#So I think we just need to make sure to acknowledge both the good and the bad moving forward

[esjayess]

It’s always your prompts that get me, isn’t it. I just need to give it a happy ending real quick. I know we love our angst here, but I just…

P.S I don’t feel like writing a proper intro, so let’s just say they fought some sea monster or something, and are discussing how it all went down.

———

Stan laughs, and looks down at his his coffee. “Nah, come on Pointdexter. We both know an idiot like me couldn’t have done it without you.”

“What?”

Stan glances up as the sudden switch in tone to see an almost offended look on Fords face. He sighs. He wasn’t looking to start a fight, it had merely been an observation.

“Never mind, Six.”

Ford’s frown deepens “No, not ‘never mind’. I don’t think you’re an idiot Stan.”

Stan chuckles. “Sure. Ok.”

“I’m serious. I don’t.”

“Right. Of course.”

Fords frown morphs into a scowl at the dissmissive tone. “Don’t do that. Why are you so certain I think that?”

Stan narrows his eyes, trying to parse whether Ford truly doesn’t remember writing it down or if just hadn’t realized Stan had read that particular entry.

“…Ford, you’ve lied to me before. You’ve lied to the kids, to those agents. I don’t think you’re above lying. But if there’s one place I can count on you to always tell the truth it’s in your journals. I’ve heard you say before that to violate the scientific integrity of your written word would be to betray your very mind, do you remember that? I can trust what I read there more than I can trust any of the words you say.”

“What you…” Ford hesitates, reaching into his custom inner pocket on his coat to pull out his blue journal, emblazoned with a six fingered hand encircling the symbol from Stan’s old fez. Stan eyes him wearily with an eyebrow raised as he frantically flips through the pages. After a moment, he looks up and meets Stan’s eyes again.

“I didn’t…where did you read that?”

“Not that journal, Six. The third one. I couldn’t help it, I went snooping after you came back. You just… Well, I’m sure you remember. Your mind’s a steel trap, unlike-“

“Don’t.” Ford interrupts sharply. Ah, right. He was rather touchy about Stan making jokes about the whole memory thing. Stan gives an apologetic smile and shrug as the furrow in Fords brow deepens.

“The third…the third journal burned during Weirdmaggedon with the other two. That was months ago.”

Stan dips his head in a nod, causing Ford’s face to fall.

“You’ve believed I think that about you this entire time? Why would you not say anything?”

“What would I say? It ain’t like you were wrong, Stanford.”

“But I was wrong! I was wrong about so much. If you’ll recall, I also wrote extensively about the benevolence of my muse, Bill Cipher. I wrote about how Fiddleford sought to betray our work just. because he had valid concerns about the portal. I wrote a great many untrue things in those journals. And maybe that makes me a horrible scientist…”

Ford chews the inside of his cheek in thought for a moment, before he flips his journal to a clean page, and produces a quill and sealed ink jar from his pocket. Stan blinks.

“Do you seriously carry those around everywhere?”

Ford ignores him, prepping his writing materials, his focus solely on the blank white paper. He adds a date, and frowns at the title spot for a second, before shrugging and leaving it blank. He doesn’t look up at Stan as he begins to write, narrating as he does.

“I stand by my idea about scientific integrity and the written word. But while a good scientist should always strive for honesty, it is also his responsibility to be conscious of bias and potential errors within his work. And should he fail to acknowledge his bias, it is his responsibility to admit, and attempt to correct his errors. I have already written a new journal page that attempts to correct my previous mistake, but in not showing it to Stanley, about whom the error was made, I have perhaps committed a new, and even more grievous one. As that entry is not in the journal I have on hand, I feel it necessary to reiterate the relevant points here.”

Stan swallows. “Ford, you don’t have to-“

Ford speaks louder. “To say that during my time that I have been prone to mistakes would be an understatement of gross proportions. One such mistake was beliving myself to be the hero while my brother was a simpleton. This was a lie I told myself in a fit of anger. It bears no truth. In all my travels across the multiverse I have never met anyone more clever, or charismatic, or tricky. In all of history I’ve never heard tell of a being who could so thoroughly trick Bill Cipher. Certainly no one who could kill the demon. It was thought to be impossible before Stanley. Clearly I couldn’t trick him, so already his smarts are leagues above my own in these areas.”

Stan scoffs. “Ok, come on. That’s pushing it-“

Ford speaks even louder, practically yelling. “Furthermore, his bravery, selflessness, and immeasurable strength of will are nothing short of extraordinary. He was always a hero, though I was not capable of seeing it for a long time.”

He pauses for a moment, before finally looking up from the page and back at Stan. When he speaks again, his tone is significantly softer. “Through his intelligence, and his selflessness he managed to save the world in a way I never would have thought of. To have dismissed his mind in my previous writings was the folly of a fool. I hope I can begin to restore my integrity by setting straight this woefully misaligned record: I am not so humble to say that there are no areas in which I know more than Stanley, but the brilliant way his mind works is something I’m certain I will never have a full comprehension of. It is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Dangerous to those who would challenge it in its cunning. Remarkable in its ingenuity. Unique, even in the vastness of the multiverse.

Stan lets out a shaky breath as Ford finally lays his quill down on the table. They sit in silence for a moment before Ford taps the ink to check for dryness, closes the book and tucks it away.

“There. You trust my written word more than anything I say, now it’s all written down.”

“You…Come on, you didn’t really mean all that.”

“You said yourself that you could always count on me to speak the truth in the journals. Before…well, I didn’t say that about you because it was true, I said it because I was angry. And I didn’t know how to process that anger. Maybe I even thought I believed that while I wrote it. But a part of your intelligence is tricking people into underestimating you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that. Maybe I just wasn’t smart enough to see through that facade.”

Stan snorts. “You? Not smart enough?”

Ford gives a small grin. “There are many things I’m not smart enough for. I used to not be smart enough to admit that. Now I am. That’s progress, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re such a nerd. A sappy nerd.” Stan grumbles, trying to be inconspicuous as he swipes at his own eyes. Ford tilts his head, a smirk on his face.

“Indeed. As are you.”

———

Ok, I’m satisfied. I do know that Ford had already written a new, more positive entry on Stan, but I just like the idea of having him write this new thing right in front of Stan. That’s all.

Me? Oh don't mind me- just thinking about how Stanley was called an idiot pratically all his life, felt like one most likely and totally believed that too, how he probably felt hopeless, like the biggest dumbass when he had to try get the portal to work and the first thing Stanford, his twin who reassured he wasn't an idiot, the only person who ever truly believed in him, went ahead and not only acknowledged but agreed with all those things first thing back from the portal by writing it in his journal.

[dnalt-d2]

Alright-y, so in case anyone missed it, we've recently gotten some information from Quackity that he's most likely doing some new project, that seems to involve multiple languages, once again. Kinda like QSMP?

Maybe EXACTLY like QSMP…????

Or maybe not

Basically, the way I see it, it is pretty likely that this is QSMP-Related, what with the images that he's been posting recently, with the GODDAMN EYE GUY

However, even if it is QSMP-related, there is something that would need to be addressed

And that's that it's incredibly unlikely we'd be getting QSMP back in the form we knew it as

Honestly, I don't really see many of the Admins returning, Egg or otherwise. Whether it's by their own choice, or the choice of the powers-that-be. And I think we all know that all the Admins, Egg or otherwise, were a huge part of what made QSMP special

In addition to that, there's also a chance that with that sort of outcome, a lot of the Creators wouldn't be coming back either. I could kinda see some of them not returning even if the Admins DO come back. I know a few of them had more sour experiences with QSMP than others did, and I couldn't really blame them for not wanting to give it another shot

So even if this is QSMP, there's a HIGH chance it won't be the same server we knew

But I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. After all, I'm pretty sure the Eggs weren't initially MEANT to be as big as they were, which means that there HAD to be some plans for other stuff at one point or another

Hopefully…

Now obviously this is ALLL just, as usual, ✧˚⊹SPECULATION~!⊹˚✧

I'm not a psychic, and I don't know jack-all about what's been going on behind the scenes regarding QSMP or anything Quackity-related. I'm just making educated guesses and reminding everyone to temper their expectations, and try not to be too disappointed if this isn't exactly what you were hoping for

Because even if it isn't, I think it could still be something pretty fun, and I'll probably at least give it a chance regardless of whatever it winds up being

(Except maybe Purgatory 3, because I think I had enough of those vibes during my recent Purgatory 1 Re-Watch)

…

(Oh who am I kidding I'd probably end up checking out Purgatory 3 at least once I have a problem okay???)

[ram-bles]

a crumb of nsfw daisuke?

daisuke x reader | headcanons

requests/inbox: open

[ 🔞 minors dni ]

woah. from sweet to spicy. ill give this a try!

wrote this on mobile, sorry for the fuckass formatting.

gender neutral reader. sillies. lots of sillies. weed mention (like once).

🌺 c'mon, he somehow sneaked in some of his secret stash'a magazines. he's still a guy after all.

"Dai?" "Yeah?" He's busy on his Gameboy, but he acknowledges you, tilting his body to show his face but his eyes were glued to the screen. "Did you steal these porn mags from Jimmy or someth—" A pink blur suddenly pushes you away, using his feet to kick it back under his bed. "DUDE. PRIVACY. C'MON NOW."

🌺 You've probably caught him once or twice even before you two were a thing. It wasn't hard to, after all, you both shared a room.

Too lost in the sauce to even notice you, so you had to clear your throat. You've never seen someone so shocked to the point he doesn't know whether to shove his dick back in his pants, hide under the blankets, or try to do both at the same time but completely failing. He's stuttering your name out along with strings of apologies. Don't get your dick caught in your zipper now, Daisuke. "I didn't know you were there! Shitshitshit- I'm so so sorry- Aghhhh." He felt pathetic, whining in embarrassment. Daisuke ends up just pulling the blanket over the entirety of him. "You could've just asked me for help, y'know." He stares at you, scandalized as if he wasn't rubbing one off just moments ago. "How the fuck was I s'posed to know?!" You shrug, amused. "Dunno." "Man, fuck youuuu." "Happily." "Get over here already, please!"

🌺 Outside internship though? Weed before sex seems like something he'd do. I can't explain why.

🌺 Feeling his rings on you... in many ways.

🌺 Pretty sure we all agree that he's into praising. Both giving and receiving.

🌺 You know he's having lots of fun when the pitch of his voice goes high. Squeaking, voice cracking, whining.

🌺 Speaking of how vocal he is, he's probably loud too. But, since you're in the ship now, he'll try his best to keep it down, either on the pillow or you. He'll also be rambling about random things just so he doesn't finish early.

🌺 Dirty talking? ❌ He'll be cringing like there's no tomorrow. He'll make a discord (or whatever equivalent) kitten joke about it if he does.

🌺 Unintentional dirty talking though... That's another story. Or should I rephrase, more-so leaning towards cussing.

"Fuck— you're sosososo pretty..." His hands were pressing the back of your knees, folding and spreading your legs for him. He whines your name out, resting his length on your abdomen while he impatiently waits for your permission. "C'mon, pretty. I'll be this deep inside you." - "Feels good. Feels so good." He's panting and rutting into you like a dog. "You should- nh- loosen up a little- shit- if you get any tighter I think I'll cum..."

🌺 Quickies galore. Sure, it's less risky, but with his libido? Anyways, he's pretty easy to please anyways. A round or two would probably be enough for him.

🌺 Wearing his clothes while at it? Mega turn on for him.

🌺 Well, yes his libido is high, but you still need to be straightforward with him. He can't take hints...

"Want head?" "?!? Who's head?!" "YOUR DICK." "YOU'RE CUTTING IT OFF?" "WHAT? NO, I MEANT SUCKING YOUR—" "Good morning to you both too." "CAPTAIN?"

🌺 He loves giving and receiving hickeys. You would have to remind him everytime not to mark too high on your neck.

🌺 His aftercare involves lots of cuddling and lots of smooching.

🌺 Ending with a silly note. The first time you've done it with him, he ended up saying thank you since he didn't know what to do.

[lexiputellas]

Pillow Talk

It’s your first day back at work.

You stretched your maternity leave as far as humanly possible, used every single vacation day, and worked from home until you ran out of excuses—but today, there was no escaping it. You had to go back. At least your office has a daycare. If it didn’t, you’re pretty sure you would’ve quit on the spot.

Now, finally home, you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see Alexia. Not only did she get back before you, but she also brought dinner. You could’ve kissed her right then and there—actually, you did. You love her, truly, but if she had waited for you to cook—or, God forbid, asked you to help—you might have had a breakdown.

Dinner was great, dishes were ignored, Alice fell asleep peacefully, and now you’re both getting ready for bed. It’s your favorite part of the night—when everything slows down, and you can just be. Alexia already talked about her day, and now it’s your turn. Normally, this would be when you two discuss important things, but Nicole unloaded so much gossip at work today that you have to let it out before your brain explodes.

You’re fluffing the pillows as you talk, and Alexia, already lying on her side under the covers, is nodding along like a very patient woman.

“Nicole told me Amanda from Compliance is literally faking a relationship online.”

Alexia blinks, lifting her head slightly. “How?”

“I don’t know yet! I’m getting more details tomorrow,” you say, putting in your bruxism mouth guard. “I don’t even get why she’d lie, she doesn’t need to.”

Alexia hums, settling back in and you keep going.

“And you won’t believe this—the sitter at daycare said Alice was the easiest baby to deal with. She barely even cried! Which, like, I knew our baby was perfect, but now it’s confirmed by an expert.”

Alexia hums again. This time, it sounds more like sleepy agreement than actual interest, but you’re on a roll now.

“And remember that guy from the party last year? The one who told you he was a Real Madrid fan?”

Alexia makes a vague noise of acknowledgment.

“Not that he was special or anything,” you continue, “but he invited Nicole out.”

That gets a reaction. Alexia forces one eye open. “That guy?”

“That guy.”

“She said yes?”

“She said yes. And if she’d asked me first, I would’ve told her absolutely not.”

Alexia exhales, long and slow, adjusting the blanket. “Baby, I love you so much, and I want to hear all of this… tomorrow. We have to wake up early.”

Which you think is fair. She was the one running around after a ball, going to the gym, lifting weights—you mostly just fought with spreadsheets, tried not to cry when Alice waved goodbye way too enthusiastically at daycare, and dodged an email from HR that felt suspiciously passive-aggressive.

“I know,” you say, climbing under the covers. “I love you too. But can I just finish really quick? I swear, I’m almost done.”

She hums again. That’s permission.

“So, turns out the guy? He was dating someone else the whole time. Poor Nicole, bless her heart, but maybe a little stalking would’ve helped her.”

Silence.

You glance over. Alexia’s eyes are closed, her face relaxed, her breathing slow and even.

“Oh,” you whisper. “You’re already asleep.”

You sigh, amused, and watch her for a moment. The way her eyelashes rest against her cheeks, the way her hair falls across the pillow, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips—it makes your chest ache in the best way.

She looks warm, soft, safe. Like home.

Carefully, you scoot closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

“Good night, baby,” you murmur, even though she’s already lost in dreams.

Then, finally, you close your eyes.

[countlessimagines]

Downfall [ Five Hargreeves x Reader ]

Summary: No matter the timeline, you and Five never get your chance.

A/N: well I think I can agree with everyone that season four was not good… so my way of coping is making angsty imagines for it… I’m trying to cope with the fact this is the last time we will ever see them ): This is also super short, apologies

Warnings: Season Four Spoilers

MASTERLIST LINK

-

Five had seen multiple timelines with Lila throughout their time spent together. And in almost every single one they saw, you were dead by the hands of him or vice versa. Eventually it became normal to see you mourning Five or him taking revenge for you.

Lila could see how distressing it was for him to see every timeline play out the same for the both of you.

Fate never seemed to be on your side, and even in your timeline, Five never had the courage to tell you his feelings. Despite spending six years by his side, being his roommate, helping him with cases, being there emotionally for him… he never seemed to catch on to the fact that you held feelings for him, too.

On one of their multiple train rides, Lila tried to address what the two of you meant to each other, but Five didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Because he feared the moment he’d open up, fate would play it’s cruel trick again and guarantee he would never see you again.

So he buried it deep within himself so it would not haunt him.

-

For you, it was mere hours you had last seen Five. You had helped Allison and Claire rescue Klaus from being buried alive, and had found your way to Lila and Diego’s home.

Everything seemed to be alright, and although you could sense something was wrong with Five, you didn’t have the energy to ask, simply from the long day you were all having.

However, you didn’t fail to notice the looks Lila and Five were sharing. It made not only you suspicious, but Diego as well. It was started to grow more and more tense as he pried information from them.

It almost felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, being stomped on by the universe, as Five and Lila confessed of their infidelity.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to console Diego or slap Five.

You decided on the latter before storming out of the house. Diego tried to stop Five from chasing after you, but Five was quicker and blinked to your side.

“Let me explain.”

“Get away from me!” You screamed as you exited the house. Nobody followed the two of you, so you only assumed Lila was in the hot seat.

“(Y/n)! Stop acting like a child and listen.” Five grabbed your arm and whipped you around to face him. He was close now, his breath fanning your face.

“How could I listen to the fact you and Lila shared such an intimate relationship while I have been waiting years for you to do the same with me.” You made sure to throw your words in his face, making all of your emotions clear as day. Pretending to not hold feelings for him was beginning to weigh you down, so you needed to let go of those weights now.

“All we did was kiss,” Five said it like it was the most simple action in the world. “One kiss and we realized our mistake immediately. We got wrapped up in our own little bubble and forgot the important things. I just… I couldn’t handle seeing you die anymore…”

“What?” You pushed away from him. Had he seen a timeline with you dead?

“I… we don’t get a happy ending in any timelines. No matter what we do, we fail to be together.” Five sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I lost hope that even if we got back, it would lead to our demise.”

You didn’t know what to say to him as your heart began to beat uncontrollably.

He looked into your tear filled eyes and said, “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who, after forty years in the apocalypse, couldn’t even keep his heart on one person for seven years. It doesn’t matter if you realized your mistake, Five. I’ve been here the whole time waiting for you. I took care of you when you came home bloodied. I stayed up with you while you had panic attacks. I made sure that you had coffee brewed every morning.”

Five felt ashamed he had let everything you had done for him go to waste with his one mistake. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Maybe I’ll be the bigger person and actually forgive you, because I know deep inside I am that person. And I for sure know you aren’t because you kissed your brother’s wife, Five.” You scoffed and wiped away your tears. “Good luck with that.”

You began to walk towards your car without another word, and Five just watched as you left.

He was smart enough to know that if he chased you, it would lead to a grave.

And not too long after, he would sacrifice himself with his family, his last thoughts only consisted of you and how much he failed your relationship. Some selfish part of him hoped that he’d come back, to be able to see you again.

But the more rational side of him knew that he would never touch you again.

Because for once, you would be able to live in a peaceful timeline without him there to cause your downfall.

[bunni-v1]

HIHI! Before I make my request, I just wanna say that I absolutely ADORE the way you write the crk characters! The posts you have about Shadow Milk are scarily accurate. On another note, I really enjoyed the Burning Spice x reader hcs, and for my request, could you maybe do some Burning Spice NSFW hcs?🤧🙏 I haven't seen many people do requests for him, so I figured I'd step up and ask!

Burning Spice NSFW Headcannons

🍓Girl, I gotta clear out my askbox AGAIN. I clean it out and then y'all come back with a vengeance. Anyway, you were the first person to rq this, so congrats, you get the special answered ask! Yay! Anyway, Burning Spice is SUCH a challenge for me because we have virtually no content of the guy. This is 90% guesswork on my behalf, so please give me grace lol. Sorry if these are short and kinda bad, my motivation is low rn lol

Tw: NSFW; Rough Sex; Marking (like, bruising and biting); blood mention; predator/prey dynamic mentioned

Info: Burning Spice Cookie x Reader; NSFW

-Burning Spice Cookie is surprisingly lax about sex. It's not something that interests him too much, because once you've done it so many ways, you cannot do much more spicing it up.

-Pre-corruption he had sex semi-frequently with various different partners over a long period of time, but the closer he got to corruption the more... boring sex became. There wasn't much appeal other than dominating his partner, and even then, once he did that it was kind of nothing.

-He's experienced and he's very good at what he does, but he doesn't really care to initiate in most cases. Despite what most might think of him, he values the time he spends with you. Sex seems like it would be a waste of it, so he just doesn't bother with it.

-Unless, of course, you seem to be into the idea. Then his tune changes. Oh, his little warrior wants to try something different? Alright, sure, but he won't hold back on you. (He does, of course, because he can't have you crumbling on him.)

-Your first time with him is... interesting. He is, in all meanings of the word, considerate of you and your well-being the whole time. But, he's also doing everything in his power to see what makes you tick. How far can he push you this time before you need to tap out, how many orgasms can he get, how hard can he get your legs shaking?

-He likes to push you. A big part of his style of sexual intercourse is dominating. In most cases, he likes to go as hard as he can as fast as he can, but he has an inhuman tolerance when it comes to you. So he takes his time figuring out how to dominate you.

-He likes things that puzzle him, he likes having his mind challenged, he likes to have something for his mind to do. With sex, this is especially important. He gets off on the thrill of figuring you out, he wants to see the way you react to everything.

-He's big on predator/prey dynamics, like, really big on them. He likes to set you loose and give you a fixed amount of time to throw him off your trail. Run, hide, set traps, and he'll come after you like a wild animal starved for weeks. You always think you've got him, but he waits until you're comfortable to strike, and he takes you wherever he finds you - so hiding in public isn't a smart idea... or it is... depends on what you're into.

-Speaking of, he is a big proponent of public sex. Like I said in his initial headcannons, he loves to show you off. You both have a lot of pride in being the other's partner, so why not show it off in every way possible?

-Usually, this manifests as him having you bounce on him on his throne while loyal followers come and praise him. They'll be showering him with flowery words and begging for his acknowledgment, but his eyes are only on you. He soaks in your nervous expression, loving the way you shy away from the other cookie's eyes.

-It also can be more ritualistic. What I mean is that, he very well enjoys having people watch, so why not make a festival out of it. The two of you will be on a huge platform, surrounded by rich silk sheets and the eyes of his most loyal followers. They cheer the two of you on, shouting praises and exclamations of joy as you reach your climax.

-Do not think that this means he's in any way okay with sharing. He is not, it's a one-way ticket to get crumbled. If any cookie is foolish enough to even propose the idea they don't live to tell the tale. Look, enjoy, but don't touch.

-A lot of sex with him actually starts as sparring. You are very weak compared to him, so he rarely goes out of his way to spar with you, but he does. When he does, it always ends with you bent over and babbling his name like a mantra.

-He can't help it, the way you fight him with such a cute determined little expression really makes the cogs in his head turn. Flushed face, chest heaving, oh you look heavenly. Wouldn't you look nicer with him splitting you on his dick? Yes, he seems to think so.

-He likes it when you fight back against him, make him work for his own high. It's just what he wants. Kick and bite and punch and scratch as much as you can, he wants to see the marks you leave on him. He wears them with pride, just like you should his.

-And he does mark you up, very well. Your body is littered with bites from him, and you have several new bruises where he restrains you. The most prominent ones are on your thighs, the perfect outline of his fingers practically burned into your dough.

-You always bleed when he bites, his teeth are sharp, and he never cleans it up. He likes seeing the crimson jam dribble down your body. It's a beautiful sight, the very essence of you leaking out for him to see. When he's feeling particularly romantic, he'll smear it across his lips like makeup, and kiss along your body leaving a trail of blood-soaked kisses in his wake.

-Something else to mention, he very much likes to see the two of you connected. He enjoys watching himself sink into you, and he does it in silence. To him, it's beautiful to see your bodies meld together. Even more so, he likes to see evidence of himself in you.

-So, he always cums inside and he never uses protection. He likes to see his cum leak out of your abused little hole, he'll scoop it out of you after the fact with a scary reverence in his eyes. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but he cleans you up well, so it's best to let it be.

-He also likes to feel himself while he's inside you. He'll press on your stomach so he can enjoy the way he fits more directly. If you squirm, it just makes it all the better for him. The pleasure is only heightened by your wiggling, so keep it up.

-Okay, we have to acknowledge his size. It's impossible not to do so with how big he is in the game - he is significantly larger than every cookie we've seen so far.

-His dick is large, like very large. It's more... normal... than Shadow Milk Cookie's, but it's not regular by any means. It's big, nearly eight inches long, and about five inches thick. It's the same color as his dough all the way up to the tip, which is a deep reddish-brown color.

-The tip is flat and wide, and it's the same thickness along the entire shaft. The first push-in is always the hardest, but as soon as you adjust, it's easy to take the whole thing... well... what you can fit at least.

-Oh, one last thing, his dick is ribbed. Several bumps line the shaft in a nice pattern, and it rubs you inside like a dream. He knows the effect it has on you too, and he uses it to get you to melt against him like butter.

-He's rough, and he goes rather hard and fast, but he can slow it down sometimes. It's rare, and it isn't something he thinks to do in most cases, but occasionally... just sometimes, you'll get a sweeter side to him.

-That doesn't mean it isn't intense, though. It is intense, even more so than his other style of sex. But it's for different reasons this time.

-Instead of fucking he is making love to you, which seems to be out of character, but I promise you it's not. He loves to show you his devotion to you, and a great way of doing that is through sex.

-If you are, for any reason, feeling insecure he uses sex as a means of expressing just how much you mean to him. Words can only do so much, gifts and mortal possessions are meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but this? The physical connection between the two of you? It's something more, something deeper than anything else he could give you.

-He holds you close, usually facing him on his lap, and slowly ravishes you. There is to fighting or bruising or biting like this, just raw passion that he has for you. Not an inch of your skin is without his burning touch, the heat between the two of you fogging your mind until you can no longer think.

-The pace he sets is slow and deep, each thrust and movement a deliberate show of his admiration for you. It's only then that you'll hear him praise you, words of affirmation spilling from his lips like warm honey, encouraging you to keep going for him.

-What is the most intense, what gets you shaking, is the way he looks at you. His eyes are unblinking and affixed to your face with nothing but sheer devotion and love. He doesn't let you shy away either, you need to look at him, to see how much he adores you. Only once you are jelly against him will he be satisfied that he has done his part.

[madamechrissy]

♔ Silent Serenades ♔

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Duke Satoru Gojo x Duchess Reader

♔ Content/Warnings: Explicit sexual content, pregnancy sex, lots of teasing and nipple play, super smutty and emotional, Oral ( m and f recieving) mentions of jealousy and past angst- a lot of closure I hope you enjoy

♔ Word count: this chap: 9k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful in this. You'll hate Satoru, warning you now. HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

A/N- dual povs <3 Comments and Reblogs verry appreciated if you enjoy

♔ Part Fourteen ♔ Masterlist ♔ Playlist

Part Fifteen- Take me back to the night we met

Satoru is going to be… a father.

You’re showing just a bit, a little roundness to your tummy and breasts, but mostly he can tell by your glow. They way your eyes glimmer brighter, the way your skin illuminates just so, as if it’s shimmering, he’s never seen anything like it, like your beauty with his child growing in you. How could you get more beautiful? It seemed unreal, just your little smile destroys him in an instant.

You’re snuggling up to his arm as you both near the inn on your journey up to Scotland, you’d been beaming about it all morning, Satoru just hopes he can make everything perfect, while still being somewhat terrified of what being a father will mean. Of fucking it all up royally, of not being good enough, and also he’s terrified of what the pregnancy means for you.

He’s heard horror stories of women in labor, of them dying after having children or even during, and that’s one thing Satoru cannot have, anything happening to you, ever. The thought of living one day without you is a torturous one that he just doesn’t think he could ever handle, you are his everything, you are his sun and his moon, his air in his lungs.

Now there will be a baby, and you’re already so damn thrilled, your little hand rests on your tummy already, having had it confirmed by the physician, you’d been a little sick at first but now you’re just sleepy very often. But your heart is so full, as you look up at your husband, who smiles softly at you, caressing your face while the carriage rocks back and forth.

“What are you thinking of, devious little Duchess?” He teases, you giggle then, chin tilting up as you look into the swirling blue storms of his eyes.

“Thinking how excited I am, for everything. I’ve never even seen Scotland, and I’m going to marry you again-”

“It’s going to be our first marriage, I refuse to acknowledge that night.” His words are a little hoarse, breaking your heart.

Satoru is harder on the past than you are to him, surely, you don’t think anyone could punish themselves more than he does. “Of course, you are right, this is our choice, hmm?”

“Our choice. My choice. Always you.” He kisses you, passionate presses of his lips, until you’re both heated, because when isn’t it that way?

No amount of domestic bliss truly helps the intense and insane need that the both of you constantly have for each other. The way he touches you, grabs you, possessive and hungry, the way your lips both move, desperate and messy, tongues sliding, teeth nipping. His hand entangles in your hair, yours clutches the stark fabric of his jacket.

Satoru’s kissing down your neck, yanking out a breast almost from your bodice, hot hungry kisses down your chest that make your back arch for more. “You’re more beautiful, you kill me.” He murmurs, as he nips a sensitive nipple with sharp teeth, earning a whine.

“I’m always wet lately, it’s so bloody inconvenient.” You grumble, he grins so deviously now, one of his big hands squishing a breast as he peeks at you with his swirling blue eyes.

“I love it, how’s it inconvenient, bratty girl?”

“It’s all the time, Satoru, is this some odd symptom!? Ah!” Satoru’s sucking your nipple in his mouth, hot and wet, your eyes roll back in your skull.

“Mmm…” He pulls back with a pop, saliva dripping from his lips, sapphire eyes locking on yours. “I have no clue of pregnancy, any more than you. Just know that you’re even sexier, god these tits, look at em.” Your eyes dart down, seeing them marked, glittering and glossy.

“They’re getting huge! You would like that, hmm?” Your eyes narrow and he snorts in laughter, kissing you as the heat pools between your thighs.

“Oh yes, can’t wait till they’re even fuller. Dripping milk.”

“You’re so insane sometimes, Duke… all the time, actually.” You whisper, but it’s half hearted, his dilated gaze so hungry only makes you more sensitive and needy.

“You love it, hmm, love me insane for you? Slutty Duchess.”

“Shush, man whore.” He glares now, snowy lashes lowering, cutting your giggle off with a bite that makes you gasp. “Ow!”

“Shut your pretty mouth, you love it.” You shove at him, looking at your now puffy nipple, before he yanks you on his lap, and you’re pressed against him, feeling he’s just as excited for you, when the carriage stops. “Just wait till I get you in the room.”

“Oh?” You smile just a bit, and he smirks, looking like the charming ass of a man he is.

“Oh.” He teases back, kissing you deeply, before pulling back and smiling. “Are you excited?”

“Very.”

The rolling hills of Scotland are breathtaking when you all arrive at Satoru’s estate a few days later, somewhere he hasn’t been in many, many years, not since he left everything for a time to escape here. A time when he had to escape his father, escape Adelia, he had spent much time here, alone.

The memories linger but are so quickly replaced by the beauty of you in everything that you do. Despite the insane beauty of the rolling land, of the hills and cliffs jutting out, the warm sun illuminating everything, Satoru can’t help but watch you, as you’re eyeing everything in wonder, your face lit up.

You are a better sight than anything.

“It’s a far cry from London, hmm?” He teases, and you shake your head, hair loose and flowing softly over your shoulders, as you clutch your little green cape tightly around you.

“It’s a million times better than London ever could be. Oh, I do not think I’ll ever want to go back!?” You grab his hand as you look up at his sprawling estate, so different from the Gojo manor, no it’s breathtaking and bright, not dark and brooding like what you’re used to, brighter and more open.

Satoru chuckles as you run up to the doors, lifting your skirts as you do, smiling behind your shoulder at him. “A chase, hmm?” You nod, giggling, and Satoru runs after you, quickly catching you with his long strides. “Got you.”

“Because you’re so lanky! No fair!” He picks you up, chuckling and spinning you in his arms, kissing you over and over. You’re melting in his embrace, arms wrapped around his neck as he holds you tight.

“Are you ready to see inside? I had them prepare it for us.” You nod eagerly, and Satoru carries you over the threshold in his arms, your feet still dangling, slippers up off the stone floor.

When he puts you down, you are greeted with several servants waiting for his orders, and you take in the surroundings of the castle, the immaculate high ceilings, every aesthetic so different from Gojo Manor. It’s much older, hundreds of years you imagine, things are more simple and slate gray, versus the ornate paintings and coverings of the manor.

“Your Grace.” They all curtsey and bow, one of the men in kilts come up and smiles at you both then.

“Hello there, it’s been a long time.” Satoru says, smiling and patting him on the shoulder, the slender man with glasses smiles.

“Indeed it has, Master Gojo.” You blink a bit at the name.

“He sort of raised me for a few years.” Satoru murmurs, and you smile brightly up at him then.

“Then it’s a pleasure!”

“And a pleasure to meet this lovely wife of Master Gojo’s. He does go on and on in his letters-”

“Ah-ah.” Satoru scowls at him, but you’re giggling behind your gloved hand.

“So sorry, Master Gojo. Well then, shall we show you to your chambers? The ceremony is set for tomorrow.”

“Indeed, it sounds perfect.” Soon you and Satoru are in a giant bedroom with an even bigger bed than you have seen, you’re wide eyed at it.

“Was this meant for your harem?”

“Psh, brat.” You giggle as he helps unlace your bodice, pecking little kisses along the backs of your shoulders. “I was not whoring in Scotland.”

“Good, no need to burn all your beds.” You peek up at him with a little smile, he laughs softly then, cupping your face as your bodice falls to the ground, kissing your lips softly.

“I’d burn the world for you, Duchess.” You gasp as he unlaces your stays, unzipping your skirts until you’re bare, looking at the mirror in front of you, his hand splaying the expanse of your stomach.

“The things you say ruin me, Duke.” He exhales, kissing across the nape of your neck now, your head falls back against his chest, moaning softly.

“I desire to ruin your pretty mind, pretty body every day, don’t you know?” You’re whimpering when his long fingers find you, your little pearl, soaking him as you watch, blushing from the sight, eyes wide and glittering. “Do you enjoy it, watching us?”

“It’s scandalous…” You murmur, he chuckles then, and you turn, undoing his vest, sliding off his dress coat, then his dress shirt carefully, baring his perfectly chiseled body to your gaze. You trace the fine muscles of him, while he looks in the mirror at the curve of your ass, the jut of your hips, making him hard when he grabs it, feeling it firm in his palms.

“God, look at you, pretty at every angle.” You nervously look behind yourself, as he spreads you just so, to where you see everything.

“Oh goodness. I’m not sure I’ve… seen all of this?” He laughs again, moaning when you look back at him, and he frees your hair from the endless pins, they clatter along the floor.

“I get to look at this every day, see how lucky I am?” He asks, and you smile sweetly, undoing the buttons of his breeches.

“I am the lucky one, looking at your body.” You start trailing kisses down his chest, pale and perfectly sculpted, tongue darting across a flat pink nipple, making his breath catch, when you start touching his cock gently.

“Fuck… get on your knees, Princess, hmm?” He orders softly, and you eagerly do, helping him out of his breeches completely, his pretty cock smacking his belly button before settling, jutting thick and long.

“And what does my Duke wish for me to do?” You tease, two little hands pressing into the muscles of his thighs, tongue kitten licking his tip, already leaking precum.

“You’ll make me beg for it?” He demands, and you giggle, nodding as he brushes back your hair, holding it in a ponytail, pulling just so.

“Would it hurt for you to beg?”

“You’re evil.” He groans, and you lick him again, but make no move to suck him, fingers darting across the soft white hair on the base of his cock.

“I can just kiss it?” You do just that, delighting in the tensing of his muscles, while blue eyes narrow.

“Bratty girl. Open your mouth.” You do just that. “Suck me down that tight little throat, please?”

You eagerly do as he asks then, sucking his cock down your throat eagerly, moaning and making him lose his tentative control, as he looks at the looking glass, seeing his beautiful wife on her knees, servicing him. He surely does not deserve any of this, he thinks, wondering just how he has you, when you suck him deeper and deeper with each stroke.

His hands pull at your hair when he begins to stroke his hips. “Want me to fuck your slutty throat, Princess?” His words end you, making you so soaked you’re aching to touch yourself.

You just nod a bit, and he begins to cup your face, fucking into your throat, groaning as you take him so well, as he feels you gagging and choking on his cock, staring at your pretty teary eyes. Drool, tears all pooling down and mixing with the salty sweet taste of him in your mouth, pussy throbbing around nothing, but your hands stay on his thighs.

“You’re such a good girl, you know only I can touch you?” You nod again, and Duke Gojo chuckles, sucking in a breath as he pulls you off him gently. “What if I let you, hmm?”

 You pull off, cheeks hollowing, licking your lips. “What? You never let me, you psychotic Duke.”

“Maybe I want you to.” He helps you up gently, kissing his taste off your lips, turning you until you’re on the bed.

“You really want to see me touch myself?” You’re blushing now, and he smiles as he watches the pretty color spread.

“You blush everywhere.”

“Hush! You’ve never…”

“I’ve spit in your mouth, and now you’re shy?” You cover your face, nodding, and he spreads your thighs, planting a little kiss on your clit, watching you jerk as his laugh tickles it. “You have tried to when you’ve sucked me.”

“Um… yes well…”

“It does not bother me if you… with…” He cups your face now gently, and your eyes meet his. “Whatever you did before me and you? It doesn’t bother me. I promise you, I know it’s only us.”

You blink rapidly, taking a nervous breath. “How’d you know?”

“You didn’t just figure out touching yourself on your own, sheltered as you were I imagine.” You nod then, nervously, biting your plump lower lip. “If I didn’t do things that I did with other women? Well we’d do nothing.”

“Whore.” He snorts.

“You’re a little slut.”

“Mmm…” You kiss him then, desperately, as he hovers over you.

“Show me, then. My permission.”

You take another breath, as he eases back on the bed, kneeling between your thighs, spreading them just so, you take a finger and place it between his lips, he moans as he sucks it into his mouth. After pulling it back with saliva dripping, you find your clit between your lips, pressing up and gasping, Satoru’s eyes dilate then, the pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

He watches hungrily as you run little circles over your clit, whining out, hips shifting, him watching you making it even more erotic, even naughtier to you. You’re growing slick under your ministrations, as you press on your clit that’s stiffening and twitching under your touch, wetness pooling to your little hole.

“Is that what you do? Have you cum from it?” He kisses your knee, hands itching to take over. You shake your head with a little moan.

“No… j-just feels good.” He exhales now, teeth nipping into the plush of your thigh, thumbs trailing down your skin in little circles.

“Make yourself cum, then, hmm? Keep showing me.” Satoru’s pearly seed is leaking out of his pretty pink tip as he watches you intently, hands gripping tighter as you keep rubbing circles, crying out as you do, fingers slick and glistening with your arousal. He’s stroking his cock now with a hand, moaning softly. “Put them in.”

“Inside?” You whisper, he nods then, and you flush even brighter, looking so pretty his cock aches to be buried in you. “Like this?”

You slip a finger inside yourself, breasts smushing between your arms as they press together, your other hand reaching for his shoulder, pulling him toward you just a bit, so that his hot length presses on your thigh just a bit as his hand moves. His grunts and the sound of the squishing wetness mix in the chamber, as his eyes worship every bit of you.

“Try two, you have tiny little fingers.” He says hoarsely, and you slip both in then, just to the first knuckle, pumping up and down, brows drawing together as you crave the cock he’s stroking right near you. “How’s it feeling, Duchess? Do you feel how tight you are?”

You manage a weak little nod, continuing to pump your fingers as he pumps his cock, his free hand gripping a breast, squishing it just so, thumb brushing across your nipple. You’re so wet your fingers slip, drenching your hole and further down, making a mess for his eyes, your eyes fluttering shut as you picture him so deep, making you more sensitive.

“Not gonna cum from this… need you, Satoru.” Satoru laughs softly, leaning over you now, taking your fingers and sucking them into his mouth, drinking your arousal off them, so sexy your cunt is clenching around nothing.

“Can’t even make yourself cum?” He taunts, tip pressing at your entrance, making you grip his arms tightly, feeling the muscles tensing under your grip.

“Need you.” You repeat again, desperately, and then he presses into you, moaning as he feels you gripping him.

“Your little fingers don’t stretch you out, do they?” You shake your head, feeling the delicious stretch as he sinks deeper, you’re whining now, thighs trembling against his hips, one of his hands slips up your waist as he presses his heavy weight over you, kissing down the side of your jaw. “You’re so tight, fuck…”

“Ngh…” Is all you manage to squeak out, when he sinks in fully, buried to the hilt inside you. “T-told you… too tiny to do… anything- ah!”

“Need mine, do you?” You nod eagerly, as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, rocking his cock inside you so deep, you’re close with just a few strokes, so overworked by your own ministrations, by him watching you.

“Only n-need you.” Duke Gojo is desperate then, frantic as he holds himself up on an elbow, the other arm grabbing one of your thighs, slinging it over his hip to sink himself deeper inside you.

“I only need you, Princess. Fucking perfect for me, just me.” You feel tears prick your eyes at the overwhelming sensations, of him fucking so deep into you, tip dragging just so on that spot in your velvety walls, as they drool down him.

“For you…” He drinks your cries, a hand entwining with yours over your head, slowly rocking his hips deep, you’re cumming all over his cock then, fluttering and gripping him so hard he can hardly stand it.

“I’ll stretch you out next time, this is too much… fuck…” You giggle, breathless, earning his glare.

“Too much for you, Duke? Gonna cum in me?” He slams into you then, shutting you up with one thrust against your cervix.

“Evil duchess. Yes.” You can’t giggle again, not when he’s lifting your hips like you’re his little doll, fucking into you harder and harder, until he’s cumming so deep, and you’re shattering with him, lips drinking in the cries that are echoing in the room, his cock pumping more and more cum until you’re too full.

“Oh my god…” You whisper, so breathless, Satoru has drips of sweat falling down onto you as he kisses you over and over, slowly pumping more and more of the seed spilling out of your hole.

“Do you have to feel so fucking good? Never wanna leave.” He muses, kissing you over and over.

“Mmm, she’ll push him out you know.”

“Yes, evil like you.” He eases out as your muscles contract, earning a glare from him now. “You’re so evil.”

“Says you! Didn’t even touch your bride to be?” He laughs then, kissing you and slipping a finger down your sensitive slit, making you jerk.

“I’ll take good care of you on the wedding night. Have my face buried in you, hmm?”

“On a plaid and everything?”

Satoru eases up now, sitting you up with him, a hand running down your spine, sending shivers across it. “You want me to lay you out on a plaid outside?”

“Outside!?” He smirks now.

“Yes outside, it’s how it’s done, you know, traditional Scottish weddings. You’d take your bride out to some pretty meadow and lay her down.” The images make you heat up all over again, he watches you curiously. “I see, slutty Scottish bride.”

“It does sound intriguing. But I’m more excited to wed you truly.” He pulls you against his chest tightly.

“As am I.”

The ceremony the next day leaves you breathless, as you walk into and see the rows and rows of candles along a trail in the dark evening, stars glittering the sky along with a bright full moon. You’re dressed in a traditional Scottish gown that clings to your figure, the material feeling thick and quite different than you’re used to, but it’s perfect for the slight chill in the air.

The evening breeze that gently caresses your overheated cheeks as you clutch a bouquet of hand picked flowers, flowers your husband picked. It seems insane, if you didn’t live through it you wouldn’t believe such a thing possible, your very rich and pampered husband digging through wildflowers in a grassy field, in his finest suit no less.

He’d given you this boyish, sweet grin as he’d handed them to you this morning, every day you see so much more charm in his blue eyes, glittering and swirling as he’d kissed your forehead this very morning. You fall deeper for him every moment, that he lets go, that he trusts you, that you see who he was and who he always has been, even when he didn’t show it.

Of course you remember it, the nights alone staring at your ceiling, terrified of the man but also yearning for him, torn into pieces and split in two. You remember the cruelty, but you look at it with different eyes. He was hurting deeply and hurt you in turn, and though it was not right, you no longer have resentment, not when he makes you feel so happy every day.

Not when he looks at you that way, when he touches your tummy, big hand splaying the slightly rounded expanse, smiling softly, his snowy lashes lowered as he pictures having a baby. Not when he is trying the best he can, despite being completely terrified at times at being a father, Satoru is trying, and he tries so hard every day, he slowly kisses away each worry.

You can feel it now, like a new beginning, grinning when you see him wearing a kilt of all things, Satoru Gojo in a kilt! You’re smiling so big your cheeks hurt, he’s got this sash over his chest, his white hair slicked back just so, his bare knees something one just never saw. He looks you up and down as you get closer, walking through the trail of candlelight.

You take his very breath away, bright and beaming, glowing with the baby inside you, each step you take bringing you further into his view. Your plaid makes you look like some medieval Princess, but you were his Princess, weren’t you? Clutching the flowers he’d picked so tightly, smiling so sweetly.

Satoru feels it, a new beginning, one where he can start over, his kilt fluttering slightly in the breeze as his eyes lock with yours. You feel a warmth spread through your body, reaching every part of your soul, heart racing and thrumming in your chest as you get closer and closer, and as you approach him, his gaze never leaves yours.

The priest is standing in front of him, holding a large ribbon in his hands, as Gojo’s grin glints in the darkness. Gojo’s hand reaches for yours, his grip firm but gentle, large hand taking your little one in his, bringing it up to his lips then, you feel the press of his lips on your skin as you take a little breath, air puffing just slightly with the chill that’s approaching.

The ribbon is placed over your joined hands, the Priest begins to wrap them, and an overwhelming sense of emotions are taking you over, something so beautiful then as you look at each other with soft smiles. When the Priest has finished wrapping you both together, handfasting it’s called, he smiles at you.

It’s just you two, there are no guests, no grand affair to see what is truly so beautiful, so precious with you both. No one but a couple people really know what happened, and even those that do know, have no sense of your hearts, your souls, that entwine with each other so deeply.

“Satoru Gojo,” you start softly, he exhales, looking intently as your entwined wrists press against each other. “I am so in love with you, with who you are, deep inside here, all smushy.”

“Tch.” He rolls his pretty blue eyes, and you giggle then, before sombering just a bit, stepping even closer, tilting your head to look up at him.

“I love who you are, how you make me feel. I love a new chance at this, a new start for us, so desperately needed.” Your voice drops to an emotional whisper, as Satoru’s eyes begin to glisten with his own tears. “I fell in love with you when I didn’t want to, when I fought it so hard, tooth and nail, but then even, I knew it, as I saw you in every dream.”

He whispers your name softly, his free hand cupping your cheek.

“And now, we will have a family, and I know it’s so quick, I know we still have so much to learn from each other, but I know you’ll be a great father, you’re a kind, smart, funny and sweet human, despite you acting so brooding.”

“Hush.” He’s holding back his own emotions, as your hand rests on his atop your cheek. “Making me cry, hmm? Bratty Duchess.”

“I love that you’re opening more and more to me.” You whisper then, voice hoarse with emotion. “I love you more with every breath I take, so overwhelming to me, and now… I love this so much.” You touch your tummy with your free hand, looking so beautiful with the candles glowing, casting shadows across the little stone path you both stand on.

Satoru says your name, earning your eyes looking up at his, eyes that are so intense it hurts at times to look at, eyes that pull you in, that make you ache, make your heart flutter. You cannot take it for just a moment, the intensity of the swirling blue orbs that once filled with detest for you, that now are so full of love, affection. Lust and want in equal measured.

“You make me feel that I have no need to be ‘perfect’.” You say softly, tears flowing down your cheeks as he gulps, his heart breaking for you. “I can be imperfect, and still be perfect for you.”

“You are perfect for me, in all your imperfections is where your beauty truly shines. Your witty, bratty mouth.” You giggle then, earning him sniffling just a bit, as you both have tears fall in the night. “Your laughter, your pretty genuine smile, not the little practiced one you used to throw around. You light up my heart with it, a heart I once thought shattered.”

“Oh, Satoru…” You’re resting your foreheads together as he bends low at the hip, his sweet breath against your lips.

“I have fallen madly in love with a messy, foul mouthed, emotional brat.”

“Excuse me!?”

“She has such a temper.” He rolls his eyes, smirking then, as you glare up at him. “She’s so pretty angry.”

“I swear you’re insolent!”

“You love it. You love me, whole heartedly, when I did not think or know I deserve love from you.” Teasing is gone now, as you listen with your breath caught in your throat. “You loved me when I was cruel, when I was low, you showed me kindness even in our most wicked battles against each other. You tried to understand me before I let you in.”

All you can do is nod weakly, feeling every bit of his soul with yours, as if the ribbons truly were binding you both.

“I promise you, with all that I am, I will never fail you again.” He clears his throat, as both of your hearts pound in your chest, and you are shaking your head. “Let me say this. I will be everything you need, everything you want, everything you deserve. I will give you the world, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Satoru!” You’re kissing him, you can’t help it, not when the man you love is there, when he’s promising to give you the world. His free hand entangles in your hair, lips working over yours, hungry. “I promise you, I will give you everything I am. I’m yours, Satoru Gojo, my Duke, my husband.”

“And you’ll have all of me, Princess. Every bit, even the parts you don’t want.” You laugh through your tears as you kiss him once more, softer now, before the priest clears his throat, both of you jumping slightly, blushing. You both look into each other’s eyes, as he says something in Gaelic, which both of you are unfamiliar with, watching curiously.

 He smiles at you both now. “In English - “With a tie not easy to break, take the time of binding.” His cadence is lilting as you and Satoru listen eagerly. “The wish that your marriage will be strong, that your love will last, in this life and beyond, what the ties symbolize.”

He gently eases the ribbons off you both, smiling at the two of you, a couple so in love one would never have a clue of what you both went through. He sees a tall young Duke so enamored with his pretty Duchess that he can’t look away for a second, and sees a pretty young lady that has stars in her eyes as she looks up at him, your love radiating and intense.

“I will leave you both to this.” The priest leans his head just a bit in the direction of the goblets of honey mead sitting on a little table in a pretty lit Gazebo, which you both pick up as you step under the awning, putting the rims to your smiling lips as you put the rim of yours to his, and you sip.

“We’re married, truly married this time.” You tease, he laughs then, pulling you against him, so very tightly with those strong arms you nearly fall, giggling with flushed cheeks from the drink.

“We are married.” He kisses you again, before he pulls back with the most devious smirk on his pretty lips. “Shall I take you traditionally?”

“Oh goodness, what even is that?” He’s pulling you to him, putting down your goblets then.

“Take you right here.” he’s easing off the enormous plaid that’s over you, laying it down gently on the floor, you’re looking around, earning his soft laugh. “My brave little Princess is scared?”

“What if someone sees!” He walks around you, fingers drifting across your chest now, darting across your skin, leaving networks of goosebumps in their wake, until he’s brushing your hair to one side, making your breath quicken. “Mnh…”

“You like that idea, hmm?” He’s kissing hot, open mouthed, shooting pleasure across your entire body. “Let me show you what I should have done, that night you looked so beautiful.”

“Satoru…” You choke on a cry then, when he unbuttons the dress from your skin, moaning against you, the intensity of his every action growing as more of your pretty skin is revealed for his hungry eyes, all lit up under the soft glow of the little candles all around.

“I should have kissed every bit of your pretty body.” You hear it, the desperation in his voice now, but god if you could see his eyes, glowing so brightly blue as he stares at your back, running his fingers across the delicate red marks from the ties of your dress pressing in. He watches the goosebumps rise across your spine, as your head falls to the side.

“I wish that you did.” You hate it, the longing escaping, while you’re nearly naked aside from your skirts, which he starts to make work of, tilting your chin up to have you look at him.

“You wish I touched you that night?” He asks, confusion clear on his features, you nod then, blinking tears that quickly are whisked off your cheeks.

“I know I would have melted for you.”

Satoru’s hands brush up and down your body ever so slowly, images burning in his brain, of if he did not get in his own way, if he tried, if he gave it a chance. So much it overwhelms him, leading him to one realization then, while you’re arching towards him with your eager body. “But we were not ready, were we?”

“No, not yet.” You agree softly, shaking your head, as you’re left completely bare for him, naked outside which seems like insanity, as he helps you step out of your skirts, leaving your stockings, garters and slippers on only. He walks to the front of you, drinking you in, your beauty, everly line and curve of you, hands gently brushing the sides of your breasts.

“But now we’re ready, and I’ll show you.” He kisses your hand, eyeing the stockings that had driven him mad that night, the same ones with your little bows, gently pulling you to kneel on the plaid with him now, easing off his jacket, baring his skin, your fingers run across it but he captures them. “You’ll let me kiss you everywhere, every inch, hmm?”

“Can I not kiss you?” You smile when he places his jacket under your head, hand slipping down your body, tummy trembling under his touch.

“I want it about you.” He says huskily, teasing touches brushing across your arms, your waist, your hips, as he hovers just over you, and you’re arching up for more of him. “Of what I wanted to do.”

“Show me please.” Your whisper ends him, he’s kissing you deeply, tongue moving in a motion that his body aches to follow, resting on one elbow as he lays over you, a hand gripping your breast, squishing it and making you gasp. “Ngh!”

“I wanted to suck on these pretty nipples, poking out of that chemise, tantalizing me to no end.” You blink rapidly when he sucks one areola into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, fingers squishing into the softness of your breast, making your hands enwrap in his hair.

“Satoru…”

He pulls back with a pop, turning his attention to your other breast while he looks at you with lidded, dilated eyes, tongue licking right around your other nipple. “Sensitive, Princess?”

“Very-ah!” You’re soaked between your thighs from just this, from his teasing of your breasts, kissing them, nipping them, lavishing them, until he’s kissing lower, right above your belly button, exhaling against your skin that tingles under his breath, making your thighs press together, craving friction.

“I wanted to tell you these stockings were killing me, hiding your pretty legs and making me want to…” He unsnaps your garter now, slipping the stockings down your skin, pressing kisses slowly down your thigh, your calf, your ankle. “Kiss them, just like this, watch you write with pleasure.”

You moan as he nips your ankle, his hand slipping down your thigh, backs of his fingers brushing against the slick heat of your pussy, which throbs with need, mixing with the intense feelings swirling your mind. The desire, the look he gives you, the need in his eyes, you flash back to your wedding night, shutting your eyes for just a moment, trying to breathe.

“You’re remembering.” He murmurs, you shake your head, tears forming from your eyes when he slips off your other stocking, now leaned down, cupping your face as he rests up on his elbows over you. “It’s alright to remember.”

“It’s not, I don’t want to think of you that way, Satoru. I only want to know this.” You whisper, your hands slipping down the muscles, the ribs of his torso, as he shakes his head, sad smile on his face.

“It’s okay to remember, just know that was not me, was not what I wanted. I wanted you from the moment you looked at me that way… that little glare, the smack on my face? God how I wanted you.”

“You’re insane, you know.”

“We both are.” He kisses you, a little softer now. “I wanted to please you, make you shout my name, and I didn’t know why, why you did that to me. Why you made me want to please you so badly with my mouth, watering every time you fucking came near me.” Your hips buck up as he touches your slit again, sliding slippery fingers up and down, finding your twitchy clit.

“T-Toru… please…” You’re whimpering as he runs his fingertip in a tantalizingly slow circle, smiling softly, lips glossy from your kisses.

“I’ll get there, impatient Duchess. Let me take my time tonight, bride.” The words are too much, they end you, your body shaking when he slips a finger inside your entrance, already soaked, earning his groan, cock throbbing now with how badly he needs you. “I would have tried to keep control, but…” He slips two in.

“Ah!” You’re clinging to his bare shoulders desperately, your blunt nails pressing against his biceps, pressure building in your tummy as he curls them just so.

“I’d have lost control at how wet you were, I don’t know how gentle I’d have been.” He says, kissing lower, pressing your thighs apart as his fingers work you like the keys on a piano, tapping and pressing and pushing, while he smirks against your tummy, pressing a kiss.

“Y-you’d have lost control? Been rough?” You whisper weakly, he chuckles against you, making you jerk, as he kisses the hood of your clit, pulling his fingers out to suck you off him.

“After I tasted you, I would have lost my mind, even that night yes, god how could I not.” Satoru damn near growls, as he stares at your pretty pussy. “She’s so wet for me, isn’t she?”

You nod quickly, gasping as he laps a bit of your honeyed arousal from between your glistening folds. “When am I not wet for you? It’s most… disconcerting-ah!”

“Is it?” He’s drinking you now, burying his face against your pussy, drinking and sipping all your wetness away, only for you to produce more, so much it’s unreal, coating his face with it, dripping off his chin as he moans. “Fuck…”

All soft pretense is gone as Satoru loses himself tasting you, long fingers pressing against the plush of your thighs as he pulls your hips so that he can devour you properly, bringing you to the edge so quickly you have to cling to his silky hair. He’s rolling his tongue inside your slick, velvety walls, which flutter around the wet muscle while he massages every bit of you so thoroughly.

His nose hits your clit, sending you just over that edge, and Satoru moans, cock leaking precum, looking up to see your face screw up with pleasure, as your climax rocks your body, and you’re gushing all over his face again. He moans, slurping it up, all while little fireflies dance in the field, the manor behind you while you’re naked in the night for him.

“You’d h-have done all… that?” You whisper weakly, he moans then, sliding up you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself off his lips while he grips a thigh.

“I could lick you for hours, but I’m just a little too… hard to not…” Satoru’s just now taking the kilt and pulling it up, you’re flushed then.

“Oh!?”

He grins. “Scots are easy-access people, I quite like it.” He teases your entrance with his tip, kilt still on as you lay atop the plaid, waiting for your husband to fill you. “I’d have gone slow on the first stroke, sure.”

He eases inside your tight hole now, you’re whining out at it, head falling back, as he fills you inch by inch, so many inches, until your cavern is filled with nothing but his length. He moans then, feeling you grip him, cumming again when he’s fully stuffed his cock in you.

“You’d be that easy?” He huffs, you try to glare but it fails, as you’re pulsating all around him, and his own eyes roll back you feel so good. “Fuck…”

You’re pathetic then, whimpering as your thighs shake, Satoru’s body shielding you from the chill of the evening. “T-Toru…”

“God, feel her.” He’s moving then, huffing as he fucks into you, deep strokes that wreck your cervix, as his big hands take your body over, pushing you down onto his cock.

The wind is playing with his silvery hair, tousling it just so as he fucks you, eyes boring into yours, seeing through you. “Toru…”

“I’ve got you, Princess, shh.” He sinks so deep it hurts, but the pain is fucking perfect, when he’s got his face buried against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a bite, mixing pain with pleasure again.

“Mnh!” You’re just whining as he thickens inside you, stars swirling in the sky as the night comes, fuzzier and fuzzier while he works over you.

You’re crying out now, begging, sobbing, your nails digging into his back as he thrust at a maddening rhythm, kissing you again, drinking your cries, your nails leaving scratches as his thumbs leave bruises. “I fucking love you.” He whispers, and you cry out as it’s met with him rolling his hips inside you.

“L-love you!” You’re panting now, cupping his face as he stares right into your eyes, as everything starts to fall into its perfect place. “This… is our- mnh!”

“Wedding night.” He finishes the sentence, brushing your tears when he sinks in fully, your cunt struggling to take him, stretching as he presses your thighs up. “And on our wedding night I’ll fill you so good, hmm?”

“Please.” Your little beg ends him, he’s fucking erraticaly, strokes hitting deep as his tip drags on your walls, your legs wrap his hips, heels of your feet resting against his thighs as he begins to fall off the edge with you. “Cum inside.”

“Needy, Princess?” You just nod, you are.

“Please.” Your eyes lock, and he pumps into you then, resting his head on yours, entwining a hand with yours, the same hands that had been tied with that ribbon, pouring inside you, so much you’re sent again with him, cumming from being filled with his hot white seed. “Mnh!”

“F-fuck… oh my… fucking perfect…” The word, it just feels fine, after all this time, Satoru cumming inside you, with you, it is perfect.

You’re crying when he pulls up, looking down and gulping, trying to catch his own breath, his heart pounding against the breasts squished under his chest. “It’s good tears, swear.”

“Oh, I know. I know you, every bit of you.” Satoru says, kissing your tears away, as he swallows down his own. “I’ll never get enough of you, of this.”

“Nor will I, Satoru.” He’s kissing you, falling into you again, until you realize you both fell asleep out on the gazebo, you wake up and sleepily blink, seeing him smiling, watching you sleep.

“Your snores, so cute.”

“Shut it.” You’re laughing as you kiss him again, snug under the plaid, blissful with your husband, your Duke, once so cruel, now brightly smiling, brushing your hair back so sweetly. “Good morning, husband.” You whisper.

“Good morning, Wife. Gods, I never want to leave?”

“Me either. We could just stay?” You grin at him then, and you both sigh. “Too many blasted duties.”

“Indeed, but, we will make this our yearly trip.” You giggle in excitement, snuggling even closer to him.

“I love this idea, oh and we’ll have a little one!” He smiles softly, touching your stomach.

“I’ll have to fight for attention, I suppose.” You shove at him playfully, to land on top of him, as he exhales, hands running over your body under the plaid. “God I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you.”

“Dirty mouthed brat.”

“Excuse me!?” He’s kissing your lips, over and over, hands now gripping your ass, making your sore pussy throb again for him.

Six Months Later

You’re at the King’s ball, but this year you are no longer the diamond, no you’re the Duchess, and likely about to pop soon, a round tummy and even rounder breasts, that enamor Satoru to no end. When he’s helping you dress, he’s running his hands over the curves of your body, curves you’re not accustomed to, but he makes you feel beautiful.

Every new line from the baby earns several kisses from Satoru as he worships your body, every time he feels the baby kick he gets more excited. But, tonight you both have your duties, and one of them is attending Sukuna’s ball, helping name the next diamond of the season.

“I hate the King.”

“Treason!”

“Shh.” Satoru’s pouting as he walks into the ballroom, seeing Sukuna grinning from up above, big red throne while he’s watching the crowds below.

“I’m also no fan.” You admit, but luckily no Adelia. From what you’ve heard, she’s been sent back to France.

Even Sukuna couldn’t stand her.

Satoru’s eyes fixate then, on Nanami Kento, he tenses, despite not ever being angry at you, he can’t help but have a murderous instinct as he looks at the man that had you once. Well, he never really had you, but he did so many things. Satoru has been glad he’s not of social standing, surprised to see him here of all places.

You look at him in shock, as he has a pretty lady on his arm, and he whispers something to her, before calling you over. You look at Satoru with wide eyes, he nods just a bit, walking you over, you smile brightly as the lady is introduced, she is lovely and sweet, making eyes at Nanami.

“I’ve heard of you, your Grace.” You flush then, eyes lowering. “Only good things, I promise!”

“Then Mr. Nanami is too kind.” You murmur softly, Satoru sighs then, addressing the Lady.

“Care for a dance, my lady?” He asks, and she nods, smiling at Nanami now.

“Go right ahead, darling.” He murmurs, kissing her forehead so sweetly, it melts you then, as you feel it.

Nanami is in love.

As Satoru gives you time to speak, he gives you a little smile, eyeing your tummy now. “You’re with child?”

“No, too many cookies. Habit from you.” You tease, he rolls his hazel eyes then, shaking his head.

“Oh, cookies caused it?”

“Mmhmm!” You fall into an easy laughter, fiddling with your hands then, watching Satoru twirl her around the court. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she? And… she’s amazing.” He’s coughing a bit then, voice hoarse with emotion. “Should this be… harder to say to each other?”

“No, it’s not for me.” You smile sadly at him then, memories not of the intimacy, but special moments you both had, how sweet he’d been, it makes your heart swell. “To see you happy? Well…”

“Please, do not cry, Duchess.” He murmurs then, brushing a tear from your cheek in a sweet gesture, you blink back tears, touching your tummy.

“The baby she makes me so weepy.”

“You always cried a lot.”

“Excuse me!?”

You both laugh again, and he sighs, stance relaxing. “I wondered how you were, I’m so in love yes… yet I think of you at times, like a good friend long gone?”

You smile tremulously, feeling the exact same. You adore Satoru, you love him madly, but Nanami became important to you. “We were good friends. We were… foolish friends?”

He nods just a bit, flush on his high cheekbones. “Indeed. I am glad to see you so well and… glowing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nanami. I wondered about you too.” You take his hand, smiling up at him, and he feels that little bit left of his feelings finally close up, knowing you’re okay, because Nanami always wondered if you would truly be okay.

Nanami loved you but now Nanami is in love.

“I know what you meant, that day. When you said you’re in love with him.” You take a breath, squeezing his hand and smiling, looking at Satoru as he steps around the floor so gracefully. “It’s different from what we had.”

“It is different. I felt so terrible for so long-”

“Please, do not. I think… I should have trusted you knew what you were speaking of. I fear I did not give you enough credit?” He blinks his own emotions, recalling the things he said, but you’re shaking your head.

You treasure his words, as your eyes lock with Satoru’s for a moment. “No, it’s all in the past now. I only hope the best for you both, truly. With all my heart.”

“And I you. I know you’re excited.” He grins warmly, watching as you look at your tummy, smiling sweetly.

“I couldn’t be more excited.”

“He is good to you?”

“He is. No more punches required.” He smiles again, your hand falling, exhaling with relief in knowing Nanami was okay, in fact he was thriving. “I have something I’d like to do for you.”

“You need not do anything.” He says, but you lean close.

“For your lovely lady. What if I… suggested something to the King?”

“Like?”

“Like… she’s shimmering, hmm?” Nanami blinks then, smiling as he looks at the love of his life, in a man’s arms he should hate, but he doesn’t. Maybe he never did, but he feels it, Duke Gojo is different. Better.

“She’d die if she got told that.” He admits softly.

“Then let me work my charm, even this round I can bat my eyelashes.” Nanami chuckles, shaking his head, running a hand through sandy locks.

“That charm could never fade, Duchess. Or… your Grace?”

“No, Duchess is fine. Alright Mr. Nanami, I’ve got this.” You wink and Satoru curiously watches you step up, until you’re right next to the King, who eyes you amusedly up and down. “Your Majesty.”

“Sukuna.” You smile just a bit as he stands, taking your hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it.

“Sukuna, how have you been?”

“Not as busy as you and Gojo apparently.” He muses, looking at your tummy, you laugh a little.

“Think it probably happened at your castle.”

“Scandalous, Duchess.” You roll your eyes, stepping closer. “You’re even sexier now, you know.”

“You’re even worse, you know.”

“You enjoy me, don’t worry I won’t tell your Duke.” You shake your head at him, as he tilts his head, ruby eyes glinting. “Out with it, what is it you want?”

“I’m so obvious?” He nods, smirking. “Well… this lovely lady… dancing with Satoru, I think she’s sparkling.”

“Fuck, the diamond bullshit. Yes, fine then, I did not want to do it.”

“Yay! Oh thank you.”

“Need a kiss on the cheek for it though.” You glare, jaw setting, as he taps a rugged cheek. “C’mon, one.”

“You’re insufferable, Sukuna.” You peck a kiss on his cheek, dodging when he turns, wiggling your brows. “Cheek only.”

“God he’s a lucky bastard. You’re so-”

“Shush it, now.”

“Oh fine. I’ll announce it, go on now, breaking my heart.”

“Oh whatever.” You curtsy at his fake pouting, light hearted when you’re back in your husband’s arms.

“I had to watch you with the two men who wanted you so badly, ugh. Why did Sukuna bother me more?” He grumbles, you giggle then.

“Aw, does everyone want your wife?”

“They do, it’s my ultimate payback.” He tilts your chin up then. “Just what were you up to?”

“Doing something sweet for Mr. Nanami’s lady. Thank you for giving us time, you did not have to.” You whisper, as he brushes a kiss over your cheek, a hand coming to rest where your baby decides to kick.

“I trust you, and I know you need to. But Sukuna, no.” You’re giggling as he pulls you closer, looking down into your slightly rounding face, your brilliant glittering eyes under chandeliers. “You’re prettier while pregnant, he’s going to try again.”

“He’ll not try a thing, you jealous man.”

“I am, very.” He leans close, lips against your ear. “Don’t think I won’t fuck your pretty mind out just because you’re so far along.”

“Satoru!” You’re heating up, as his palm presses against your back, tracing little circles along it. “Shh, look!”

Soon the king is begrudgingly announcing the diamond, and you get to watch her so excited, and Nanami grinning at her. Satoru watches you, however, face a little tight, wincing in pain. “What is wrong?”

“She’s just kicking me to death.”

“You always say she.”

“I can just tell.”

“A witch, hmm?”

“Mmhmm. I… oh…” Suddenly your eyes widen, and you feel it, panicking. “Oh dear…”

“Oh dear what!?” He demands, then looks down. “You’re having the baby, aren’t you!?”

“Bloody inconvenient timing, little one.” You whisper, and both of your eyes lock. “I’ll keep it in till we-”

“You can’t keep it in, stubborn brat!? Shit… he does have the best doctors…”

You were going to have a baby.

Satoru’s baby.

At the King’s ball.

“Well… Shit…” Satoru grumbles, before making the announcement, far too loudly, and soon every eye of the ton was on the former diamond.

You.

FINAL CHAPTER

[the-other-art-blog]

Violet to Colin: "You're one of my most sensitive children."

The fandom: "How can she say that! Anthony, Benedict bla, bla bla..."

Colin is ONE of her most sensitive children. ONE, just ONE of them. And she's right.

ONE OF HER MOST SENSITIVE CHILDREN

He was the only one who indulged Violet and let her introduce him to debutantes in s1, while Anthony fucked his mistress and Ben went to orgies.

He was a complete gentleman with Marina. AND defended her when Anthony implied something about her.

And when he learned the truth, he confessed that he would have married her if she had told him the truth. 🥹

He danced with Pen after Cressida bullied her.

He wrote dozens of letters that his family of 8 could not care to respond to often. There are 8 of them!

He worried about Ben in s2 and supported him on his application to the Academy.

He learned the truth of Jack Featherington and instead of simply leaving, he did something about it. Not only did he help the Featherington family, but he saved other lords from being scammed.

He apologized to Will, explained why he acted rudely AND made amends to repair the damage by bringing men to Will's club.

He returned with gifts for everyone, but he seemed particularly thoughtful to his sisters and mother. A perfume for Hyacinth, music for Francesca, and a book for Eloise 🥹. Violet was so moved by his gift and here we have a lovely headcanon on the watch:

Then with Pen...

He runs after Pen, despite other men wanting to know about his adventures.

He acknowledges his mistake and immediately tries to apologize to Pen in the Four Seasons Ball.

The next day, he comes back with a heartfelt apology.

Then, he offers her help, despite the risk of scandal and embarrassment for him. He knows Pen has no one else.

He goes to see Pen at night to make sure she's ok. And when she asks him for a kiss, he does it so sweetly.

He is brave enough to leave the men who just want to know about his sexual life.

HE WAS BRAVE ENOUGH TO ASK, as soon as he put himself together and understood his feelings. He didn't play jealousy games like others, he went and put his heart on the table. He didn't even know about Pen's feelings and he risked it!

Some extracts from Colin's journals show that his family is always in his thoughts.

You can see why Violet, as the good mother that she is, can tell how sensitive he is.

Colin travels during the summer and comes back during the season to be with his family. It angers me that people think he's selfish for this when Benedict also abandons the family to fuck.

And yet, both Colin and Ben are sensitive. BOTH OF THEM, Francesca too. I wouldn't call Hyacinth or Gregory sensitive right now, and before s3, I wouldn't include Eloise either.

Anyway, I needed to get this out because I am so fucking tired of Kanthonies and Benophies making tantrums about this line.

I'm sure when s4 comes, we are going to see a moment between Violet and Ben where she acknowledges how amazing he is and everything he has done for the family. But not now, because this is COLIN'S SEASON.

(NOTE: If you are thinking of reblogging this post with the tag #Colin is the most sensitive, kindly fuck off. I made this post to fight the Kanthonies and Benophie that are attacking Colin, not to validate your own need to make Colin superior to other characters. HE IS ONE OF THE MOST SENSITIVE CHILDREN, ONE)

[so-i-did-this-thing]

do you ever stop being scared of getting misgendered? this morning i went to a fun little grad party that my old school was throwing and it made me feel so terrified, cus i started transitioning after i left. i was so scared someone was gonna recognize me as the weird little girl no one liked so i didnt talk to anyone and honestly it was super lonely

Misgendering is unfortunately going to be one of those things you will need to learn to face. Let me tell you about some of my experiences.

I transitioned very publicly (the music world is very small) and the deliberate misgendering and "jokes" just made it clear who I would and would not go to bat for. Very important as someone who frequently put his job on the line to make sure people got paid fairly. One of the worst offenders was an orchestra owner I assembled a group suit against for non-payment, and by the end, he was terrified of me. I'm sure he still makes "jokes", but he also doesn't live in his fancy house anymore after all his payouts.

Being treated as a curiosity is going to happen. Even among "allies," you are going to get rude questions, accidental misgendering, and those lingering looks where people try to figure out what you look like naked, or how you did before HRT. You need to hold your head high and establish firm boundaries on inappropriate questions. This is hard to navigate, as you'll be spending a lot of emotional labor assuring some folks that they are not bad people, as they whine it's "so hard" to get your pronouns right. It's up to you to decide how much effort is worth it, and you can only really educate those who come to you in good faith.

What's worse, imo, is the misgendering that feels like a betrayal. In-laws who previously thought I was cis immediately started misgendering me when they learned I was trans. We are cordial now, over 10 years later, but that relationship is probably irrevocably damaged because they never apologized and furthermore, acted like a victim when confronted with their transphobia. But I treat it as their loss, not mine. I do a lot for my family, including the jobs no one else wants to do (mainly revolving around taking care of the dead & dying), but my sense of family obligation nonetheless has limits.

I also had a very, very long-time friend misgender me with growing frequency as he fell down the alt-right pipeline. I ended up abruptly cutting him out of my life, with the reminder to myself that a childhood based on proximity + pop culture things we both enjoyed is not necessarily a true friendship -- if we had met as adults, I would have instantly hated him.

So, misgendering is a scale, and I'd recommend you reflect upon the forms it can take, and how you'll respond. It's very, very important that there be penalties for it, from a stern talking-to to going no-contact.

But I will be honest -- I am openly trans partly out of defiance. I enjoy the cognitive dissonance people experience, especially when I end up being bigger (it does happen), better looking, more confident, and more successful than the naysayers think I should be.

And among allies, I enjoy when folks can compare the angry, shy, weird little girl they knew before to the calm, confident, yet still weird middle-aged man they still know, and acknowledge what I've overcome to thrive. I worked my butt off to get to where I am and am proud to have that recognized.

Ultimately, you likely need to reconcile how you feel about that weird little girl no one liked. Clearly, she was incredibly strong, if you're here today. Embrace and celebrate that part of yourself, especially for being a survivor. It makes it all the more difficult then, for anyone to weaponize who you used to be.

[satorusugurugurl]

The idea of yandere gojo and geto (both at the same time) plotting against their darling reader using geto's cursed spirits to make her on them gets my mind reeling for nights 👀 wonder if my favorite writer has any thoughts on this

Perfect Prey

Characters: Yadere!Geto Suguru, Yadere!Gojo Satoru,FAB!Reader

Warnings: yandere!Geto/Gojo, manipulation, dub! con read is unaware that the boys are manipulating her! (consent is vital for me!!) double penetration, smut, mentions of wounds, cursing

Word Count: 3,404

A/N: Ah! thank you Nonnie! This made me smile! Oooh, this, this was fun. I loved getting into this! I hope y’all enjoy it!! (I really enjoyed writing for Suguru 🥵)

“I finally got my own mission!” Geto and Gojo glanced up at you as you proudly walked into the first-year's classroom. “Took years, but I think they finally realized I’m fully capable of destroying a curse or two by myself!���

Geto gave you a warm smile, resting his chin on his fist. “Is that so? Funny, I thought we made it clear one of us was supposed to accompany you on any mission.” He shut his eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side.



“Oh, that’s a good one, Suguru!” You excitedly plopped down on Gojo’s desk, kicking your feet back and forth. “All jokes aside, they did want to send one of you with me.”

“Wanted to send one of us?” Satoru questioned, dipping his chin to watch you.

The two men watched you closely as your pretty head nodded. “Yaga said,” you tilted your chin at Satoru, “You were assigned to come with me, Satoru. But seeing as you just returned from your mission, I insisted that I could handle a couple of curses on my own.” Gojo scoffed, his head turning to give Suguru a look of disbelief. “Oh, don't look at him like that!” Sure, the duo were best friends, but their silent communication between stolen glances made you feel left out.

“I don't think me coming back from a mission, which I handled easily because I’m Gojo Satoru, of course. Means I can't come with you. They assigned us this together.” The white-haired man’s time was thick with annoyance. “For a specific reason, I’m assuming.”

You cocked an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two men. “Why would the Gojo Satoru be needed to exorcise a handful of low-grade curses?” Looking at Gojo, you could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. “You know what—why do they even send you both you're Special-grades?” Before you could question them, Geto chuckled, soft and rich.

“Ignore Satoru; he’s just being clingy. Congratulations on your first solo mission.” Pride swelled in your chest at his acknowledgment. You happily kicked your feet faster as Geto reached over, ruffling your hair. “Just promise to be careful, and if you need any help, please know we’re but a phone call away.”

“Thank you.” The condescending tone of your voice has Satoru clenching his jaw. “I’ll get this mission done so fast, you won't even notice I’m gone!”

Geto pulled his hand back, nodding, dark hair swaying as you slid off the seal. “Be safe; we’ll see you at home.”

“I will! See you both later!”

Geto smiled, waving until the door shut, and he could no longer hear your footsteps down the hall. The instant he was confident that you weren't around, his smile fell, eyes narrowed at the door. Gojo was fuming, pulling his blindfold down, letting it pool around his neck. Between the two men, their anger could freeze Hell over.

“This is problematic.” Geto rubbed at the pulsing sensation in his temple.

“Problematic? No, this is a disaster if she gets through this mission, which we know she will! She's going to get more solo missions. Solo missions turn into group missions, with other sorcerers, other men.”

“And we can't have that. No one is good enough to protect her, let alone breathe the same air.”

Gojo sat on the edge of the desk, watching as his best friend tapped his thumb against the center of his forehead. Between the two of them, they would find a way to fix this sticky situation. Their solution had to be clean. They couldn’t have you finding out that they were the ones responsible for your lack of solo missions. The two pulled strings to ensure you were always with them.

Some might call them possessive and obsessive. But they didn't see it like that. They just knew no one on the face of the planet would ever be good enough for you. You were their darling little princess. The keywords are theirs and theirs alone.

“We could tell Yaga to pull her off, tell a white lie like maybe she changed her mind.”

“No, no, that would look suspicious. She went through all the trouble, convincing him to let her go alone. After all that, for us to ask that, she would start asking questions. We can’t have her knowing we’re responsible for her lack of solo missions.”

“Okay, do you have any ideas?” When Geto said nothing, Gojo sighed, exasperated, feeling Geto’s eyes on him. “It would be easier if we showed her how ‘dangerous’ these solo missions can be.”

A lightbulb went off in Geto’s mind. “Satoru~” he purred, “that’s a brilliant idea.” The other man furrowed crisp white brows in confusion. “She thinks it’s just a handful of curses, right?”

“Yeah?”

“It would be a shame if there were more curses than she could handle,” Geto smirked, specks of black forming behind his shoulder, his curses coming to life, revealing his intentions.

Satoru grinned wide with a sharp laugh. “That truly would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Poor sweetheart will have to call us to help.” Geto nodded, motioning for Satoru to follow.

“Come on, we got shit to do.”

Later that night, you were scrambling off the ground, wincing as the fifteen curses chased you around the corner of the abandoned building. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You screamed, palms bleeding, knees scraped up as you stumbled back to your feet, barely avoiding the sharp teeth of the curse behind you.

This was supposed to be a simple job! One where there would be maybe two or three curses to take out! Three were okay! You were able to handle that on your own. But after you took them out, you suddenly found yourself surrounded by dozens of curses. All of them ranged from different grades, from four to two, but a couple gave off a darker presence, possibly special grades, which was not good.

How the hell did three curses turn into three dozen?! How could the intel be so off?! And how the hell were you going to get out of this?!

A low snarling snapped you out of your frantic thoughts before the curse in front of you swiped at your stomach with very long and very sharp claws. You dodged, falling back onto the ground, watching it close in on you. This was not good, not in the slightest, and it didn’t help that you were all alone!

Scrambling back, you pushed yourself off the ground, ducking into a room, slamming the door. “Goddamn, fuck me.” Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you called the two strongest men of the modern age. Sure, there was a one hundred and fifty percent chance they'd boast about how they were right, how you needed to listen to them, but that didn’t matter right now! “Pick up! Pick up, pick up!”

The phone rang and rang and rang. Just when you thought it would go to voicemail, the line clicked. Gojo yawned on the other line without a care in the world. “Hello~?” He cooed, listening to the raspy breathing.

“Satoru!” You gulped down breaths of air. “Toru, I need help!” You screamed as a curse slammed against the door.

Gojo covered the receiver, snickering as Geto eyed the building you were in. “What was that? You need our help?”

“Yes!” you cried out, “Satoru! Please help!!”

“Are you sure? I mean, I am considered a Special Grade; low-grade curses are something I shouldn’t worry about, right?”

Geto’s curse smashed through the door, dashing at you. He swore he could hear your scream through Satoru’s phone. His poor princess is getting chased around by his curses. This could have been easily avoided if you didn’t insist on taking on this mission alone. Unfortunately for you, the choices you made led to this outcome.

Your heart was hammering against your rib cage as you slipped and maneuvered around the curses slowly surrounding you. This was way out of your league, and you were beginning to regret now bringing one of the boys with you. Plus, Satoru wouldn’t drop everything and come running to your rescue, not after everything you’d said earlier.

“Toru, please.” Pleading was something you rarely did, but Satoru’s ego had been bruised, so you had to do what needed to be done. “Please, I'm begging you.”

Both Gojo and Geto exchanged a look with each other. “You beg so nicely,” Satoru commented, listening to a loud crashing sound followed by your curse. “I suppose I could come, maybe bring Suguru too.”

“Y-Yes! Yes, please!”

“On one condition.”

Despite the fact dozens of curses were chasing you, you stopped dead in your tracks. “Condition?! What fuckin’ condition?!”

“You never take a solo mission again.”

After this endeavor, he didn’t even have to ask you to do that. “Y-Yes! I agree. Just fucking hurry!” In the blink of an eye, the tall white-haired man teleported before you with Geto by his side. The curse that had been charging at you slammed hard against Gojo’s infinity before being forced back as the white-haired man stepped forward.

You fell to your knees, panting heavily as Geto peered down at you from over his shoulder. “Are you alright?” You just nodded your head, glancing down at your bleeding hands. “You don’t look alright.” You could smell the woodsy musk

as Geto knelt in front of you. “Give me.” He gently grabbed your hand, examining the scraps on the heels of your hand.

”Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Gojo chastised as he grabbed you and Geo, teleporting the three of you back to their apartment. “Guess your first solo mission didn’t quite go as well as you planned now, did it?”

There was no retort or sharp comeback because he was right. Even if the intel had been wrong, you couldn't handle this mission on your own. You had failed after you insisted that you could handle this mission without any hiccups. Now, that confidence was replaced with shame and disbelief. You had to call on your colleagues for assistance. After they warned you that this is something you wouldn’t be able to handle.

The two men who had orchestrated this scheme watched you with unreadable expressions—on the outside, their demeanor seemed unnerved, while on the inside, they were swelling with pride and excitement. Seeing you so distraught and broken had their pants tightening at the almost broken, blank look in your eyes.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” Suguru announced, lifting you and ushering you towards the bathroom. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about. You’re not the only sorcerer who isn't capable of handling three dozen cursed spirits on their own. Not everyone is as strong as Satoru and I.”

Suguru moves to the shower, turning it on as you remain still, the events of the evening replaying over in your mind. “Suguru’s right. Not everyone would have handled a situation like that. You should be grateful, though. You’re lucky enough to have us willing to come to your beck and call.” Satoru is moving in front of you, holding your hands over the sink, running hot water over the wounds. “If we hadn’t shown up when we did, you could have died.” The truth of his words had your head jerking up, meeting crystalline eyes.

“I-I could have died.” The monotone repetition of his own words had Satoru’s cock throbbing at the broken throaty words that left your mouth.

“You could have.” He agreed, pressing his lips against your neck. “But you didn’t because we saved you.”

“I-I know.” You whispered as Geto joined your side. “You saved me.”

Hands, hot and rough, ran over the mounds of your breasts, gripping your hips, manhandling you in ways they had done in the past. There had been nights when the three of you had been so bored you just decided to hook up or when they just needed a little stress relief. This time, however, felt monumentally different. Like they were holding their breath, holding themselves back. Their stoic bodies jittered with anticipation, waiting to see what happened next.

To you, it was them being pent up, maybe the adrenaline rushing through their systems. Because if you were being honest with yourself, you felt just as pent up. Almost dying had you wanting to cave into your raw human desires. While the men standing on either side of you shared one of their infamous knowing glances. They weren’t driven by the adrenaline and passion of what had happened. Not in the slightest. No, their desire was driven by pure, unfiltered joy.

They finally had you right where they wanted you. Broken. You had lost a fight you knew you could have won. Due to them, your confidence in your abilities was clouded by a fabricated series of events.

First, you’d be broken, not taking missions alone any further. The next phase would be to distance you from the school slowly. Trying to convince you that you didn’t need to worry about working, the two made more than enough money to provide for the three of you. If all went according to plan, you would be their perfect little live-in girlfriend in no time.

What made all of this ten times better was the fact that you had no idea tonight's events had left you in their web of lust and desire. They were the spiders, and you were the poor innocent fly—a fly about to be devoured in the most primal ways imagined.

“Thank you for saving me.”

”Nu-uh.”

“We did save you, so you need to thank us properly.”

The men pressed lips against you, hands trailing over your body. You melted against them, gasping as hands cupped your breasts, hard cocks rubbing against your hips as they ground against you. They did save you, didn’t they? They went above and beyond to stop what they were doing and come to your aid.

“Y-Yeah, I think I will.” You whispered, turning to kiss each man on the mouth before sinking to your knees. “Please, let me thank you.”

Two thick long cock were suddenly in your face, throbbing and leaking pre-cum from angry, flushed tips. Seeing as your hands were scrapped up and ran, you took turns sucking and licking each man's cock, while they jerked off. Your tongue flicked, swirled, and lapped the two cocks, until their cum spurted over your face coating your lips and cheeks. Your appreciation didn’t stop there. You pulled both fully clothed men into the shower with you, tugging their clothes off and discarding them over the shower door.

Satoru and Suguru both help you, lifting you, your legs wrapping around Satoru’s waist as Geto’s wet, chiseled chest pressed firmly over your back. Both cock’s teased your wet cunt’s entrance, rubbing over against each other as you whined softly, tilting your head back. Their cocks both pressed past the tight opening of your pussy, stretching your walls in a painful yet pleasurable way, leaving your cock drunk the deeper they sunk into your wet heat.

A minute was all they allowed you to take to attempt to adjust yourself to the sensation of having two cocks buried inside of you. They were bullying inside of you. Satoru’s cock kissed your cervix with each thrust, While Suguru rubbed against your g-spot in the most heavenly way. Perhaps if you had been a good girl and just left everything as it was, they would have taken it easier on you. Regretfully, in their eyes, you had almost ruined their carefully constructed ploy to make you theirs in every sense of the word. Due to that, you were going to be punished severely.

Their thrusts were hard, deep, and almost painful. Fucking into you as if you were just a sex toy rather than a human being. Satoru’s teeth dug painfully into your shoulder, leaving indentations in his wake. Suguru’s mouth trailed kissed over the nap of your neck, mouth gentler than Satoru but his hands were as cruel as the white-haired man's. He pinched and pulled at your nipples, yanking them until you cried out his name before releasing his grip. The relief never lasted long; as soon as the dull, stinging sensation subsided, Suguru returned to the painful teasing.

The kisses, touch, and thrusts weren’t the only way they were mean to you. Their words stung just as bad as the scrapes on your hands and the abrasions to your knees. If you hadn’t been crying from the mere overstimulation of pained pleasure, their words might have had your eyes watering just as much.

”Our stupid dirty slut, getting herself into such a fucked up me.”

”Yes, dragging us both out to save her.”

“Then, on top of everything we did. Going out of our way to save her after she blatantly told us she was fine, she still gets fucked good like the whore that she is.”

”Yeah, she might not be able to take on a cursed spirit, but she’s sure good at taking two dicks at the same time.”

Their words had your skin flushing in shame and need, your mouth dropping into an ‘O’ as the abdomen in your lower abdomen started to tighten. “Oooh, fuk, please, ha—ah fuuck.” You were so close, so damn close to either passing out or having the most intense orgasm of your life. If you were lucky, which didn’t seem likely after all the mishaps today, maybe, just maybe, you could experience both. “G-Gonna cum, please.”

”You hear that Satoru, our little cock slut wants to cum.”

Satoru’s hips began to jerk faster, the head of his cock slamming into your cervix thrust after thrust. “Does she even deserve it?” He continued, leaving pain over your skin, his tongue brushing over the marks.

“P-Please, oooh god, please don’t tease”

“Hm, what do you say, Suguru? Nngh fuck—“ Satoru hammered his hips into you, thrust after thrust, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. “Should our precious girl cum?”

“Aaahh yes~ let her cum, make her take both our loads, then once she catches her breath, we fuck her even more.”

Reaching between your bodies, Satoru rubbed your clit, making your walls twitch around the two monster cocks inside of you. Their pace matches the others, working in harmony to send you over the edge. A scream, one that had never left you before, echoes inside the steamy shower. “C-Cummin! Cumming!” You screamed over and over until both of you stiffened, ropes of thick hot cum filling you.

“Take it bitch, take every last drop, milk me dry.” Satoru was always more vocal, nipping and sucking at your ear as his whiny groans invaded your mind.

“P-Princess, mmmhm, fuuuck.” Unlike Satoru, who was all about talking and heaving his voice, Suguru was softer, moans deep and feral, but he didn’t feel the need to announce it to the entire apartment complex. “Fillin’ you up so good~”

They both did; their hot cum leaked out of you, running down their softening shafts. In the shower, you hummed, listening to the tittering splatter in the water washing over you. The peaceful moment lasted for but a second as both men pressed kisses on your shoulder.

“You belong to us.”

“Do you understand?”

As their wandering hand dug into your skin, you nodded. Rocking slightly against them with a helpless whine. “Yes, yeah, I belong to you both!” The two friends shared a cold, knowing smirk as you began thrusting into you harder, making your eyes roll back into your head as loud moans wrecked through you. Little did you know how serious they both were.

You belonged to them in every way, shape, and form, whether you liked it or not.

[hueseok]

can’t stop thinking about husband!yoongi who also happens to be a ceo, the very reason why he has the ability to spoil you rotten whenever he wants to.

“yoongi, come on!” you call out to your husband, seeing him still sitting on a chair while you’ve been here in the pool for a considerably long time now, expecting that he was going to join you shortly after like he said earlier.

however, it’s been roughly ten minutes now and he’s stuck there on his patio chair, scrolling through his phone and enjoying the bottle of wine he opened before you dipped yourself in the water.

“i change my mind,” he says, a bit sheepish. “the water looks cold, babe. i don’t think i want to.”

you roll your eyes, swimming closer to him. “then why did you even book us a suite with a private pool?”

“because i know you’d love it.” he smiles. “and also because i was expecting we’d swim in the daytime.”

“what’s the fun in that?”

“uh, perhaps, feeling fresh and cool and—”

“babe,” you cut him off, leaning now on the edge of the pool, “just join me.”

“yes, ma’am.”

you laugh as you see him hesitantly standing up and taking his shirt off, soon going to the steps of the pool where it leads him deeper and where you’re already waiting for him as well.

yoongi childishly holds out his hand to you, which you take with a laugh, helping him to fully sink himself in the water.

“fuck, it’s cold,” he says with a grimace and a shiver, something that makes you grin, immediately putting your arms on his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist once he goes closer.

“you’re so dramatic.”

“it is, though. look, i have goosebumps.” he raises his arm and you glance at it, snorting.

“okay, point proven, big baby.”

yoongi looks at you and breaks off into a big smile, chuckling and encircling his arms on your waist, giving your lips a quick kiss.

“enjoying this trip so far?”

“yup.” you nod.

“good.”

the both of you kiss again, this time much longer now, with yoongi angling his face to the side so he can do it better, one hand resting on your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing against it.

you can feel your heartbeat escalating at just the feel of him this near, your skin touching and bringing a little warmth in the cold water. it makes yoongi think that he should have just done this much earlier rather than prolonging it from happening because of his laziness at the thought of taking a shower after this.

“thanks for bringing me here,” you murmur against his mouth, your own curving up in a smile. “i never thought we’d actually go overseas for our anniversary.”

“it’s not like we haven’t done it before.” his hold on you tightens as you place little kisses on his jaw down to his neck, eventually settling on leaning your head on his shoulder. “besides, i think i need to make up for the fact i forgot last year’s anniversary.”

you laugh at the memory. “it’s okay. you already told me that you forgot it because our wedding date and the day we started dating confused you. plus, you took me to that restaurant i love.”

“still though… the first year is supposed to be memorable.”

“no, it isn’t. the first year’s supposed to be the hardest.” you pull back to smile at him. “so, you get a pass.”

“thank god,” he jokes and chuckles, you doing the same.

“but seriously, yoon,” you play with the hair on the back of his head, gazing at his eyes, “thank you. you always go ahead of yourself just to do things for me—to make me happy, you know?”

“why are you thanking me? it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

“no. you could have been a shitty boyfriend, and then a shitty husband but... you’re just the best. you’ve given me everything i could possibly want and been the man i needed. i’m so lucky to have you.”

yoongi gazes at you in absolute awe, that amazing feeling again spreading in his chest and making him feel all giddy and happy.

he wasn’t lying when he said that thanking him wasn’t needed, but the acknowledgement and the appreciation you’re showing surely makes him pleased, heart getting bigger because of it.

“you’re drunk, aren’t you?” he nevertheless asks though, teasing and taking the opportunity of you being lovey-dovey, that you hit his bare chest without hesitation.

“i’m serious,” you whine.

“i know, baby, which makes me glad. but it’s only what you deserve, okay? the reason why i’m doing this, i mean. you’ve been there for me too—when i was in the worst place, when the company almost went bankrupt… you were the one who picked me up to my feet, loved me unconditionally. so… let’s be real. i’m the real lucky one here.”

you smirk, fondly staring at every feature he has on his face, smiling wide. “are we just going to start saying our vows again?”

he snorts. “says the woman who started being sappy.”

“do you want me to apologize for letting my husband know i love him?”

“no,” he shakes his head, not helping himself as he leans closer to you so that he can place his lips over yours again, “i love it when you say that you love me.”

“and i really do, you know. i’ll never get tired saying how much i love you so much,” you agree almost immediately, melting into the kiss again.

he hums contently, caressing your sides. “i love you too, baby. you’re the reason why i thank the heavens for being alive every single day.”

under the stars and the moon that night, until the moment the two of you decide to take that intimate moment right there inside, it feels like a second honeymoon with yoongi.

you know he’s a busy man, a workaholic—and yet the fact that he can spare this much time for you to make you feel loved on the very same day you got married, makes you think all over again how fortunate you are to be with someone like him who works hard for you both but never forgets to cherish you.

[honeyhotteoks]

yunho's fromm messages this morning.......... (and some extended thoughts on this man and his very obvious dom vibes, we've got a brand here at honeyhotteoks and i need to talk about it again before i die)

the messages in question:

🐶: yes, yes, you're such a greedy one (a little selfish one) 🐶: be mine, you're mine. 🐶: yes, yes, i'm yours.

transl credit to @/jyhcomfort on twt, i know there's a few alternate translations floating around that say "i'm greedy" or "i'm a greedy one" / one of my friends said via context it makes more sense to be "i'm greedy" but for delulu purposes..... either way..... my feelings are the same under the cut

cw: nsfw discussions about dom/sub dynamics and various connected kinks. as always, i am not being so delulu about this that i actually think i know him. this is all fun and speculation and at this point he's just my muse for the romance novel version of him. okay.....

i tweeted the below the other day (video link here) but like seriously he just keeps proving me right and i have thoughts i gotta get off my chest before i combust.

so i've just been thinking about this whole thing since someone on twitter made a little joke about him being a bitchless kpop idol, which like... i know people got upset, but i'm sure that was just a joke, and that's not really what this is about i've been seriously cooking on the duality of this man for the past few days and have things to say.

first of all...... i've talked about this a million times, but when i say this man is a dom what i mean is that he has the potential for all this stuff, i have no idea what he's actually doing in his private life. he could literally be waiting for marriage for all i know, but i do think you can tell in someone's personality who would kind of be good at something 'naturally' if they got into it / went that direction.

something yunho's been doing a lot recently is showing more of himself physically / showing more skin / being a little more suggestive overtly in his content which is something pretty new for him. he's always been hot and has been sexy on stage, but as far as his personal content, this is pretty new for him. this to me is classic like.... he's gained confidence in the past few years, gotten into his mid twenties where you start to get a little more self assured with your own body or expressions of sexuality, etc. BUT the way that he's sharing this content i think is interesting and indicates to me that he knows what kind of reaction this is going to get from his fans, and he enjoys it.

he's been burying sexier pictures within his ig albums as not the first picture, with the first one being a little cute or just regular idol style pics. prime examples below --

in both of these cases, these are the "sexy shot" but he puts them in the middle of the albums. then when fans freak out or ask him about it on live/fromm his responses are usually something along the lines of "ohhh it wasn't too much was it? ah, no ofc i'll keep it just to that" etc. it would not surprise me in the least if he enjoyed the thought that we're all losing our shit when we swipe to these pics / our reactions online after not only give him a bunch of compliments but shows how riled up we are. that is CLASSIC dom behavior.

in a sexual context, this might look something like..... a dom casually touching or implying sex to their submissive over the course of a day but not really acknowledging it / playing off their submissive's reactions as cute/funny or in a meaner context, ignoring it all together. at the end of all that teasing though is the dom in control and verbally messing with their sub while finally, finally delivering the pleasure they were hinting at. this is something i am so positive yunho would excel at with the right partner.

that combined with the way he talks to hotteoks in fromm really gives the impression that he knows they enjoy being teased, and i truly don't think he would act like that if he didn't like it. he's been in the idol game long enough, if he wanted to set different boundaries or speak to his fans differently, he absolutely could. meanwhile he's out here playing straight into the delulu trends with birthday lockets and wedding flowers and boyfriend-y pics all the time on ig. not to mention the zayn song.... like he knows what he's doing.

he often teases hotteoks about being so flustered over him, plays into how 'jealous' he can be, and overall just leans in hard to d/s dynamics in a way that tells me it's quite natural for him. even just how often he says things like 'you're mine' / 'i'm yours' / 'you know you're mine right?' / 'yes you belong to me' etc. in his fromms just reads completely as a dominant establishing and reinforcing those ownership dynamics.

when it comes to other parts of his personality, i've talked about that at length in other posts (eye contact, natural leadership, body language, active listening, etc.) but i've really noticed a shift in him recently and can't get it off my mind.

on top of that, there have been a few moments on stage or with other members lately that really ring dominance. i'm very specifically thinking of the way he interacts with mingi and wooyoung, which i've written about before, but...... he's consistently holding eye contact with them lately, teasing them in ways that are platonic yes, but also just part of that natural part of him that wants to mess with someone who will break. like.... did yunho have to hold wooyoung's jaw while they were kneeling during halazia? probably not, but he did it. and the smile afterwards when wooyoung got a little flustered was clear satisfaction with the reaction he got.

generally i think there's an impression that some people have that because yunho's so "nice" or so goofy/dorky/sweet/thoughtful/bashful etc., that means he doesn't have as much rizz or like wouldn't be into dynamics like this or harder kinks. i have to say..... that to me always reads like inexperience, with men potentially, maybe sex, and/or these dynamics in particular. in my experience, it's often the sweet guys who can switch it up in bed, and i would even say they often make better/safer doms because they are caring/considerate/attentive to their partner's comfort and pleasure, not just their own or if they're being perceived as sexy. it's not a hard rule of course, everyone's different, but i'm just saying, yunho being a nice guy doesn't mean he couldn't or wouldn't enjoy teasing the fuck out of his partner.

all of this is to say........................ if hasn't figured out his dom potential yet, i sincerely hope he does because i think it's such an obvious fit for him.

[lucyandthepen]

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.”

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Age Difference with Logan Howlett

A/N: I hope this satisfies both the age difference and the bratting for this request. It’s not mentioned in the fic, but I wrote the Reader to be in his twenties or so.

ALSO!!! This fic is dedicated to the wonderful anon who sent me such a nice ask the other day. Thank you for your words; they were deeply appreciated. Also, bc it wouldn’t be here without them, this is dedicated to the anon who requested it. I hope it fits what you were wanting <3

Written for an ftm!Reader

Link to masterlist here

CW: bratting; implied age difference (Reader is younger than Logan); language; explicit sexual content; smut; mentioned spanking; Reader’s arousal is called slick; Logan carries Reader; Reader is called devil, pretty boy, and good boy; spanking; errrr Logan smacks Reader’s parts; Reader’s parts are called dick and hole; mentioned crying; slight fingering; Logan tastes Reader’s slick; unprotected penetrative sex; rough sex; missionary position, I think?; implied multiple rounds; implied cum eating; implied cunnilingus; no mentioned aftercare

1829 words

It starts as all your great plans do. By impulse and a touch of chaos.

“Hey. Can you get me a beer since you’re in the kitchen?”

You don’t even look up at the sound of Logan’s voice. You know he’s talking to you, but you make him say it again before glancing over at him. “Hmm? You want what?”

His eyes narrow. You know he can tell you’re up to something. “A beer. Please.”

You almost do it. Just for the addition of the please. But the chaos in you wins out. You turn away again. “Do it yourself.”

Then, just to add fuel to the fire, you add, “Old man.”

Silence. You revel in it. It’s not everyday you can get him like this.

After a few moments of you continuing to not get the beer, he stands up and gets it himself. Muttering, “Fucking brat,” on his way back.

You know you’ve gotten off lightly, but that’s not what you were wanting. No, you want to see him all riled up and pissed off. He always fucks you rough on those days.

You do it again on a mission.

“Hey, kid, can you pass me the—“

“No.” You hate it when he calls you kid. It makes you feel small. A little too young. And he usually remembers that.

“Please, can I have the—“

“Nope. Go fetch, old man.”

You can feel how much he wants to spank you. Smack you across the ass and growl out that you need to behave.

But you’re around others, so he just grunts angrily and goes to get it himself.

The final blow is when he’s in the mansion garage. It’s late. Everyone’s in bed except for him. And you, but only because you spent way too long waiting for him and now you’re pissed enough to go find him.

You lean against his workbench, watching him intently. You know he knows you’re there, but he only acknowledges you with a grunt.

Then, “Pass me that tool, will you?”

You know which tool he’s talking about. It’s literally right next to you. But you hold his gaze as you speak. “No. Get it yourself, old man.”

His jaw clenches. After a moment, he steps back from his motorcycle and brushes off his jeans. He turns to face you, gaze dark and unyielding. “You know, I’m getting real sick of your fucking attitude.”

His tone sends a thrill down your spine. All dark and growly and low. You’re not surprised to feel slick gathering in your boxers.

But he pauses. Sniffs the air. When he refocuses on you, his gaze is hungry. “So, this is a game to you, huh? You’re being a brat on purpose.”

You cross your arms, still holding his gaze. “And what if I am? We both know you can’t handle me, old— Fuck!”

He scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder with ease. You squirm; half in discomfort, half because it’s so fucking hot. You know he knows, but still you protest. “Logan, put me down! I’m not a fucking kid!”

“You sure act like one,” he snarls back, striding purposefully through the dark halls. His hand coming up to grip your ass. “Sassing me and giving me that crap attitude. Can’t even act your fucking age for once. Gotta make me do all the goddamn work.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know exactly what you meant, you little devil.” His fingers dig into your ass, a subtle warning. “You meant to have some good old fun with me, didn’t you? Maybe get me all riled up so I’ll fuck you all nice and angry like.”

You keep your mouth shut this time. He knows you a little too well.

At your lack of an answer, he spanks your ass. Hard. You yelp and squirm, not expecting the blow at all. “Logan!”

“I asked you a question. Answer it.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s what I was doing!” You whimper a little. Maybe if he wasn’t carrying you, you’d give him more attitude. But in this position? You’re practically defenseless.

Not to mention, the puddle of slick in your boxers is getting uncomfortable with your pants on.

So you keep quiet, letting him carry you without issue to his room. As you pass, you’ve never been more grateful that Logan’s room is the furthest in the mansion. You can be as loud as you want without disturbing too many of the teachers.

Some of them will just have to suffer.

Logan opens the door to his room and enters. Shutting it behind him.

“You little motherfucker,” he growls, tossing you on the bed. “Strip. Now.”

You scramble to obey before you even realize you’re doing it. Pushing your pants halfway down your legs before it occurs to you to argue.

He can sense your hesitation. He lets out a low growl, eyes narrowing. You resume taking off your pants.

“That’s a good boy.”

A part of you preens at the praise. The other part wants to snark back. You just pull off your shirt and keep quiet.

Your boxers are sticky with slick. Sticky and uncomfortable. You need them off, and soon. You don’t know if you can go another moment without Logan touching you in some way.

As if on cue, Logan reaches over and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your boxers. He yanks them down, making you squirm from the sudden rush of cool air against your sensitive body.

“Logan… don’t be—“ You stop. Now is not the time for whining, especially not with that look in his eyes.

“Don’t be what?” His voice is low, a dangerous challenge. “Don’t be what, pretty boy?”

You squirm and fight back a whimper as he forces your legs up and apart. Pressing your knees to either side of your chest. Exposing you to him.

When you don’t answer, his hand comes down. Hard, right on your aching parts. You yelp, words bubbling out of you. “I was gonna say don’t be mean! But— Then I remembered—“

“You want me to be mean.” He growls, low and deep. “Fucking greedy little thing. You’re never satiated, are you? Always whining and begging after me for more.”

His hand comes down again, the wet slick coating your thighs only making the sound worse. You jolt this time, blinking back prickles behind your eyes. You know he’s trying to get you to cry. But you’re not going to give it to him so easily.

Even if you really, really want to.

His fingers swipe along you, gathering up your slick and circling around your throbbing dick. You shudder at the pleasure, whimpering softly. It feels so good after the pain.

He pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking the slick from them. He groans softly, eyes darkening at the flavor. “You taste delicious. If you weren’t so damn bratty, I’d consider feasting on you. But you had to go and be a little bastard.”

His hands move to his belt, unbuckling it and letting his pants drop to his ankles. He steps out of them, stripping out of his boxers as well.

Your mouth waters. He’s already hard, so thick and long you can practically feel him in your guts already. You wanna suck him off so bad. Make him see you could be a good boy.

But the desire for him to fuck you is even stronger.

“Please, Logan,” you whisper.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

He smirks. “Since you asked so nicely…”

He lines himself up, leaning over you. He pins your hands down, gripping your wrists firmly in one hand. “I’m going to fuck the brat right out of you. And if it doesn’t work the first time, I’ll do it again and again until you’re too cockdumb to argue.”

The threat sends a thrill down your spine. You open your mouth to say something snarky, but he pushes in. Slowly working his cock deeper and deeper into you. Splitting you open.

Your words die on your tongue, replaced by a whiny moan. You clench hard around him, making him growl and dig the fingers of his free hand into your hip.

“That’s— fuck— much better.” He grunts, slowly rolling his hips to push his cock further into your leaking hole. “God, I love the sounds you make. So desperate and needy.”

“Fuck, ahhh! Logan!” You clasp your hands together, squeezing tightly as your body takes him. It feels like heaven; being split open until you feel like you can’t possibly take any more.

He finally bottoms out, allowing you a moment to adjust to his size. Then he pulls out and slams back in, making you arch and babble. He does this a few more times; slow, strong thrusts that split you apart and go so deep you swear his dick must be reaching your stomach.

Then he picks up the pace, and your mind turns to mush. You can’t think, can’t moan, can’t do anything but babble out cries of his name. You’re arching, writhing, squirming desperately to be able to hold onto him.

But he keeps your hands pinned firmly down. Speeding up until he’s fucking you roughly. Like you’re nothing but a thing for him to use.

“That’s my good fucking boy,” he snarls out. “Taking me so well.”

You can feel your orgasm mounting. Building and rising until you’re begging, pleading, and finally sobbing for him to let you cum. You know better than to cum without permission, especially when he’s all riled up like this.

“Cum for me, you little brat. Cum for me like a good boy.”

You clamp down on him, squeezing him as your orgasm hits. You arch and cry out, your vision going fuzzy.

A moment later, you relax into a puddle. Melting into the sheets as he continues to fuck you. Making you whine softly from the shocks of pleasure and warmth seeping through you.

With one last big thrust and a snarl of your name, Logan pulls out, cumming all over your dick and hole. He pants, releasing your wrists to drag a hand down his face. “Fuck.”

He sounds out of breath, but his eyes smolder with embers of heat. “You did good.”

You give him a lazy grin, stretching a bit. “Wanna clean me up? Or am I still too much of a brat for that?”

He huffs, a low growl in his tone. “Oh, I’ll clean you up alright. I’m making good on my promise. I’m fucking that attitude right on out of you.”

For a moment, you’re sure he has to be joking. You’re already weak from the strength of your first orgasm. He’s not really gonna make you go again, right?

But as he moves to lay between your legs, a couple things become clear. One, you’re in for a long, long night.

And two? He looks way too good between your legs.

[halfadiamond]

You Think It’s Love- Part 1

Poly TF141 x Reader

Based off this <- *edit: the angst scenario*

Masterlist

You think it’s a simple acquaintance when you meet him at the grocery store. He was kind enough to grab something off the top shelf for you. You thank him and he introduces himself as Kyle.

You couldn’t deny that Kyle wasn’t a good looking man. He looked handsome even when he was just wearing casual clothing, but you choose not to acknowledge this to him and you both go on your way.

It becomes a simple friendship when you meet Kyle again at the grocery store even at the same aisle that you guys first met, you notice that his cart seems quite full in comparison to your cart that only has some food and other items that you needed to grab. You want to be nosy and ask why buy so much but you choose not to and give him a simple greeting. You notice how Kyle looks at his groceries with a slight annoyance, perhaps he’s calculating how much this is going to cost him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. Groceries aren’t cheap especially if they fill up a cart, so you offer a suggestion.

“There’s another store not far from here that sells produce cheaper.”

Kyle looks at you, and gives you a friendly smile as he admits that he’s new to town here so he’s not quite familiar with the places. You’re not sure how but you two end up conversing instead of shopping, you learn more about Kyle such as he’s in the military and that he chose to move here because the town seems small and quaint. You agree with him and before you know it, you guys exchange phone numbers and promise to keep in touch.

It becomes a simple crush when you and Kyle begin meeting up regularly. You show him around town and he seems to make a mental note of everything. You guys go to eat at a restaurant and you realize how it looks to be like a date, but you quickly brush those ideas away. You were still right that he’s incredibly good looking and he has a great personality to go along with it. He’s funny but kind. He definitely knows how to talk with people as you find yourself becoming increasingly comfortable with him.

It’s when you guys are about to go your separate ways that you decide to ask him a question.

“If you’re not seeing anyone… maybe we can go out on a date?”

You expect him to either accept or reject you. But you’re left standing there in confusion and hurt as he laughs, it’s time like this where you wish you were a witch so that you could turn him into a frog. You feel tears coming to eyes and as you turn away to leave, you feel Kyle grab your arm as he wipes the tears from his face.

“I’m sorry love. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that I am taken.”

He takes a few seconds to think about what to say.

“I got a boyfriend well the correct term is… I got boyfriends.”

Excuse me? You stare at him confusion. Boyfriends? You could barely get one boyfriend but he’s got multiple. You want to say something but you don’t know what but Kyle continues on.

“Why don’t you come over to my place? You could meet them, they’ve been curious about you.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

You admit meekly but Kyle chuckles and shakes his head.

“You won’t. Trust me. They don’t bite.”

So you agree and set up a time and date.

—

You think it’s different but sometimes different is good as you meet the men.

John is who you meet first, he seems to be the oldest of the men and to be the one who the men listen to the most. But John is a perfect gentlemen, he gives you water and offers snacks, he gives you a friendly smile as he asks questions about you and lets you ask him questions.

You meet Johnny next and he’s definitely the extrovert of the group. He’s chatty but knows how to listen. He manages to shake the nerves out of you by making you laugh as he talks about his days when he was younger.

Lastly, you meet Simon and you were, admittedly, intimidated by his size and how he seems to be more of an observer rather a talker. But he has his own way of worming himself into your heart as he’s the first one to offer to walk you back to your place.

They have their rhythm that works you notice. They each have their own way of showing affection to each other:

You see how Simon grazes his fingers softly on his lovers hands.

You see how John lovingly calls them, love, and looks at each of them as if they hung the moon.

You see how Johnny is always checking out his lovers, you’ve heard that they’ve been dating for a while, so you consider it sweet that Johnny still finds them attractive.

You see how Kyle is always giving his lovers affection. He holds hands with Simon, he gives Johnny a kiss on the forehead, and he stays close to John.

It’s awfully sweet and you find yourself returning often at their wishes and yours where you guys begin to form your own friendship.

—

You’re not sure what to think the day that they ask you if you’d like to be theirs.

You think it’s a joke but the men all seem serious. Kyle is quick to tell you that they’ll respect your decision and that if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with then that’s fine.

You see how hopeful Soap looks as if he’ll melt to the ground if you say no.

You see how John tries to seem confident but his eyes look nervous as he awaits your response.

You see how Simon tries to remain as neutral as possible as to not sway your decision.

You couldn’t deny that you definitely grew to like the men. Even if they never acted inappropriately towards you; they still showed you how much they grew to care for you. Through offerings of cooking your favorite foods, always walking you home, and making sure you’re as comfortable as can be you grew to like them romantically and now you were learning that they felt the same.

As much as you wanted to say yes, you were scared that you would be the outsider to their dynamic. All of you would have to learn what works for them and you and what doesn’t. You’re worried that these men have grown to be so comfortable with each other that they won’t know what to do with a new person joining their relationship.

The men can tell that you’re nervous and as much as they want to try and offer physical reassurance, they don’t want to intrude so Johnny takes the first step.

“What’s on your mind Bonnie?”

You think about lying, saying that you’re just caught off guard but lying does no good so you decide to be honest.

“I’m just worried that you guys are so comfortable with your relationship that you might not be able to fully accept me into your circle.”

You see the little breaths of relief come from them as they take in mind your worries. It’s a common worry amongst those in a poly relationship, so they want to reassure you.

“Love. It might seem awkward at first but we’ll find something that works for all of us. You can speak up whenever you want to and we’ll listen.”

John reassures you and he even offers you a comforting smile as he continues.

“It’s all up to you. We’ll respect your decision. We can give you some privacy to think, just come into the living room when you’ve made your choice.”

And with that, all of the men, except for Simon, leave for the living room. Simon stays for a bit, thinking, before patting your head in his own way to comfort you before he follows after his lovers.

You think for awhile. You’re not sure if this is the right thing to do. You’ve never dated multiple people at once, but you can’t deny that you’ve grew to become close to them. You enjoy their company and they enjoy yours. And if they’re adamant that they’ll listen to you, and work with you to make this work then what’s stopping you from trying it out?

You head into the living after a while and give them a small nod as you agree to be theirs.

Deleted scene: Graves standing there in annoyance because you and Gaz are talking in front of the item that he needs.

Edit: Changed the dividers so it’ll match with masterlist for this series.

[feyascorner]

at the end of the day

summary. you and astarion have your first genuine fight and the other companions try to patch things between the two of you.

warnings. comfort/fluff

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

a/n. have not written an actual one-shot in a while omg,...

Breakfast is eaten in silence. One that's been extending far past its welcome date now.

Shadowheart grips her fork, feeling the flitting glances exchanged amongst the others around the table while she maintains focus on the two individuals sitting on opposite sides of the table. Your eyes remain trained on the bread sitting on your plate and Astarion swirls his chalice aimlessly in his hand, neither of you even acknowledging the presence of the other. The cleric grimaces as you stand suddenly, your chair scraping against the floor as you do so.

"Thanks for the food, Gale," is all you mutter before leaving the room with your plate in hand. Astarion rises from his own chair in an instant, huffing.

"I must take my leave as well."

When both parties have left the room, all five other companions stare at one another in a knowing silence. Lae'zel is the only one who doesn't seem the slightest bothered. Wyll is the one to break the uncomfortable tension in the air, clearing his throat after Lae'zel nearly bites her fork off. "I see they're still amidst their lovers' quarrel."

"What are they even fighting about?" Karlach groans, slumping into her chair with an exasperated groan.

"It was nice the first few days to have a good night's sleep without their incessant noises," Shadowheart grumbles, shoving an egg into her mouth. "But now, this is arguable worse."

"Should we...aid them somehow?" Gale blinks.

Lae'zel snorts. "They're adults, we don't need to coddle them, wizard."

Despite her words, they do find themselves a few hours later in unanimous agreement to do something to ease the unfamiliar dryness of the camp dynamic. It comes in multiple attempts. And to say few---if not all--were unsuccessful, is an understatement.

First, when out in the woods, Gale makes an effort to spark a conversation that would prompt both you and Astarion to join in. You nod occasionally, though lost in thought, while Astarion promptly ignores whatever he's talking about. It's a pathetic attempt that has nobody but himself babbling away, which earns a grunt from Shadowheart. It's enough to shut him up, thankfully.

Second, Karlach uses her uncanny ability to lift someone's spirits. Jokes, dancing, all that jazz. Even booze. She urges you to let loose, but all you do in response is smile at her apologetically while Astarion just glares off into space. Another failed attempt. Lae'zel pats Karlach on the shoulder.

Wyll tells stories of his monster hunting days which you usually take an interest in. Astarion naturally listens to what a monster hunter does when he's not hunting monsters, but that's all it is. You and Astarion only listen. There are quips and lingering questions, but neither of you ever direct it at one another, or bother to add into the conversation either. The sheer amount of teasing questions has Wyll's head spinning by the end of it. Lae'zel rolls her eyes.

Just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, you're ambushed. It's a small horde of goblins---nothing beyond your capabilities, but your companions do take some small scratches here and there. Somehow, though he rarely does, as he prefers staying behind you or Karlach, Astarion does too. And despite his efforts to hide it behind his back, you also didn't miss the cut lining Astarion's arm to his elbow. It's not deep by any means, and if it were your own injury, you'd likely just brush it off.

But it's on his skin, and he'd gotten it when taking a hit from an arrow that should've cut your arm.

Blasted hells, you think, as he shrugs it off. Even when you can clearly see him clenching his jaw to bite away the pain.

If battle won't be the end of you, you're sure your idiot of a boyfriend might be instead.

"Come here, you fool," you mutter, holding out your hand. He doesn't even consider the fact that you're mad at one another and immediately extends his arm to you. Habits, you suppose.

You mumble out a weak scolding as he watches you wrap the wound through his lashes. He shivers as you lather a cool ointment on the cut, hoping it's enough to soothe the pain before Shadowheart's recovered enough to properly heal him. He lifts a pale hand to your face, and for a moment, you think he might pinch you. Instead, he runs a thumb across your cheek, spreading the ointment on a scratch you hadn't even realized was there in the first place.

You meet his eyes, your own softening as he cups his fingertips around your cheek. The way he looks at you is overwhelming sometimes---like you're the only thing he gives a damn about in this world---but it's a welcome feeling when he hasn't even looked you in the eye this way in days now. For a moment, you realize you don't even remember why the two of you were mad at one another in the first place.

A laugh threatens to escape your throat. How childish, truly.

And then he flicks your forehead, unable to help the grin etching onto his lips when you blink in surprise.

"That was for making me sleep by myself for three nights."

You swat at his arm while he dodges each of your lazy attempts to get back at him. And though the two of you continue bickering, unbeknownst to you, you have an audience a good bit away, watching you return to your old ways after making them worry for so long.

"What a sight it is--to see young people in love again," Wyll smiles.

Shadowheart deadpans. "Isn't Astarion nearing 240?"

"Who cares?" Karlach shrugs, slinging her arms on either side of her companions with a toothy beam. "What matters is that they made up...and we didn't even have to help them."