red gem cravat at her collar, and teal cat-eye glasses.

There was a lot of purple.

"So this is the ghost-touched you were telling me about, dear!" The woman, Mabam, said. Her voice was rich and low but she spoke in a whimsical cadence. It made Damian's skin crawl, and his narrowed eyes turned into a glare. "I must thank you for saving my seamstress, it would've been quite a fizzy-wink if she had been lost to those ghosty hunters."

What were those nonsense words? Damian hated it.

"Miss Mabam here runs a five-star hotel nearby," Taylor explains, her body turned to Danny, "she also is in charge of the city's Battle Nexus."

Danny is silent for a moment, and his free hand lifts and places itself on the back of Damian's head, keeping him close. "Battle Nexus...?"

Mabam claps cheerfully, laughing low, "Oh yes! Ghosts from all around the zone come to attend and watch as their fellow haunties are ripped from limbity-limb in a blood-curdling battle!"

Danny is still as stone. "I see." He says, careful. Damian wraps his fingers around his pant leg. "Well, I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I was hoping to cash in that favor, Miss Taylor?"

"Of course! What do you need?"

Danny looks down at Damian, and he looks up at him, locking eyes with the ominous green glowing from the eyeslits of his mask. He nods, and Danny looks back up. "Do you know how to make suits? Of the protective kind?"

+++

The seamstress it turns out, is capable of such a thing. And she ushers the both of them into one of the backrooms, sending off Mabam with a farewell and a promise to continue their conversation soon.

She flips through their design book, and immediately gets to work making their suits. In the end, with the help of her powers, she gets both done over the span of four hours. It's longer than both Danny and Damian want, but neither rush her.

Damian just hopes that Jasmine can keep the Fenton parents distracted for that long. She will have to.

The suits are better in real life than on paper, and Damian preens from the side in his own custom suit as Danny examines his own in front of the three mirrors. They were both dressed in all black, but whatever fabric Taylor used was of a blackest-black, turning Danyal - and Damian's - bodies into a black hole to look at. Both of them were fitted for agility, with reinforced padding around their shoulders and chests, as well as around the joints of their legs. Their boots were reinforced as well.

("It was hard to make your boots shock absorbent," Taylor explains, "since we all fly, but I applied similar stuff to what I did with your shoulders and chestplate.")

On the side of Danyal's legs were raised, black, lichtenberg-like figures that were contained to the seams and disappeared under his boots. There were similar designs going up his sleeves, with spiked gauntlets wrapped around his lower arm and hands. The knuckles were reinforced, just like he wanted.

Damian's favorite parts were their capes, however. Black like the rest of the outfit, but "wrapped" around their shoulders like an apocalyptic shawl with a back that went down to their knees, and at the hems the capes were torn and ripped like a wraith. Danyal's mask had gone through very little change. It was made of a stronger material, and Taylor had gone and made it more skull-like in its shape, with three large grills at the front, and the sides curving inward below the 'cheekbones' of the skull to better fit his face. It was still shock white, the only white part of Danyal's entire costume.

Damian's suit was almost identical. However, rather than having the seams of his suit resemble lichtenberg figures, the seams of his sleeves and upper torso were that of a black skeleton, with bone-y designs over his gauntlets and the fingers an ombre of dark red-to-black. And around his torso were raised lines that looked similar to a ribcage. The edge of his cloak was splatter a dark red as well. And he had a new domino mask that looked similar to the upper half of Danyal's mask, with the outer edges curved downward over his cheekbones. He was briefly allowed to take off the upper part of his gas mask to try on the mask.

The best part however, was that since the suits were made of material native to the ghost zone, they could also be taken off quickly and hidden in a small artifact. It was magic, is what it was. Danyal chose earrings, and Damian chose a ring.

When they got back to the Fenton house, Jazz demands a box of chocolate for her hard work. Damian thinks that's only fair as Danny takes them both out to get candy for Jazz.

+++

But other than vigilante stuff, not else much changes. Danny gets to pull a "Dad By Technicality Rule" card over Damian when he's being a brat. Danny doesn't have his run in with Rift (a ghost who portals him into Gotham) until after he meets Damian/lets Damian join him on patrol and when they get new suits.

My reason? Because I want it to happen after that point in time lol. It also makes the eventual "heyyyyy you have a clone" @ bruce much funnier to me because not only does he have a clone of HIMSELF but also THAT clone has a clone of Damian living with him.

Also when Danny destabilizes for the first time Damian is terrified for his safety. The fentons are surprisingly good at cloning, Danny hasn't had any issues up until this point in time, and that's only because he got hit with a new gun from Skulker that messed up the ectoplasm he had in his dna, which in term fucked with his own DNA.

Danny's destabilization, imo, is not "I cast you with Melt" he's not Ellie, he's not made of 50% ectoplasm. His parents surprisingly knew what they were doing, and he was human. So his destabilization should be unique to himself and different. Thus his destabilization is "I cast you with Compromised Immune System" his body slowly weakens over time as his cells destabilize. He becomes unnaturally frail and sick. Damian calls Ellie for help when Danny doesn't get up after being hit in a fight that he normally, and Ellie helps figure out that he's destabilizing. This is whats gonna happen in OG clone au too, but Ellie is going to be there rather than Damian.

It makes going to Wayne Manor after that slightly more interesting,,,

#dpxdc crossover #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton is a clone #damian clone au #i couldnt NOT describe their new suits. i just couldn't. they're leaning into the ghost culture of being scary as fuck looking #i feel a little cheesy for giving them magic jewelry that lets them hide their suits instantly #but i have to make up for danny's lack of ghost form SOMEHOW #damian just gets it too by association #if anyone is curious #Ellie's ghost form is identical to Danny's suit just the colors are inverted. so her suit is all white and her mask is all black #its not a starry au unless its got a read more #did anyone notice the Big Mama cameo from ROTTMNT #its because Danny's mask looks like Casey Jones Jr's mask from ROTTMNT without the red marks on the eyes #Danny and Damian's dynamic itches my brain #Danny: im calling Dad Rights - youre grounded #Damian: nnOOOO #also also. danny uses sign language if he's in view of the living since they could recognize his voice. damian does not yet know ASL #so thats on his 'languages to learn' list #although he is not seen by the public since he has school and ghost attacks happen around danny and not him #Red Huntress gives the Phantom so much shit when she sees his sidekick. Phantom tiredly explains that he had no choice - Wraith would have #come with anyways. truly a robin at heart.#“idc if you say no imma do vigilantism ANYWAY. i dont NEED ur permission” is robincore and bruce/danny going #“fine but i'm gonna make sure you dont DIE then”#clone^2

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findafight · 1 year

Text

Okay but Joyce doesn't like Steve au that's juxtaposed by Hopper having accidentally adopted Steve but neither of them know the other's strong feelings towards Steve.

Joyce is eyeballing him all suspicious and the like. She doesn't trust him around the kids, is wary when Will talks about how he's actually pretty cool, and that Dustin is totally obsessed with him now. She greatful for his help with...whatever he did with the Upside Down stuff, but still. She knows his reputation. And her opinion doesn't change until post season 4 (despite a very frosty exchange she had with Claudia Henderson about maybe...being careful about letting Steve hang around Dustin pre S3) because suddenly Steve is like. Always at the house she shares with Hopper. She's ticked at first, because why is this random boy in her house? Hanging out and watching baseball with her daughter? And when she mentions why Steve is there all the time, at one of the seemingly rare times Steve isn't eating dinner with them (she thinks a date was mentioned, and she refrained from scoffing at how typical it was for Steve to have a date and probably not call back) El and Hop look at her like she's crazy.

Because Hopper is no longer afraid to admit his fondness for Steve. So much so that Joyce's distain for the kid throws him way off base. The whole time Joyce has been side eying Steve Hopper was sitting there smiling like Steve :) good kid :) he helped El with her hair after Kali. :') Talked about how to accept things you've done that make you feel guilty while working to make up for them and grow to be a better person :) always putting himself on the line to protect those kids :) wrote to El all the time while she was in California so she knew he was still her friend :) glad they have him. Glad El has him :)he called her Ellie last week that's cute :) unfortunate taste in men but apparently that's a family trait so I will deal with it :/ my son :')

So they're both going "why wouldn't he be?"

And Joyce barrels on like "well, he's always here and he and Jon are barely speaking-"

"Woah that not exactly...Steve's fault..."

"and he's closest to Dustin of the kids, not Will."

"not my fault I was dealing with possession when Dustin, Lucas, and Max had their special Steve adventure" (El pats his shoulder in sympathy)

"and now he's missing dinner for a date. just don't get no one else thinks it's weird!"

El frowns "it's their two-month anniversary."

"huh?"

"him and--his date. They have been dating for two months. It's special."

"El, you don't even know her name...I don't think it's that-"

"yes I do! He told me. But asked me not to tell. Right Will?"

Will nods. "They want to keep it quiet. Not ready for everyone to know? I don't know who it is but that's what Steve said when we asked. Robin definitely knows too."

"so why'd he tell El?"

"and me. He told us together."

El rolls her eyes "because he is my brother?"

Hopper's face scrunches in a smile, proud and warm.

"El, we aren't his family..."Joyce is trying, she is! But she isn't fully understanding exactly what's happening or everything in winter/spring 1985.

El looks mortally offended by this. "yes we are. Steve was my brother first."

And Joyce has to reckon with the fact that maybe she's misjudged Steve a little, if El and Hop are getting so defensive over him....

Part 2 part 3

#steve harrington #el hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #steve and el #el and hopper #jopper #steddie #not explicitly there but also. yes it is.#stranger things #stranger things au #finda's rambles #finda writes stuff #steve and hopper #i LOVE steve and hopper fatherly relationship. hop realizing somewhere in spring 85 his got 5wo #hes got two kids now. haha #joyce doesn't like steve au

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themorningsunshine · 1 year

Text

Muffins

Pie - eyed over you - Chapter 3

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Previous Part

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Mentions of murder, lots of fluff (gotta give the fluff before the angst for it to hurt more, yup I am evil), Steve and Sam being a menace

Word count - around 6k

a/n - So, after two delays, hell a lot of editing, and straight up changing the whole structure of this chapter and then combining it with another (hence the length), it’s finally here. Thank you so much to all of you for putting up with me. Please let me know what you guys think about this. Your kind words keep me going.

You placed the muffins in a tray for display before making a note in your diary to buy more chocolate chips when you go to the market on the weekend.

Running a bakery all on your own is a difficult job but you wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. Even though you were not a morning person, the prospect of coming here and baking made it getting up from the bed every morning a tad bit easier.

As you heard knocks on the door, you frowned before looking up, there was still some time left before it was time to open up the bakery.

But when your eyes landed on the figure standing outside the door, looking like a complete misfit in his dark clothes and sunglasses and surprisingly, a baseball cap covering his forehead, a pathetic attempt at being discreet, you can't help the way your lips turn upward and your heart flutters.

He was here just yesterday and yet it felt like you were seeing him after too long.

Get yourself together.

It's just a crush, it'll go away.

You wiped your palms on your apron before walking towards the door to open it.

You gave him a teasing smile before saying, "You're at the wrong place. Baseball convention is another mile from here."

He rolled his eyes before stepping inside the bakery, bending a little, the door a little too short for him. "Hello to you too, sweets."

You chuckled before walking towards the counter as he took his usual seat. Everything felt like a routine. Engraved in your soul as if it had always been there.

"Gracing this bakery with your presence two days in a row. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Maybe I just missed my sweets." He shrugged as if it was obvious.

"Continue this and you are going to get diabetic." You remarked with a smirk.

"Not the sweets I was talking about, but okay."

The smirk immediately left your lips as you could practically feel your heart beat out of your chest. He didn't mean it. He's just teasing.

But no matter what you think, you can't help the way the red color crept up to your neck at his words.

Okay, this crush is getting out of hand.

"So, how's work?" You say in an attempt to change the topic.

He tenses at your words. You had asked him what he did, and he had replied that he was a mechanic. It was becoming more difficult for him to lie to you.

But maybe, he won't have to much longer.

He was pretty sure Walker was on his way to screw things up.

That son of a -

"Earth to James!!" Your voice moving and your palm waving in front of his face brought him out of his thoughts.

"I asked how was work." You said with a frown. James always got weirdly uncomfortable when you asked about work. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it, but you were no one to ask.

"Oh, it's been fine. You know, the usual."

"Yeah, yeah. Steve is a dorky idiot and Sam is an annoying prick. I know." You said imitating the words he had said to you not a long time ago.

Bucky chuckles. Telling you about Steve and Sam was easier. Maybe sharing something about him which wasn't a lie, made him feel less guilty.

He knew this was wrong.

He was creating a web of lies that you will find out one day.

But Bucky Barnes wasn't a good man and he would take whatever time he has got before the inevitable happened.

Which wasn't going to be today.

He wasn't going to let Walker ruin this.

He will just sit there, hiding half of his face with the baseball cap. It would be easy. It wasn't like Walker would expect to see him here anyways.

He was just here to make sure that he didn't hurt you.

The both of you striked a conversation just like usual and you immediately felt better. You knew it was going to be a great day. Had started off on the best possible note, atleast.

The clock striked eight before you knew it and you got up from your chair to flip the sign at the bakery.

"Why don't you hire someone to help you?" James asks, sipping his coffee.

"Why, you're looking for a job?" You teased him with raised eyebrows. "Job at the garage doesn't pay enough for your baseball conventions?"

He rolled his eyes. "When are you gonna let this one go?"

"I think… never."

He chuckled before asking again, "But, seriously, sweets, why not get a helping hand?"

" 'Cause I am selfish." When he narrowed his eyes, you continued. "I know this sounds weird, but I don't like it when anybody else cooks the food. It's just never good enough."

"So, why not hire someone to deal with the customers?"

"That's literally the best part of the job." You half exclaimed. "People telling you whether they liked the sweets or not is the best part, James. Almost as good as getting to eat all the leftovers."

James chuckled before setting his coffee mug down. "There is no pleasing you."

You shrugged before walking behind the counter to get everything ready for the morning rush you were sure was about to walk through the door any moment now.

When a few people came in, some regular customers and some students hoping to get in some caffeine to start the day, you saw as James involuntarily tensed.

Bucky watched the front door with focused eyes as minutes ticked by. He knew Walker will be here any minute now.

And he was proven right as he saw John Walker opening the door of the bakery and walking in with a smug look on his face, shoving away whoever came in his path.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to pull him out of here, away from you and this warm place but he couldn't do that. There would be consequences, which he normally wouldn't give a second thought to, but the real nuisance would bring questions.

He watched as you greet him with the same grin on your face that you used for all your customers, saying in a soft voice, "Hey, what can I get you?" And Bucky can swear Walker doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you.

"Why not start by paying off?" Walker said with a tone harsh and loud enough that a few customers turned to see what was happening.

You frowned your eyes in confusion, "I am sorry." You were still speaking in a calm, soft voice, trying your best to get whoever this man was to calm down. You didn't want a commotion so early in the day.

"Walker." He said as if it was enough of an introduction before continuing, "And I think you have an idea of where I am coming from. You owe us."

James watched as realization dawned on your face and you stood straighter, your smile turning into a forwn. "I don't owe anyone anything."

He leaned towards you, keeping his arms crossed on the counter, speaking with a smirk, "Don't try to act smart, baby doll. Pay up and no one gets hurt."

He watches as you cringe at the nickname and almost take a small step back, discomfort clear on your face.

Bucky almost gets up from his chair, his first instinct to slit off Walker's throat with the knife he had tucked in his jacket. He would make it less messy too, but painful.

Control, he isn't going to hurt her.

"I am not going to pay you a single cent, Walker. So, why don't you take your ass out of my bakery and leave me alone?" As you speak, your hand inches towards the knife that you keep below the counter for situations like these. Even though you hoped you'd never have to use it, it was better to be prepared than sorry.

John clenches his fist as his eyes bore into your skull, "Don't make this difficult. You don't know who you are trying to mess up with. The people I work with wouldn't blink an eye before dumping your body in a dumpster. Just pay every month and we leave you alone."

"I have said it before and I'll say it again, I am not going to pay you to let me live." It's as if something switches inside you. The slight fear or discomfort that could be seen in your features is completely gone now.

Bucky watches as Walker growls in impatience before reaching for his jacket pocket.

Nope, not happening

"Listen to me, you little bitch - "

Walker is cut off immediately when a larger figure stands between him and the counter.

James shields you from him, obstructing his view.

"Leave her alone." The sound is almost a growl. And if Walker hadn't been too preoccupied he would have noticed how familiar that sounded.

"And who the hell are you?" He spat.

Bucky looks down at him and watches as all the color is drained out of his face when he recognises him.

"S - si "

"Leave her alone and if you show up around here ever again, it will be you in the dumpster, cut into more pieces than you can count."

Fear is obvious on Walker's face, as he completely forgets the weapon he was reaching for, trying to get his senses to work, confusion evident on his face.

Before he can ask any questions, Bucky takes a step towards him, with sheer coldness in his eyes as if he could slit Walker's throat right now and wouldn't blink.

You watch as the man - who had introduced himself as Walker- saunters out of the bakery with quick steps.

You frowned your eyes at whatever had happened here.

You weren't going to pay the mob any money, you knew that. But you also knew that you couldn't have overpowered that man, especially if he had a weapon hidden under there somewhere.

"You didn't have to do that, James." You said softly, in an attempt to get his attention away from the door he was boring holes in.

He turned back and you watched as his expression turned into the soft one you were so familiar with.

You walked from behind the counter towards where he was standing before explaining, "He works for the mob. Trust me, you don't want to get involved with them."

Bucky's breath hitches at that. How could he explain to you that he wasn't just involved with the mob?

"It's okay, sweets. They won't hurt me." That was some truth. They were never going to hurt him, and before Walker could utter a single word to anyone about the events of the day, he would be fired. Bucky would make sure of that.

"I know." You sighed, looking down at the floor as if contemplating something. It was silent for a moment before you looked up, "Thank you, James. It does mean a lot to me." You said with a soft, grateful smile on your face and your hand reached out to his.

"Anytime, sweets."

A moment passed before anyone of you dared to move. Your hand was now brushing his arm in slight touches.

You broke the silence, "Come on, have some muffins. They are on me." You said before turning back and walking towards the counter.

Bucky had to stand there for a moment because his skin had suddenly started to feel cold and empty. Like it wasn't enough without your touch, before walking back towards the counter and standing right in front of where you were taking out some muffins on a plate.

"So, Ms Feisty, something against the mob?" He said, trying desperately for his voice to sound joking.

You shrugged while passing the muffins to him and turning to pour some coffee for yourself. "I am not going to pay them money just because everybody else does. Why the hell do I pay taxes?"

"But the way you were standing, you don't just want to rebel, sweets. You hate them." He said, an emotion in his voice you couldn't really place. He prayed that that wasn't the case, that he had read the situation wrong and maybe you didn't really hate the mob.

"Hate is a strong word, James. I - despise them." You reply before looking up at him to meet his eyes, but he looks away, almost as if looking at you right now would physically hurt him.

"I mean, they aren't really that bad, right? It's not like I know a lot about them but I have heard they protect the city." He tries.

"Uh-huh. They are not good people. You remember that day when we met? When it was raining and I had lost my way, and you were there - "

"I remember the day we met, sweets." He interrupts. Every part of that day was engraved in his mind.

"Yeah, yeah right. So, that day I was coming back from a friend's house. She has a daughter, Ellie, about 5 years old."

He hums, nodding his head, not sure where you were going with this.

"Both of them were switching houses. Leaving their home, that they had built, to live in a one bedroom apartment in the not so respected area of the town. You know why?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Because her dad was killed." You took a deep breath, trying to keep the rage from bubbling up to the surface. "A 5 year old lost her father, James. And why? Because of some stupid mob feud."

"What was her dad's name?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Jake"

Bucky's moments halted as images came back to his mind's forefront. He had killed that man himself. Shot three bullets straight into his chest. He had felt no remorse then. That man was a traitor. Had joined hands with the enemy, knowing very well what the consequences could be.

He had felt no remorse then because he hadn't given a moment of thought to the people he might be leaving behind. It made his work easier. Pretending that there were no consequences to whatever they did.

But now he could see the consequences. In the form of rage in your eyes at the tale and the hurt he felt in his chest, thinking about the girl. He knew how that felt. Being alone, and helpless.

"She didn't deserve that. None of them did. Nobody deserves to lose somebody they love, James. But it hits the worst when it's unforeseeable. When the people who did it are out there in the world, as if their hands aren't tainted with blood, living their life and you can do nothing about it." You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. Thinking about your friend and Elliot always brought you to tears. You tried to help them as much as you could, but there was only so much you could do.

Bucky looks into your eyes and sees tears in the corner of your eyes. He wants to hold your hand, to comfort you, to tell you that they are going to be fine. But how could he, when his were the hands that were tainted with blood, that had taken the life of that man without a second thought.

So, he just sits there, listening to you talk about the lady and her kid, even though each of your words is like a sword stabbed through his chest.

When he knows you are fine, he takes his leave, bidding you goodbye before walking out and calling Steve.

"Steve, I need you to do something."

"What's up, Buck? Everything okay?" Steve replied in a concerned voice. Even after everything, his concern for his best friend never faded.

"I am sending you some details of a lady and her kid. Send me the contacts of the person who bought their house."

"Give me half an hour. But who are these people?"

"They are going to be our responsibility, Steve."

He cuts the call and sends a quick text with all the details he might need.

He can't help but turn back towards the bakery to have one last look. He has made up his mind. He was going to tell you the truth.

he didn't care if it meant you would hate him. There were many people in the town who despised him, what's one more?

But when he turns back and his eyes land up on you, handing a cup of coffee to a middle aged lady, talking to her with a softness unique to you.

As if you can feel his eyes on you, you turn towards the window and as your eyes meet, your smile grows wider. A smile that's only reserved for him, he realizes.

And he would have hated himself for how quickly his resolve fades away.

But Bucky Barnes was not a good man.

And maybe many people in this world did hate him, but he would be damned if you were one of them.

He wanted this. The weekly bakery visits, the warmth, the sheer simplicity of it all, even if it was all this was ever going to be.

And it was about damn time he got what he wanted.

Why should he apologize for the monster he has become when no one ever apologized for making him this way?

Maybe, one day you'll find out the truth and hate him more for lying to you, but it wasn't going to be anytime soon. He will make sure of that.

So, he straightens his coat and walks away from the bakery, choosing to not pay any mind to the inevitable doom that could leave the both of you shattered.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*

"James Buchanan Barnes"

He turns back from what he is doing to find you, cross armed, shooting daggers at him.

"How could you, James? It's like you're not even trying."

He can't help the smile that finds its way to his lips at the way you look. Your christmas sweater that you had deemed "perfect" for the occasion and a scarf draped loosely on your neck, trying to look intimidating, just makes you look even cuter.

You walk towards him and take the candy decoration from his hand, to place it exactly just an inch away from where he was going to, because it looked in your exact words, "more festive"

Bucky just smiles at you as he watches you ramble more about Christmas decorations.

When a week ago, he had heard you reminding Pietro that he had to come over to help you decorate, he had stepped in and offered his help. He was free that day anyways, he had told you. There was an international shipment that he had to sign off that day, but that could wait.

When Pietro had shaken his hand and thanked him for 'saving him', he didn't understand, but now he did. You were extremely particular about how each and everything had to look for christmas and was not shy to tell the other person what a terrible job they were doing if it wasn't exactly the way you had wanted.

But if the cute pout on your face and the warmth that it caused in his chest was any indication, it was worth it. The cookies whose smell reached him even in the living room was just an added bonus.

Right now, standing in the middle of your apartment, surrounded by incomplete decorations that signaled the arrival of a festival he wouldn't have cared the slightest about a year ago, being scolded by you for not hanging the canes correctly, he regretted nothing.

3 hours and a lot of debates later, all of which you won, the house was finally decorated enough for the festival.

"Here you go." You said, handing him a warm cup of coffee and placing a plate full of cookies on the table in front of him. It was your way of saying thank you.

Bucky looks around your apartment. It's just above the bakery and much smaller than the mansion he lived in. But it felt different in a way he couldn't point out.

A shelf filled to the brim with books standing in the corner, pictures adorning the walls, each telling a different story. Some soft music playing on the speaker, it was like a blanket of warmth stood over your house. A little messy, but beautiful nonetheless.

His eyes then land on you, sitting across from him on the sofa, sipping your coffee with a warm, content look on your face, your scarf now lying on the table.

As if you could feel his gaze, you turn back to look at him and your breath hitches in the throat at the way he is looking at you.

It's as if the world could crumble around him and he wouldn't blink an eye.

You can't get yourself to look away. So, you just raise your eyebrows, because you have suddenly forgotten how to breathe and if he didn't look away right now, you are not sure you will be able to survive longer.

He just shrugs and turns towards his coffee, as if it was a natural occurrence. As if your whole world hadn't stopped spinning for a moment there.

Bucky looks at you through the corner of his eyes and watches as red color creeps up to your neck and you try your hardest to not smile.

He now recognises the feeling.

Your apartment feels like home.

And the next realization brings with itself questions and doubts he wasn't ready to answer.

He wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩

He clenches his fist as he drags his feet towards the bakery.

It was pretty late. He knew that.

But he just had to be there.

He liked his work more often than not. The impending guilt and the danger aside, the reason that had initially brought him to this world still stood.

It made him feel something. The adrenaline of each task, the satisfaction of seeing everything that belonged to his enemies burning down till there was nothing but smoke.

The mafia world had welcomed the darkness that he had inside of him and made him one of their own, for which he will be eternally grateful.

But for some time now, it hasn't been enough.

The darkness that had surrounded and consumed him for so many years now was suddenly not enough.

Something inside him changed.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had thought twice before shooting that man today. The whispers inside him that asked him every time 'if there was any other way' had become louder now and even the noise of the bullets couldn't silence it.

He knew what was happening.

He was seeking the light.

And every single part of him knew that this could only end in disaster. In a fire that threatened to burn every single thing to the last piece.

But that didn't stop him from taking the next step. Or the one after that.

He was still walking to the one place that could silence away his thoughts and make it all go away. Like a moth attracted to a flame.

Maybe this was selfish of him. Maybe he was tainting you with his darkness.

He will think about that some other day.

When the bakery comes into view, he realizes just how late it is.

You would be about to close now.

Maybe he could catch a glimpse before you retired for the night. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. But it had to do.

As he reaches the bakery, he watches as the door slowly opens and a young boy steps out.

He frowns before walking ahead, and his eyes almost widen with who he sees.

"Peter, what are you doing here?"

Peter looks up from the book he is currently holding and his eyes widen with fear at the figure who stands before him.

"S - sir, I - I was just - "

A voice from inside the bakery calls out to him. A voice Bucky recognizes all too well.

"Peter, you forgot this."

You step out of the bakery with a textbook in your hands as you hand it over to Peter.

Peter opens his mouth to speak but then closes it. Too afraid about what was going to happen.

You turn around and when your eyes land on James, your lips turn into a grin before you know it.

"James, hi"

Peter's eyebrows shoot up as he looks between the both of you. You have a glint in your eyes as if you couldn't be happier by anything else and the man he had feared with everything he had for the last couple of years, had a softness to his features that made Peter wonder if he was somehow swallowed into an alternate dimension.

"Hey, sweets." Bucky says almost on instinct, before turning towards the boy who is still looking at the both of them as if he just saw a dolphin flying in the air.

You probably notice it too, because you then point towards Peter before saying, "James, this is Peter, and Peter, this is James Barnes."

"James?" Peter says almost on instinct, confusion evident in his voice.

"Wait, you know him?" You ask, looking between the both of them now.

Peter looks at Bucky and almost crumbles with fear by the warning glare he is shooting towards him. But there is something else there too. Something, he can swear he has never seen in the mob boss' eyes.

There is fear in them. A tiny flicker of it. He fears the answer he is going to tell you. Whatever it was, it was too important for him.

"No, no. I don't think we have met before."

"Oh, okay." You say, confused as to what had just happened here. "All the best for the test and tell MJ I said hi," You give him an easy exit from a situation he was clearly uncomfortable in.

You watch as a small blush spreads across his cheeks before he bids you goodbye and glancing at James once, takes his leave.

"He is a nice kid." You break the silence after Peter walks away, out of earshot. "Pretty smart. I was helping him with his test tomorrow."

Bucky looks back at you and shrugs in response. "Good for him."

"By the way, it's closing time, James." You say with a teasing voice and he is relieved that you don't ask any further questions.

"Come on, sweets. You could make an exception for your favorite customer."

You roll your eyes before replying. "What about this? You help me clean up, and I get you something special I made today."

"Help you clean up?"

"Aww. The prince doesn't like to get his hands all dirty?" You smirk.

"This special treat should better be worth it, sweets." He huffs before walking inside the bakery.

You walk in behind him while giggling.

"And that's it."

You look at him with a smile and silently clap your hands together with an impressed look.

If any of his men would see him right now, wearing an apron with a bunny on it, hands covered in flour, working in a bakery with soft music playing in the background, their eyes would pop out of their heads. But he couldn't care less.

"Great job for a first timer, Barnes. You have earned yourself a serving of something special."

Bucky smirked before replying, "Something special, you say?" He leans in and sends a wink your way.

You roll your eyes before turning towards the kitchen, hoping that it wasn't evident how flustered you were.

You take out something from a box and place it on a plate in front of him.

Bucky looked at it closely with a frown. It was clearly made of chocolate and was shaped like a dome. He could swear he had never seen it in your bakery before.

"Come on, give it a try. If I wanted to poison you, I would have done it ages ago."

He picks up one and after a moment of close inspection, takes a bite.

As the taste of chocolate invades his senses, he moans and puts the whole into his mouth.

You watch as his head falls back in delight.

Once he is done, which is faster than he would have wanted, he says, "Sweets, that was the best damn thing I have ever had."

You chuckle, "You say that every single time, James."

"And I mean it every single time."

You just smile at him before putting another on the plate.

As he devours that one quickly too, he inquires, "What is it called?"

You smirk before replying, "James."

"Yeah?"

"James. That's what it is called."

His eyes widen and he takes a moment to reply, "You named a sweet after me?"

"Well, technically, you were the inspiration for this."

He frowns. "How so?"

"Well, It's full of chocolate and exceptionally sweet. It's exterior is hard but its insides are so soft, they practically melt in your mouth."

Bucky looks at you, baffled and you look away, unable to meet his eyes.

He opens his mouth to say something, but is suddenly shushed by you.

"That's my favorite song." You whisper, as if not wanting to obstruct the soft melody.

Bucky listens to the sound coming from your phone.

Wise men say

"Only fools rush in"

But I can't help

Falling in love with you

He looks back at you and at the way you have a soft smile on your face, your features highlighted by the soft glow of the kitchen light.

You look at him and with a teasing smile puts your hand forward, indicating to him to take it.

He looks between your outstretched hand and your face with a frown.

"Dance with me." Your voice is so soft, he just can't get himself to say no. But, who is kidding? He will set the whole world on fire and watch it burn with a smile on his face if you asked him to.

He slowly places his hand in yours as the music continues.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help

Falling in love with you

The both of you stand in the middle of the kitchen, the moonlight sweeping its way through the windows.

Everything is brightened in a warm glow but you know nothing will ever shine brighter than the way his ocean blue eyes do right now.

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

One of his arms finds its way around your waist while the other holds yours.

You place your free hand on his shoulder and he gently pulls you closer.

The both of you stay like that for the rest of the song, swaying slowly to the music.

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

You don't know who leans first but before you know it, the distance between the both of you starts decreasing.

You hold your breath and your gaze move from his eyes to his lips.

You would be lying if you said you had never thought of this before, of how his lips would feel against yours, how he would taste like.

This man had occupied your thoughts since the day you had met all those months ago and you were pretty sure he had no idea of the effect he had on you.

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

For I can't help

Falling in love with you

Just as the song is about to end and there's nothing but an inch of distance between the both of you, the door to the bakery was suddenly pushed open with a force and the sound of the bells invaded the comfortable silence that had covered the room in a blanket.

The both of you took a sudden step away, and you needed a moment to calm your heart which felt like it was about to beat its way out of your chest, before looking up to see who it. was.

You squinted as two men, one blonde and the other dark haired, stood at the door, looking comically too big, having no idea of what transcribed in the bakery before they had not-so-smoothly barged in.

The blonde one speaks, breaking the silence, "I knew we'd find you here."

You watch as he steps towards James, who looks at him with sheer annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here, punk?"

The other man looks at you and forms a smirk before stepping towards you. "So, this is where you always sneak off to? I guess I understand why."

James huffs in annoyance and with a sten face stops him, "Shut up, Wilson."

You look between the men who looked like they were in a staring contest when realization hit you. "Steve and Sam?"

All the men look at you at the same time and you feel like a deer caught in headlights before you stand up straighter reminding yourself that no matter how intimidating the situation was, this was your bakery.

"And you must be y/n l/n. It's great to finally meet you, Ms l/n" Steve says, smiling.

"Please, just call me y/n."

"Or we could call you beautiful." Sam replies before stepping forwards, stretching his hand to take yours for a shake.

You let out a chuckle before shaking his hand. "Y/n is fine."

"What are the both of you doing here?" Bucky speaks up, shooting daggers at Sam, his fists clenched.

"There's an emergency. We need to go." Steve replies, a serious expression adorning his face.

Sam interjects them "What's the hurry? I have heard so much about this bakery. We could eat something before leaving."

Bucky spats at him, "This bakery has closed, Wilson. Time's up. Get your butt moving."

Sam pouts and you chuckle at the antics of these grown men, "Why don't you come here some other day, Sam, I have something that I think you'll like."

Sam looks at you, a childlike smile replacing his pout, "I like her already."

Bucky steps forward towards Sam, pulling him away. "Don't listen to him, sweets."

Steve and Sam turn their head towards him so fast. you are sure they will get a sprain later. Sam raises his brows with a smirk on his face, while Steve looks at him with a smile on his.

James then quickly bids you goodbye before pulling the both of them outside the bakery.

Once they reach the car Steve and Sam had driven in, they both look at him with amused grins.

"Back off, the both of you. What's the emergency?"

Steve's expression turns serious as he replies, "Our shipment from Iran has been stopped at Morocco and they are refusing to comply."

Bucky narrows his eyes at the information. Who would dare to stop their shipment and risk getting on his bad books? "Who is it, Steve?"

"It's Alexander Pierce."

Bucky lets out a breath before looking in the direction of the bakery once more and then turning towards Steve and Sam.

"Get in the car. We need to leave right now. This is going to be a long assignment."

Next part

Taglist (open) - @alana4610 @infinitehyperfixations @emilyroberts @winters1917 @almosttoopizza @lizslibrary @darlingwhoreslut @broadwaybabe18 @lolabrielle @quethekillerqueen @bbiaa420 @verveta345 @cookielovesbook-akie @saranghaey @writing-for-marvel @talesofadragon @depressed-gays-of-marvel @carrysears @supernatrualqueen @thecubanator2 @mcucatlady @tesseract69 @unaxv @fridooolin @havlindzk @coffeejustcoffee @nabiiturner @galaxy-dusk @blog-the-lilly @roserfz27 @elsie-bells @partypoison00 @melsunshine @thevodkori @emoalien69 @alilstressyandlotdepressy @awkwardgiraffe726 @just-set-things-on-fire @lalalalalafu @jotaros-bara-tiddies @scuzmunkie @moonchildlov @pampeop @mossiswriting @gloriouspurpose01 @day-dreaming-goddess @hawkeyes-queen @thats-alittle-gay @gigiislove @panhoeofmanyfandoms @solisinferni @dragonsandfunkyneonmushrooms @5lutty5arah @hopeluna @lethallyprotected @marvelxlevram @casualchaosdevil @franfineashell @emily7232 @lizzystuffsthings @buckystevelove @polireader @niophiasca @mss-nthng @roe20r @hooomansstuff @missaprilt23 @sherlockstrangewolf @philiasoul @hasta-la-pasta-bb @marvelxlevram @winifrede @rintheemolion

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bbsantc · 10 months

Text

my favorite bts fics so far (hyung!line)

hello lovely readers, i hope all of you are doing great. i've been wanting to make this post for a while now. i really want to share the amazing work and talent that many authors have on this app. as a literature fan and hopeless romantic myself, i made sure to pick out all the fics that i think are beautiful and amazing :)

disclaimers!!!!:

some of these fics contain nsfw content (minors dni), or some heavy themes, i am yoongi biased so excuse me if the fic ratio compared to the other members is waaayy bigger (like by a lot i am so so sorry), also this post is insanely long heh (once again, i am so so sorry :p), all pictures are from pinterest!

fluff- ♾️

angst- Ω

smut- ☻

crack/humor- ☼

i would sell my liver to read this again for the first time- ¶

Kim Seokjin

Turn Back Time- @raplinesmoon ♾️☼Ω☻

''pairing: baseball player!Seokjin x doctor!reader (based on the movie 13 Going On 30) genres/au/rating: fluff, humour, angst, smut, time travel au, 18+ summary: After total humiliation at his middle school baseball try outs, Kim Seokjin wants nothing more than for his awkward years to fade away until he’s thirty. Cue a magic baseball glove, and his wish is finally granted. Seokjin suddenly wakes up seventeen years later, now the star pitcher of the team he’d always dreamed of playing for. Confused and overwhelmed at the prospect of the new life waiting for him, he turns to the only person who seems to understand him — you. Will Seokjin learn what it truly means to be thirty, flirty, and thriving? Or will he find himself wishing he could turn back time?''

Every Year- @another-army-spot ♾️Ω☻

''Pairing: Jin x Reader, some implied Yoongi x reader and Namjoon x reader

Word: 15.6K

Genre: friends-to-lovers!au, richkids!au, chef!Jin, bookworm!oc, hard fluff, smut angst?

Summary: As the daughter of the Kim’s closest friends, you’ve attended their extravagant annual New Year’s party since the year you were born. No matter what you always spend time with your favorite childhood friend, Jin, who has always been there for you. Here are the highlights of you and Jin realizing just how important you two are to each other.''

Let's get married as a joke- @burningupp Ω♾️

''Genre: angst, fluff

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader

Wordcount: 8210 (I’m so sorry)

Summary: Your best friend Jin has always had a talent of getting you into trouble. Maybe that’s why you’re not surprised that he asks you to marry him as a joke - or that you agree.''

friends get married all the time- @hobipost♾️

''The silly promise you made ten years ago comes back to bite your asses, and you’re both too weak to pretend it never happened

pairing: seokjin x f. reader

genres/tropes: friends to lovers, fluff

words: 2k+''

Min Yoongi

series:

The Truth Between Us- @jimlingss @gukyi ♾️Ω ☼ ¶

“⇒ summary: a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

⇒ enemies to lovers au with various other au’s thrown in there

⇒ word count: 14k (first chapter)

⇒ genre: fluff, angst, drama”

Dating advice- @taleasnewastime ♾️Ω☻

''Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut

Word count: 54k

Status: Complete''

unexpected lovers- @jjkeverlast ♾️Ω☻

''-> pairing artist!yoongi x female reader

-> genre fake dating!au, romantic comedy

-> summary what happens when you meet min yoongi at the club, or well accidentally use him as your pawn to not get hit on. not knowing your cousins friend overhears and suddenly your whole family knows.

-> word count 19.8k''

Only Yesterday- @borathae ♾️☻Ω ¶

'' “Your life in a small countryside village was nothing of the extraordinary, you owned a quaint little teashop, enjoyed warm evenings in your garden and liked taking walks by the river. One day a handsome stranger moves in the abandoned cottage opposite side of the river and it is not long that he becomes a source of comfort in your life.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: s2l!AU, Neighbours!AU, Teashop!AU, Slice of Life!AU, Romance, Fluff, Smut

Warnings: This is a very feel good story, meant to comfort the soul and warm the heart. However it contains talks about car accidents and memory loss, as well as sexually explicit scenes. If you are sensitive to such topics I advise you read with care.

Wordcount: 78.620''

Signed in Black- @yoon-kooks♾️☻

''Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, BadBoy!AU, FLUFF, Smut [in future chapters]

Summary: Min Yoongi. That was the name magically tattooed to your skin. You were told he was your lover by fate. And as cute as it would be to have a soulmate, Yoongi was the last person you ever wanted to be bound to. But thankfully, there was a way to remove the tattoo. All you had to do was convince six Bulletproof Fairies that the two of you were in love.

Word Count: 3.3k'' (first chapter)

neon signs- @pantoneyoongi ♾️¶

''title ; neon signs [ drabble series ] pairing ; campus crush!yoongi x campus crush!you

description ; namjoon doesn’t think it can get any clearer outside of yoongi building a giant neon sign saying i have the absolute biggest crush on you but apparently, book smarts don’t exactly translate when it comes to you and your massive crush on min yoongi.

(alternatively: namjoon and hoseok try for three years straight to get you and yoongi together.)''

Reflection of You- @agustdakasuga ♾️Ω ¶

''Genre: Historical!AU, Timetraveller!AU/ Different Dimension, Romance

Pairing: SUGA x Reader, Yoongi x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Idol!Suga, King!Yoongi, Guard!Seokjin, Guard!Jungkook, RoyalAdvisor!Namjoon, Servant!Jimin, Servant!Hoseok, Prince!Taehyung

Summary: Confirming you were dating the famous Min Suga of BTS, you knew you were bound to make some enemies. But what you didn’t expect was to be cursed, leading you to meet a cold-hearted, arrogant king that shares the same face as your rapper lover. ''

your universe- @muniimyg ♾️☻Ω ☼

''in which min yoongi refuses to lose you

regretting rejecting oc, min yoongi goes through a circus load of gestures and tasks in attempt to be loved again

pairings:

basketball captain // tsundere yoongi + sunshine // preschool edu major oc

au/genre:

friends to lovers

uni au

one sided pining / rejection / redemption / a sad excuse of a slow burn

smut, crack, angst

social media au + written

warnings:

implied + actual smut

angst (oc is heartbroken and trying to move on from being initially rejected)

name calling, love/hate friendships, big egos, overprotective friends, childish social culture, and a burnt out era <;3

parts:

ongoing ( ongoing/25 )''

andante cantabile- @kkulfm-2 ♾️☻¶

''pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: historical / regency au, fluff, smut

wc: 30.6k + 3.8k smutty bonus

summary: You are convinced Mr. Min is nothing but a rude and gloomy man after he leaves a horrible first impression on you. His friends' attempts to convince you otherwise are met with mixed success.''

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

oneshots:

Man of The Year- @raplinesmoon ♾️¶

''pairing: single dad!Yoongi x gn!reader genre(s): pure fluff, very minor angst au(s): graduation au word count: 2.7k warnings: some swearing, Yoongi is a little nervous, Yoongi is bad at flirting, this is so cute I could cry

rating: PG

summary: For the longest time, it’s always been Yoongi and his daughter, celebrating every milestone of life together. But today, that could change.''

Shut Eye- @alpacaparkaseok ♾️

''pairing/genre: idol!Yoongi x reader, fluff

premise: In a world where every night you meet your soulmate in your dreams only to forget their face and voice when you wake up, you’re now more desperate than ever to find them.

word count: 2.6k''

gold- @aquagustd Ω♾️☻

''↣ you’re in love with Min Yoongi, yes, you are, but why do you keep thinking of the boy who broke your heart into a million pieces when you should be focusing on the one who’s mending it.

pairing: yoongi x reader (past jungkook x reader)

genre: angst, fluff, smut, bff2l

word count: 17K''

stood up. -@parkdatjimin Ω☻♾️

''Three years after dumping your toxic boyfriend, you decide it's finally time to try the dating scene again. What you don't expect is for a handsome and confident CEO to come to your rescue after being stood up.

"Just play along. My name is Yoongi and whoever stood you up is a douche."

Pairings: CEO!yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: HEAVY angst, smut, lil fluff, slice of life, mutual pining, non-idol!au''

First-Date BAIT!- @jimlingss ♾️

''Words: 11.3k

Genre: Fluff

First dates are embarrassing. First dates are awkward. I’ve been through countless ones, sitting across from people who bored the living daylights out of me. It was less exciting than watching paint dry. Some dates were so utterly rude - I think you and I both know what it’s like to be on the receiving end on that. But now we both don’t have to waste our time anymore!

With First Date Bait they went out for me! Afterwards, they informed me if it was recommended to go out on a second date. It’s amazing with a 99.99% accuracy rate! That’s how I ended up meeting my husband!

First Date Bait. Why waste your time with awkward first dates?''

DreamCatcher- @jimlingss ♾️Ω

''Words: 13k (oops)

Genre: Fluff & Angst

Summary: When your dreams are more or less nightmares, monsters inside your head that eat you alive, it seems like the only person who can help you is Min Yoongi, professional dream chaser.''

Purr-haps I like you- @taleasnewastime ♾️

''Summary: You have a no pets policy where you live, but when you find a tiny kitten in a box on the side of the road, what can you do but bring it home with you? The only problem? The landlord who made the no pets rule, also happens to be your flatmate.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: pure fluff; Flatmates au

Word count: 11.6k''

Wild Strawberries- @yoonia ♾️☻

''➤ Character / Genre: Min Yoongi x reader/female OC (told through Yoongi’s POV) | Lucid Dream!au, fluff, smut''

first love- @jungnoir Ω♾️

''⇢ summary: yoongi meets you, seated next to him at a familiar brown piano, and he steals you away hours before your wedding day, seated next to him at a familiar brown piano + yoongi’s been in love with you since childhood and he only has the courage to tell you when you’re about to marry someone else.

⇢ relationship: min yoongi/reader.

⇢ genre: best friend!au, angst, romance.

⇢ words: 5.6k''

strike a chord- @snackhobi ♾️☻¶

''pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.''

Anyone But The Groom- @yoonjinkooked ♾️Ω☻

''❅ Summary: After a meet-cute that brings all the romcoms to shame, you realize that for once in your life, the stars have finally aligned and presented you a guy that might be able to make you believe in love at first sight. Only to find out that you’re in charge of planning his Christmas Eve Wedding.

❅ Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

❅ AU: Wedding Planner reader x Arranged Marriage groom Yoongi

❅ Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, will-they-won’t-they type of relationship

❅ Word Count: 36.5k (I AM SO SORRY)''

Not Even a Mouse- @softyoongiionly ♾️☻¶

''Summary: The week before Christmas, you are tasked with delivering some paperwork to your father’s former business partner in order to secure your ownership of their legendary toy store. However, things don’t go as planned and a sudden blizzard keeps you cooped up inside the tiniest town you’ve ever seen, Snow Falls. You keep telling yourself that it’s the weather that’s keeping you here, but after a visit to Min’s Mini Mart, you aren’t so sure anymore…

Pairing: Single Dad! Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Romance, FLUFF, Smut (18+ only please)''

All I Want for Christmas (ft. Yoongi)- @hayjeon ♾️Ω

''→ singledad, CEO!yoongi x secretary!reader→ 13k words''

ceo!yoongi- @jungshookz ♾️☻☼ ¶

''→ pairing: min yoongi x reader

→ genre: ceo!au, clumsy!y/n because that’s always nice, jimin is ur best friend, floofy fluff, a touch of nsfw aka office sex

→ wordcount: 21k+ so u should probably read this using ur laptop and not ur phone''

first love | myg- @lavienjin ☻Ω

''synopsis: After an incredibly long day, Yoongi found you crying in the copy room. Though he doesn’t talk much, you’ve always found his presence comforting, and it didn’t surprise you when he stayed and listen to you vent. However, while you sought comfort in his embrace, he proposed a special offer to reduce your stress with the magic of his hands. The only catch to your arrangement? You couldn’t fall in love.

But wouldn’t you know it, just as your friendship deepens into something more, you find an old notebook sitting on his bookshelf, and in it, a collection of poems. The last entry has you reeling because it’s addressed to you. And in that page, a single line is written: Without you, I am nothing

pairing: yoongi x reader

wc: 11.3k

genre/rating/au: 18+ | fwb, coworkers, f2l au | smut, angst

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, semi public sex, multiple smut scenes, multiple orgasms, oral (m. & f. receiving), masturbation, exhibition, lots of feelings. like a lot of feelings :(''

A Boy Like You | Yoongi- @cinnaminsvga ♾️¶

''→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff''

when the stars align- @itskimtaehyung ♾️Ω

''Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: FakeDating!AU with a hint of roommates (well actually more like apartment-mates but roommates is catchier), College!AU, fluff, angst

Word count: 10.5k

Content/Warnings: Mentions of heavy drinking, drug usage, strong language, but also cute things like adopting a dog together

Summary: With cuffing season approaching its end, you thought you had escaped the pressures of finding a boyfriend for the holidays. That is, until your friends set you up on a blind date that goes horribly wrong. This prompts you to enlist the help of your roommate, Yoongi, to fake a relationship so your friends will stop meddling in your love life. And it turns out Yoongi is a lot better at this romance thing than you originally thought…''

p.o.v | myg- @jtrbluv ♾️Ω

''summary: you were eight when you first met your soulmate. then you were eighteen when you realized that the boy who just got hired at the local record store next door, is also your soulmate. the issue at hand: you are the only one that knows.

pairing: yoongi x reader (fem)

genre: fluff, angst, soulmate!au, redstringoffate!au, college!au, high school!au

word count: 17.9k''

Yoongi is a Rock- @yoongsisbae ♾️Ω ¶

''rock!Yoongi x reader :D fluff a bit of angst a lot of silliness

Word Count 1.3k''

android!yoongi- @jungshookz♾️Ω☻☼ ¶

''→ pairing: min yoongi x reader

→ genre: android!au becauSe for some reason android aus are popping up everywhere, the usual heaping serving of fluff and comedy, N S F W like reALLY nsfw i poPPED OFF this time i don’t know even know what happened,,, forgive me god for i have sinned, a n g s t, i definitely teared up a little writing this because i was listening to kim bum soo’s i miss you and it made me 100x more emo

→ trigger warnings: this does get a little intense! beware!!

→ wordcount: 24k like that bruno mars song''

you’re so concerned about the ending that you don’t even know the plot- @joonsgalaxy ♾️☼

''° yoongi x reader x taehyung

° 1.9 k words ° fluff/humour

🌟 you bring your broken laptop to Tae—the IT specialist—who you have a crush on. you drag your bff Yoongi along with you, who—you’re certain—has a crush on Tae too. what a mess, right? well, the thing is, you never even considered the possibility of your assumptions being totally wrong.''

better place- @cupofteaguk ♾️

''summary: you might be in love with childhood best friend Min Yoongi, and he might be in love with you—and everyone seems to know it. except for the two of you.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

genre: hogwarts au, friends to lovers au | fluff

warnings: slow burn, alcohol consumption, truly lowkey an idiots to lovers au word count: 14k''

something to hold on to- @fantasybangtan ♾️Ω ¶

''❦ word count. 17.7k ❦ genre. parent fic, fluff, angst, a bit of boob action ❦ warnings. illness, mention of hospitalisation, mention of minor character death, yoongi is kind of a dick sometimes, accidental(?) flashing ❦ summary. it’s not that you don’t like your job. on the contrary, reading bedtime stories to a certified little princess is something you still can’t believe you get paid to do. it’s just that between all the school runs, snow days and secret second hot chocolates before bed, you may fallen a little too hard for those dimpled cheeks and gummy smiles…. worse still, you’ve fallen for her father too.''

the proposal- @dreamescapeswriting ♾️Ω☻

''WORD COUNT: 35K (No its not missing a decimal point)

PAIRING: CEO!Yoongi x Assistant!Reader

GENRE: Smut, enemies to lovers, CEO x Assistant, fake marriage, angst, movie inspired, slow burn''

basketballcaptain!yoongi- @jungshookz ♾️☻☼ ¶

''→ pairing: min yoongi x reader

→ genre: basketball captain x water girl, cheesy cheesy stuff, the FLUFFIEST fluff, jungoo is an idiot, humour, nSFW = smut, cocky yoongi, spoiler alert yoongi does a body shot off of u it just be like that sometimes

→ wordcount: 18.4k this will definitely make the app crash as per usual don’t come for me''

Hug-o-gram- @cinnaminsvga ♾️☼ ¶

''→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au,fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K''

I Wanna Hold Your Hand- @minisugakoobies ♾️

''Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, fluff, Roommates!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: pining, a lil’ smooching, Yoongi is very persuasive, reader is easily duped, it’s as fluffy as freshly fallen snow

Word Count: 1.4K

Disclaimers: None, other than obviously I don’t own BTS - they simply inspire me

Summary: It’s hand-holding season, according to your roommate.''

subtle- @joonary ♾️Ω

''↳ summary: just another memory added to the long list of drunk memories that you’ll forget but wish you’d remember, while yoongi will remember but wish he could forget.

↳ genre: fluff; light angst; friends (?) to lovers (?); min yoongi x reader

↳ rating: pg-13

↳ warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, and yoongi’s soft spots being exposed to the light of day. yknow, just another joonary fic.

↳ word count: 3.5k''

Hobi's Girl- @jjungkookislife Ω☻

''↬ pairing: f. reader x Hoseok, f. reader x Yoongi

↬ genre: smut [18+], angst

↬ summary: Yoongi had a wonderful night with you… but you’re Hobi’s girl.

↬ wc: 4.8k''

The King Isn’t Dead- @another-army-spot ♾️Ω☻

''Pairing: Yoongi x oc (fem)

Rating: M

Word: 19.7k~ (my finger slipped?)

Genre: historical fic, smut, romance, fluff, angst, political upheaval shit

Summary: After the invasion and the King’s miraculous survival, the nation aims to secure stability and his position of power through the prospect of marriage and continuing the Min line. As a promise to your brother on the battlefield, the King promises to consider you as his potential wife - to love and to protect. Or maybe it’ll be the other way around?''

the landlord- @ppersonna ☻

''↳ summary- your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave. good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 4.3k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- smut, light crack, PWP''

CYBERSEX- @gimmethatagustd ♾️☻☼

''The whole point of being a phone sex hotline operator is that you’ll never have to meet your clients. So what are you supposed to do when you find out your favorite client is your brother’s best friend?

» pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

» wc/date: 14.6k | July 2022

Jung Hoseok

hot rod- @kinktae ♾️☻

''a 1950′s inspired fic where greaser Hoseok can’t keep his eyes, or hands, off the new waitress at his and his boys’ favorite diner.

pairing: greaser!hoseok x reader

word count: 10k

genre: 1950s au, smut, fluff''

Kim Namjoon

The Bodyguard- @rmnamjoons ♾️☻Ω

''➳ summary: You’re the daughter of the ambassador to a small, peaceful, barely-on-the-map country in Western Europe, working as a diplomat to help your mother with her endless meetings and politics. After a kidnapping attempt gone wrong, you and your protective bodyguard Namjoon are on the run across Europe, jumping from trains, stealing cars, and pretending to be a couple on your honeymoon to stay hidden. As the would-be kidnappers close in, Namjoon promises you that he’s going to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

➳ pairing: bodyguard!Namjoon x reader

➳ genre: bodyguard au, romance, smut, fake dating/fake marriage, road trip (kinda), very slight angst

➳ word count: 62.9k – this is a complete, VERY long oneshot''

Show Me How- @imaginationofacrazyfangirl ☻ ¶

''Summary:You swiped right on a nerd, instead you got a Greek God. Or tired of your virginity, you decide to throw caution to the wind and find a hook up on tinder.

— PAIRING: Namjoon x f!reader

— GENRE: smut. 18+ minors dni.''

I'll continue in a pt.2

(tumblr doesn't let me write more lmao)

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