#‘you’ve gotta be a well-liked ‘pretty boy’ to even get SCRAPS’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

byunbaekby · 4 years ago

Text

title — a clouded fate pairing — badboy!mark lee x female reader featuring — lucas wong/wong yukhei, johnny seo, lee taeyong, nakamoto yuta (mentioned), lee donghyuck (mentioned) word count — 17.2k overall warnings — extreme drug use, drug dealing, alcohol use, language, religion, addiction, drug overdose, vomiting, one explicit smut scene smut warnings — fingering, protected sex (stay safe, always!), high sex, corruption kink for like 0.2 seconds, degradation collab — bad boy bingo collab, link here lyrics inspiration — “call it quits, call it destiny.” bruno major, easily ; “gotta stay high all the time, to keep you off my mind.” tove lo, habits writing playlist — link here

author’s message — oh my gosh, it’s finally here! this has been a work in progress basically ever since early summer, when i started writing on this blog. this is one of my favorite pieces i’ve ever written, but not because writing it came easy to me; quite the opposite. i scrapped and rewrote this three times, consulted many people for their opinions because i simply didn’t think that it was good. a few thank you’s: my babe @jensungf for reading the first draft when it was at barely 5k, the lovely @ncteaxhoe for reading it at 7k and also the night i finished it, @taempteng the writing god for proofing it for me, and my amazing @starlit-jeno for getting me through everything. also thank you @legendnct for hosting this collab! it’s finally at a place where i am happy and very very proud of what i’ve written. i hope you all read and enjoy!

—DAY ONE.

The ice cold water thrown over him shocks Mark awake from his post-high sleep.

“What the hell, man?” He exclaims, wiping the water from his face as he sits up in his bed, soaked t-shirt sticking to the curve of his clavicles. His eyes meet the source of the intrusion: his roommate and best friend Lucas, holding a now empty pitcher.

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

Lucas’ passive words only make Mark furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. “Shut the fuck up bitch, I’m awake.”

“Someone’s feisty today.” Lucas retorts, tossing Mark a towel as he swings his legs over the bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he recognizes his best friend’s chastising tone in his diluted ears. “When did you get back last night? What were you doing?”

“Calm down,” Mark groans, the volume of Lucas’ voice beginning to hurt his head. Running a hand through his now wet hair, he responds, “I was smoking with Yuta. Got back around three in the morning.”

“Yuta,” mumbles Lucas. “You know, I don’t like him. You’re always with him, getting high or something. Exams start soon, and you’re not planning to study at all? You’ve been high every day for what, like, the past two weeks?”

This early morning lecture is enough to cause Mark’s irritation to spike. Since when is Lucas so nitpicky? Last time he checked, Lucas enjoys partying just as much as he does. Sometimes, even more than Mark himself. “Fuck, are you my roommate or my mom?”

“I’m your best friend, is what I am. I’m worried about you. All you do is party, get high, and sleep. When was the last time you even ate?” Before Mark can even think back to answer that, Lucas continues, “You’ve been like this since you broke up with Y/N, and—”

Mark cuts him off. “Don’t say her name.”

“You’re hurting, Mark. And this isn’t the right way to handle it.”

“Oh, so you take one psychology course and you think you’re an expert or something,” Mark scoffs.

This seems to stunt his roommate for a second, before he sighs looking down at the image of his best friend sitting on the edge of his bed, gaunt eyes and all. The last time he saw his friend looking so pitiful was when his dad had passed. “I’m just worried about you. You should let me be, sometimes,” replies Lucas quietly.

“I’m an adult,” says Mark, which causes Lucas to scoff and respond, “Then act like one.” Annoyed, Mark stands and instead takes a seat at his desk chair.

The taller male speaks up once again, starting to tear off Mark’s bed sheets that are now wet. “You need to stop. This isn’t good for you. Stop the drugs and tell Johnny you’re done. Study for your finals. Get your act together, stop acting like an idiot, and go get her back.”

When he finishes stripping the sheets and looks up, Mark’s head is in his hands. “It’s not that easy.”

“You love her.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re meant to be together,” Mark finally says as he looks up, voice raised in frustration at both the situation and the fact that his best friend is calling him out for it. “We can’t be together,” he declares. “I’m only going to ruin her. She’s good. I’m bad. She has a future. I don’t. She’s everything I’m not and I can’t mess it up for her. Not after... Not after—” Lucas cuts his friend off, sensing that he’s about to start hyperventilating.

“I know. What happened, you can’t change it. It was your fault. But don’t say you’re not meant to be together. Nothing’s going to change the past. You broke up. But nothing’s going to bring you back together but yourself.”

Mark stares at Lucas with tired, red-rimmed eyes, wondering when his tall goofy friend had grown so much. Has everything around him changed, matured, while he stayed the same?

“How do I do that?” He finally relents.

“Make yourself good enough for her. Start with the drugs. Stop doing them.”

He knows the truth in that statement, but doesn’t want to acknowledge it. It’s a lot easier said than done. With no words to say, Mark stands and starts to walk past his friend toward the bathroom. On the way out, he accidentally kicks his guitar, on the floor propped on the wall. “Fuck,” he curses, looking down at the old wooden thing.

Lucas follows him out as he leaves the room, and Mark steps into the bathroom. Opening the mirror cabinet, he pulls out his prescription bottle which shakes with noise. Silently he pops a pill into his mouth and swallows it with a handful of tap water. It’s probably a bad idea on an empty stomach, but he’ll eat whatever Lucas is making right after.

“That includes the Xanax, Mark!” Lucas’ voice calls from the kitchen.

“Baby steps,” he responds, staring endlessly into the pitiful character watching him in the mirror.

—THE FIRST NIGHT

It isn’t his first party, but it’s his first college party. There’s a big difference.

The scale is larger, the alcohol more plentiful. And more importantly, the shame of being under the influence is nonexistent. His ziploc of kush feels heavy in his pocket, but he knows he’ll feel lighter with its effect later on. School’s only been in session a week, yet Mark’s already decided he likes university more than high school.

He hasn’t smoked yet, but clearly others have, from the haze wafting from room to room. The music is loud, the air is musty, and there’s a cloud of visible smoke surrounding a group of people in the corner. He can smell it now, the familiar scent relaxing him in a new environment.

He’s about to venture out to said group, catching Lucas’ ashy gray hair (a horrible decision, really) sticking out from its inhabitants, but then something catches his eye.

In a room of dark gray smoke and purple LED lights, a white dress catches his attention. He turns his head and, faded by the blurred intensity of the smoke, there you are. Leaning with your back against the wall, alone. You’re not doing much, just standing there in your awkward lonesome looking entirely out of place while swirling the contents of your red cup in your hand. With seemingly no move to drink it, you’re staring blankly into said cup, and Mark stares blankly at you. The white fabric of your dress seems to vividly attract the iridescent purple lights of the party, leaving you to stand out in the massive crowd. Though from the way you stand out from the crowd, it seems that that’s the last thing you want to do; you’d rather blend into the scene.

But you don’t. You’re a beacon of white light in the gray bleakness of the party, and Mark contemplates his next action. He had promised Lucas that he’d be his wingman to try and win over Yuqi. But there’s something about you that pulls him.

Oh well, he muses to himself as he slides across the room toward you. It’s not his fault Lucas needs a wingman to talk to girls, and he doesn’t.

“Hey,” he starts, trying to make himself heard above the music. “You’re staring at that thing like you need a refill.”

At the sound of his voice you look up as though suddenly startled. Then your eyes land on him and Mark’s not entirely sure if he’s sane, but you relax. “No thanks,” you respond politely. “I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Mark glances at his red Solo cup, half filled with some sordid mixture of vodka and Fanta that Doyoung had given him earlier.

“Is that strange?” You ask curiously as he makes move to lean on the wall next to you. Except rather than lean his back to it, he presses his shoulder to the wall to face you.

“A bit.” Mark says as he tilts his head back, pressing the red cup to his lips as he downs the rest of the liquid in his cup.

“Maybe. I’ve learned that there are more people who drink in college than people who don’t… I guess I fall into the second category.” When he finishes his drink, he tosses it over his shoulder.

“Nah,” he says in response. “I don’t really drink either. Only occasionally. I’m already a mess with the weed, imagine how much I’d be if I was an alcoholic.” He nearly expects you to laugh at his lame attempt at being playful, but he’s met with silence. Still, he doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows quirk slightly upward at his words. Right now, dark hair tousled and dark ripped jeans decorating his legs, Mark thinks he looks pretty good. But you don’t seem to be as interested as girls in the past.

“You smoke…” Your words trail and Mark finds himself enraptured by the form of your lips as you talk. His mind flies, but you continue, “How’s that like?”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing, really. Just fun. I have some right now if you want,” he says, patting his jean pocket.

“Oh, no,” you immediately recoil, as if it were preposterous. Immediately your eyes widen and you shake your head at him. “Not-not that people who do it are bad or anything! It’s just… not my thing.”

If you didn’t drink or enjoy any substances, what were you doing here? He asks this aloud.

“My roommate dragged me,” you explain. “We’ve only been living together for a week since the year started but she’s… something else. I’ve seen her smoke more than I’ve seen her study.”

You almost sound scared. This causes a laugh to leave his lips, and yours. He’s finding, in the mere two minutes of conversation you’ve made, that you are very different from the girl he thought you were across the room. You were indeed like your dress that attracted him: bright, pure, and comfortable.

And he wants you.

Your silence brings about Mark’s introduction. “I’m Mark, by the way.” His hand stretches out to you and you stare for a second.

“Y/N.” You place your hand in his, and from the jolt he feels in his heart, the first of its kind, that is the first time that Mark Lee believes in the existence of fate.

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

If someone had told Mark in his freshman year of high school that he would become a drug dealer in college, he would have directed them to his father’s church and told them to pray a bit.

Yes, prior to his entrance to adulthood and the cruel, cruel world, Mark Lee was a church boy. A good boy. He did well in school, dedicated his weekends to church and playing basketball with his boys. Up and down the high school halls, his signature laugh could be heard at any moment he wasn’t in class.

Then the summer before his senior year, Pastor Lee passed from cancer and Mark’s boisterous laughter became a long forgotten sound.

It was two weeks after his dad’s funeral that he met Donghyuck, a boy with shady eyes who offered him some kush. Just want to try it, Mark had tried to reason with his conscience when he took that first hit behind the school. Then he fell into the fatal world of drugs and partying. Lucas had been there since their junior high days, sad to see his friend fall so poorly, and he had forced Mark to get his shit together for graduation that year. Barely.

So yes, he was once the bright eyed boy he always wanted to be, who read the Bible front to back and wouldn’t have known how to roll a joint, but that was fantasy. He wasn’t that anymore. He’s a college student trying to get along with the little money he can make from selling weed and other things. He had first gotten into this when he met Johnny Seo, two years above him who could tell that Mark was struggling to make tuition and rent with a job at McDonald’s. Now Johnny has graduated and Mark is still doing his dirty work for him.

That’s exactly what he’s doing now, standing outside Taeyong’s house a little past 6PM with a pouch of kush in his bag.

It’s easy money, but that never calms his nerves.

Even when the door opens to reveal Taeyong, shirtless and red hair in disarray, Mark doesn’t stop bouncing his foot in worry. His restlessness isn’t lost on Taeyong, who had obviously just woken up. “It’s 6PM,” Mark says, eyebrow raised at his appearance.

“I was up all night working on a track.” Taeyong’s eyes flicker to Mark’s bouncing foot. “You’re bouncier than normal,” he comments as he counts his bills in his hand.

“Haven’t had my fix today.” Mark explains simply as the older male hands over a wad of cash. As he counts it silently, Taeyong points his thumb over his shoulder to his living room.

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

Mark looks up at his offer and sighs inwardly. It would be rather easy to just give in and smoke a bit with someone he trusted, and he wouldn’t even be paying for the weed. He’s tempted. After weeks of being stoned nearly every day, he’s starting to itch for a fix. But Lucas’ gruff voice rings in his mind and he knows that if he gives in, only five hours in, he’ll never be able to live with himself. So for now he does it for Lucas, but maybe in time he’ll see that it was for himself after all.

“I’m good.” Mark nearly shoves the pouch of green into Taeyong’s grasp, wanting to be away from it as soon as possible. The red-haired recipient only blinks.

“You’re giving it up or something?”

“Or something,” mumbles Mark sullenly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“That’s good,” Taeyong declares after a short silence. Mark looks up, meeting Taeyong’s suddenly sincere eyes. “Good for you. I really couldn’t believe that you got into that stuff with Johnny’s crowd anyways.” Mark only shrugs in response. He’d long since stopped deliberating over that. This is his life now. “Still doing music?”

“In name, yeah, I’m still a music major. But I don’t have time to play.” The last time he touched his guitar was this morning when he had kicked it. The last time before that… he doesn’t know if he can’t remember due to a marijuana induced haze or if it’s because it really has been that long.

Taeyong continues. “You know, you don’t have to do this stuff. You’re a talented guy, you’re strong. If you could dedicate yourself to your music like you do to dealing, you wouldn’t need to deal.”

This brings about a sigh from Mark. Who is Taeyong to tell him what to do, anyways? Last time he checked, he was the customer, not Mark. “You all make it sound so easy.”

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

The first time Mark kisses you, it’s cold outside.

He’s walking you back to your sharehouse, down the streets of town, when he asks, “Be honest with me and tell me if that date sucked.”

It’s been a couple weeks since the two of you first met that fated night at Doyoung’s party, and you’ve only now allowed him to take you out on a date. He doesn’t know that it’s your first. Well, in some ways, it’s his also.

Mark’s been on a few dates, sure, but those all ended up with him getting his dick wet in the dark parking lot of a Burger King or something. He’d normally take them out for fast food, and finish with the usual fun stuff in his back seat. This time it’s… different. Not only does he figure that you wouldn’t be down for that type of date, but something in him wants it to be different. The only problem is he doesn’t know how to plan a good date.

He still took you out to get McDonalds’, but instead of retreating to the backseat, he drove the two of you to the movie theatre. It was probably a dumb choice of him in hindsight, deciding to watch an action movie, but something about the way you hid your face into his neck when one of the characters got punched out made him smile.

“No, it wasn’t… bad,” you respond, swinging your interlaced hands. You had surprised him earlier when you had grabbed his hand upon exiting his car, curling your fingers together.

“You’re lying,” he sighs.

“No, I’m not. Really,” you reassure him as the two of you approach the door of your home. After all, how can you have a bad date when you’ve never been on a date before? You have nothing to compare it to. “I had a good time. Actually… it was my first date.”

Mark blinks, having not expected that to be so. A groan leaves his lips as his free hand comes up to run through his hair. “Oh god, and I ruined it.”

“No, no, it was perfect. I wouldn’t change it for anything.” You smile a sickeningly sweet, charming smile at him, and he sighs. You’re too good for a guy like him.

He’s beyond surprised actually—even though you know of his habits, his hobby of wasting time and rolling joints, you haven’t run away like others. And he likes you. A lot. Even though everything tells him that what he does is bad for you, he still wants you. You’re a comfortable presence in his life.

“You know,” you suddenly start. Mark looks up, intrigued. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

He wonders if the surprise on his face is painfully evident. “Really? Like, ever?”

His question is met with a shake of your head, and he blinks. So you’ve never drank or smoked. That, he can believe. But the fact that you’ve never kissed anyone? Sometimes… you shock him with your boldness. Like earlier when you grabbed his hand and at your first meeting when you had asked for his phone number before he could. But in some moments like now, he realizes just how the duality of your personality comes into play.

“Why’s that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, it never really felt right,” you explain as the two of you approach your doorstep. As he escorts you up the steps and to your front door, he furrows his brows deeper. Why were you telling him this?

“Does it feel right, now?” He asks softy, gaze flickering to your interlaced hands as he turns to face you. His hand reaches forward, cupping your cheek, the touch soft despite the callused skin of his hands.

“Yes,” you respond gently, simpering smile on your roseate tiers.

The smile on your face is sweet and pure, two words that Mark isn’t.

A flood of relief shows on Mark’s face, and you bite down on your lower lip as excitement bubbles in your stomach. “Can I kiss you?” A response quickly follows. For some reason he can’t quite figure out, you let him into the maze that is you. Despite the leather jacket, his messy hair, and the lingering smell of weed on his clothes, you want him just as much as he wants you. Even though you both know that he isn’t the type of guy that you normally like, the type of guy that your mother would approve of, you trust him. It’s bewildering to him.

Then he guides you to him. Within seconds his lips are on yours, and you melt into him. It’s surely not Mark’s first kiss but it feels like it. The initial awkwardness, then the heat on his cheeks as you both fall into a rhythm. It feels right, like it was meant to be, just as Mark had hoped.

You’re like the kind of irreplicable drug that Mark has sought after for years. The kind that brings a euphoric high which burns his lungs and twists his stomach, but in all the right ways.

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

The smell filling the kitchen leads Lucas to scrunch his nose in distaste when he exits his room. “Dude, what the hell is that smell?”

His answer lies in the pan on the stove and Mark standing in the kitchen, wielding a wooden spoon. Clad in only basketball shorts, he looks absolutely foreign to the environment. Lucas sighs. “Please tell me you’re not boiling crack right here in our kitchen.”

The face the Korean makes is scandalized. “What—no, what the fuck? It’s mapo tofu. I’d be insane to try and make crack cocaine.” He adds under his breath, “In the apartment.”

Lucas leans back against the counter, cocking an eyebrow. “Then why are you cooking mapo tofu of all things? I haven’t seen you eat anything but ramen and eggs probably since we moved in here. And—put on a shirt if you’re cooking, or an apron at least. You look like a caveman.”

“Well,” sounds Mark with a roll of his eyes at his friend’s expected lecturing. “I had a shirt on, but I spilled some spicy shit on it and took it off. And I,” he pauses, turning off the stove. “I thought we could eat your favorite food together before we head out to Hendery’s party. You know, as a… sorry for being a bitch yesterday apology.”

The taller man narrows his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to make sense of his best friend’s words. “So you… decided to make my favorite food because you felt bad that I had to wake you up and take care of your shit?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Lucas laughs, a deep sound, whilst shaking his head. “Dude, I’ve been doing that since middle school and you’re only apologizing now?”

Mark purses his lips, making a face of annoyance. “Better late than never.”

“I guess. But sorry, I wouldn’t want to eat your mapo tofu anyways. Smells more like my week’s laundry than food. Maybe next time just order from that Chinese place around the corner that I actually like,” advises Lucas.

A pitiful laugh leaves Mark’s lips. “Duly noted.”

“And anyways, I’m not going to Hendery’s party. I have plans.” This causes Mark to finally take a good look at his friend. He’s normally well-dressed, but tonight he looks even better, a little too fancy for the typical college frat party. Before Mark can even question what these other plans are, Lucas explains, “I have a date with—”

“Yuqi,” finishes Mark for him. “Figured.” Lucas grabs his wallet on the counter, nodding before tucking it into his pant pocket. “Is that why you haven’t been partying with us? Or why you’ve suddenly been on this, ‘Mark, sobriety is key’ rant?” Mark questions, lowering his voice to imitate that of his roommate’s. At Lucas’ silence, Mark scoffs. “Dude, your relationship is so fucked up, how many times are you guys going to try to make it work when it doesn’t?”

All that leaves Lucas is a sigh, but Mark continues. “This is what, your third breakup so far? And fourth time trying to make it work?”

“Some things are worth the effort,” replies Lucas easily, slipping on his shoes. As he reaches to tie his laces, Mark continues, “She takes up all of your time now, you haven’t hung with us in months, and all for a relationship that’s destined to fail.”

“Nothing’s destined to fail, Mark. It’s all about how hard you’re willing to work for it.” His voice is calm, but there’s something building beneath it. To this, Mark sighs, and says, “You’ve changed, man.”

Lucas grabs his keys, clearly at the limit with Mark’s prodding. “Sometimes people are worth changing for, Mark. Yuqi forgave me for what I did, and I forgave her for what she did. We’re trying, okay? We’re not walking away. I’m sure…” The taller male pauses on his words, as though contemplating them, before continuing. “I’m sure Y/N would’ve forgiven you for what you did, but you walked away. And that’s where we’re different.”

It hits him, and Mark tightens his jaw. Yes, his relationship with Y/N was destined to fail too, there was no denying it. To fight with his friend who he had just tried to make amends with, or apologize? He goes with the latter, only because he’s too exhausted for a yelling match right now. “Lucas, I’m sorry, okay? I’m a little… on edge.”

“I know. I’ve known you for years,” chuckles Lucas softly. “I know how you get.”

“Yeah. Have fun on your date, though.”

His best friend nods tightly. “Yeah, I will. But if you care about what I told you, don’t go to the party tonight. You know you won’t be able to control yourself.” Mark nods, sighing. “And throw out that mapo tofu while you’re at it. It stinks, and not in the good way mapo tofu’s supposed to smell.”

Mark rolls his eyes while Lucas’ laugh fills his ears. “Just leave already.”

With a few smooth movements he’s already slid out the apartment door. A sigh leaves him, alone in the apartment. He does as Lucas says, tossing his attempt at dinner in the trash. It’s gonna be a long night.

—THE FIRST TASTE.

The first time that you kiss Mark, however, it’s hot inside his apartment and sweat sticks the fabric of your tank top to your stomach.

That doesn’t stop you from cuddling on his couch however, and you gaze up at him from your position under his arm to watch as your boyfriend, focused on the TV, lifts his blunt to his lips and takes a long drag. Underneath his arm, you observe how his lips wrap around the circumference of it, sucking in a sharp breath before releasing it into the air. He knows that over your time together, you’ve come to accept the smoking. It’s obviously clear to him that you don’t particularly approve, but Mark’s responsible enough to control himself. Now however, as you gaze up at him, you realize just how attractive your boyfriend is. Dark hair tousled and arms bared through his tank top, he looks so, so good. Somehow, he looks even better with the cig in his hand.

You never would have thought you’d fall for such a guy like him, but you keep falling. He’s not the good guy that you dreamed of, but that’s okay, because you make him good.

“Mark?” You ask, still looking up at him.

He hums in response, turning to look at you.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “Do you believe in destiny?”

Your boyfriend blinks at the sudden question. “Define destiny.”

“That like, we all have a predetermined fate. That everything happens for a reason, and every challenge is just a small piece in a bigger puzzle. That we all have soulmates we’re destined to be with.” Mark’s lips purse, pouting just the slightest in thought, a habit of his.

Does he?

It’s a question, because he used to. He used to be a good old Christian boy, of course he believed that God had a plan for everyone. Every tribulation was just something that would make him stronger in the end. Unfortunately, the last time Mark can remember being at church, he fucked one of the choir girls in the Bible study room.

He can’t really pinpoint when he stopped believing in fate. God? Yeah, sure he still believes in him, though the big guy upstairs will probably send him south for his irrefutable sins. But fate? Not really. If fate was real then it was really messed up to make him such a failure.

But, he realizes, gazing at the strands of hair matted to your forehead as a result of the hot summer weather, and the pure adulation in your eyes as you gaze up to him, that perhaps because of you, his destiny isn’t too bad. Sure, he’s a fuck up with addictions and demons, but he does pretty well by keeping you happy. Because you make him happy. A smooth, suave smile spreads across his lips like butter. “I didn’t before, but I do now.”

Your eyebrow perks up. “Now you do? Why’s that?”

His arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders allows him to pull your face close. With the same smile, he presses a number of kisses to your cheek (much to your sweet protest, complaining about his sweat and smoke). As though he attempts to mask his words against your skin, he mumbles, “Because I found you.”

Mark has never told you that he loves you; it’s a bit too intimate for him, who’s never been vulnerable in that way, and you, whose every first is him.

But he doesn’t have to say it, because you know it.

Your lips break out into a flustered smile, though you try to hide it from him. His quiet, unsaid confession fills you with glee and more importantly, confidence.

“Babe,” you tell him. This grabs his attention, because you rarely use such sweet nicknames. He attempts to respond, but you’re already sitting up and swinging yourself over to straddle his lap. Your movement brings about confusion on his features, and you take a deep breath. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in this position with him, but the first time you’ve made the initiative to do it yourself. Mark was always leading you. So you lean forward, placing your hands on his shoulders, and you kiss him.

You can probably taste the smoke on your tongue, but you’ve grown accustomed to that. Mark kisses back and grips your waist with his free hand, both shocked and amused by your sudden courage. Everything feels right, it’s like it’s destiny. He’s about to slip his tongue into your mouth but you break the connection, choosing instead to linger your lips over his. Your breath is hot on his as you finally speak.

“I want a puff.”

“Are you sure?” He looks up at you, nearly breathless at the sight of you atop him. Lip gloss smeared from your heated kiss, you look delectable. Your wide eyes, once depicting innocence, are now focused and curious. He knows you don’t necessarily approve of his habits, but here you are, sitting on top of him looking irresistible and asking for a taste.

“Yes,” you confirm, as though reassuring yourself. Mark had always liked you, been attracted to you because of the notion that you were innocent, pure, bright. Everything he was not. He had never wanted to taint you, yet his confession still hangs in the air.

But as he lifts his blunt to his mouth, taking a long drag before blowing the diluted smoke into your waiting cavern, he starts to worry that this would be the beginning of a long downward spiral which would place no blame anywhere but on him.

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM.

Mark wakes in a cold sweat, itching for a fix. That’s when he realizes how deep he really is.

Shit.

His fingers are shaking, so he moves to occupy them with the only thing he can think of. He drags himself out of bed, grabs his guitar, and makes his way out to the living room. Plopping himself down on the floor next to a window, he attempts to refamiliarize himself with the strings that he had abandoned. Lucas is still asleep, so he plucks quietly.

He has long since forgotten what it was like to lose himself in the sound.

There was once a time when he was passionate for something other than haze. It was music. The first time he touched a guitar, magic sprung through his fingers and he knew: he was made for this. Somehow, majoring in music composition and being forced to take so many theory and history classes had caused his passion to simmer. Now, it slowly burns again.

He doesn’t realize how the hours pass and the sun begins to shine between the blinds.

His mind brushes over what Taeyong had told him two days ago. Is this what he had been missing all this time? All the hours he spent blinded by a foggy smoked haze, had he been neglecting his own love for music? It’s amazing what he can accomplish when he takes a break from that life.

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

For a second, he stops strumming and directs his gaze to outside the window. There’s not much to see except the college town, with the glimpse of the university itself just atop the hill, but he stares and relishes in the sight of the sunlight casting a glow over the town.

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

A glance to the clock tells him it’s barely 9AM. Who would be here so early? There are two options, he decides as he stands from the floor to stretch his legs, resting his guitar on the wall. It’s either Yuqi, Lucas’ renowned off-again on-again girlfriend, or Johnny coming to deliver the week’s set.

When he opens the door, the visitor’s face is blocked by a box, but he knows those shoes. Those white ballet flats with purple bows were always your favorite.

Suddenly the box lowers and Mark is finally face to face with you, his ex-girlfriend. He hasn’t seen your face in the months since you’ve called it quits, even though he’s spent countless moments just staring at the leftover pictures on his phone. You look surprised to see him.

“Oh—Mark. Lucas said you probably wouldn’t be awake.” So you had been keeping in touch with Lucas? This is news to him. Had his best friend been sharing that he had been basically wasting away the past few months without you?

“Couldn’t sleep,” explains Mark almost sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. For a moment he’s glad he had the mind to put on a shirt before coming outside.

“Oh…” You trail, your gaze traveling down to the box absentmindedly.

He doesn’t mean to be rude, but the surprise at seeing you on his doorstep makes him a bit gruff. You’re still the same as before: same face, same shoes, same bright eyes. But there’s something about you, about your aura that’s different. More mature. More independent. Because you don’t need him anymore. “What are you doing here?”

If you’re taken aback by his coarseness, you don’t show it. “I brought a box of your stuff. It’s just... stuff that was left at my house.” You gesture to the box in your hands, and Mark is quick to take it from your arms. He prays you don’t take note of the way his hands shake.

Slowly he places it on the floor next to the door and when he stands again, you’re leaning back and forth on your heels looking rather awkward. He doesn’t ask for an explanation but you give one anyways. You had always had a habit of talking too much when you felt nervous. “I’ve had it since...” Your breakup, but neither of you want to say it. “I put it together a couple months ago but put off bringing it over. But I figured, uh, the school year’s over in a couple weeks so I should just do it. I texted Lucas, he said he’d be awake to grab it but..”

“He’s still asleep,” Mark completes for you.

“Yeah,” you say simply. No longer having a box to occupy your hands, you hold them behind your back which only furthers the idea that you’re uncomfortable in his presence. It makes him sad almost, how much things have changed.

He thinks back to what Lucas had told him at the start of the weekend. Maybe it was possible to change things back to the way they used to be. “Do you want to come inside? I have some coffee, or some—”

You look at him with blinking eyes. “I don’t dr—”

“I know.” He knows you don’t drink coffee. Of course he does. “I have tea. It’s even peppermint, your favorite.”

“You drink peppermint tea?” You look at him, incredulous.

“I don’t. It’s leftover from when I bought it for you. I just... haven’t thrown it out yet.”

That’s what your love had done to him: turned him from a brooding boy into a softened man, so much that he was willing to keep your favorite drink around just in case you’d ever come back and want it.

“Oh,” you sound. Your teeth bite down gently on your bottom lip, gnawing it in contemplation as you look away from him momentarily. When you look back, he can see you’ve made your decision. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mark. I’m sorry.”

He expected it, but it doesn’t sting any less. “That’s okay. I understand.” An attempt at a smile is displayed on his face, but it doesn’t reflect any of the radiance in the smile that you mirror back at him. It’s small, the tips of your lips barely lifting, but it’s enough to remind him that you are indeed all that is good in the world, and he needs you. He loves you.

Maybe he can’t love you right now but one day, he’ll be good enough to deserve you. That day isn’t today, but it’ll come eventually. “I’ll see you around,” you say to him.

“I hope so,” is his response.

You give him another small smile before turning to leave. “I hope you’re doing okay, Mark.”

He is, or he’s trying to. When you leave, he closes the door and returns the box to his bedroom before opening it up. Inside, numerous hoodies gifted to you because they became too small for him but were still huge on you. Old songbooks from his high school days that he no longer needed. A teddy bear he had gifted you on your first anniversary.

Pushing the box aside, he grabs a notebook and his music theory textbook. Maybe it actually would do him some good to study.

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

You don’t curse often, so when you do, it wakes him. When you find him in his room, he’s knocked out with his body half on the bed and the other half slung over the edge. His hair sticks out in numerous fluffy tufts over his pillow, but you can still smell the weed off of him.

“He only came back like, three hours ago.” He hears Lucas’ voice selling him out, and he groans into the pillow, only lifting his head to grumble at his roommate.

“Snitch bitch,” he says, his voice groggy and scratched.

“Don’t get mad at him,” you suddenly speak up. “At least he answered my calls when I was calling, worried where you were because you hadn’t texted me since,” you stop to check your phone. “5PM last night!”

“I told you, I was going to Johnny’s party,” responds Mark, sitting up in his bed, head still spinning. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up, looking rather disheveled and hungover.

“Yeah, and you never texted me to let me know you were home. How would I have known if you had overdosed, or passed out drunk, or got in a car accident? Or just died?” As your voice rises, reaching a volume you’ve rarely ever employed, you clear your throat to calm yourself and turn to Lucas. “Thanks, Lucas. I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” he responds, giving a nod before walking away, likely disappearing into his room.

When you turn back to gaze into Mark’s room, he’s slipped on a shirt. “What the hell were you doing out so late? 9AM is when you should be waking up, Mark, not falling asleep. Finals are next week, you were supposed to meet me at the library an hour ago!”

He makes an annoyed expression at your chastising, and you gaze at him with expectant eyes, awaiting an explanation. All he does is grimace and say, “Babe, can you like, quiet down? I’m hungover, your voice is too loud.”

Your jaw drops.

For a moment you stay like that, until you continue speaking, words coming out faster than Mark can understand them. “I’m just trying to help, Mark. You’ve partied more than you’ve studied this year, and I’m not going to let you just get away with it. Almost every weekend I have to stay up worrying about you, wondering when you’ll get home, unable to sleep until you text me that you’re home and okay.”

“Maybe you should stop worrying then,” he retorts.

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

He rolls his eyes, laying back in his bed. “Maybe you should come with me then.”

You quickly reply, “Maybe you should stop partying.”

“Maybe you should stop trying to control me,” he finally spits.

Once again, you’re rendered speechless. And when you turn your head away, focusing your gaze to the hallway instead of at him, Mark thinks he’s won. But then you sniff, an indication that your sensitive heart has once again been touched with tears. “Please,” you finally say, voice weak. This is the timbre Mark is used to hearing from you, not the tone you had used earlier when yelling at him. In this moment, he’s not sure which one he hates more. “Please stop this.”

In a swift movement you reach forward, gathering yourself on your knees before his bed. You grab his hand, pressing your lips to it as a tear makes its way down your cheek. “Please, please, please… please stop the drugs, Mark. It’s made you this… this terrible person and I know you’re not like this.” Suddenly, you’re crying into the palm of his hand while he gazes at you in surprise. “Missing dates, staying out late, yelling, I know that’s not you.”

“Y/N—”

“Please, just call Johnny and tell him you can’t do this anymore. Tell him you’re done. Please, for me.”

Your begging causes Mark’s jaw to tighten subconsciously. What you’re hoping for is a better Mark, a different person. He’s not that person that you want him to be, he can never be that way. This is how he is and how he’ll always be. This is his fate, to be a lowlife drug dealer barely passing college, and if you can’t handle it then—“You know I can’t do that. You promised you’d be here through everything, all the good and the bad.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you destroy yourself like this, Mark.”

He rips his hand from your grasp, causing a slight squeak of surprise to leave your lips. It’s almost as if he’s not in control of himself, because he blows up. “Can’t you just be like a good girlfriend and love me through the bad shit? I’m trying my best here.”

But is he really? Suddenly, as though empowered by some kind of intangible strength, you rise to your feet, the sadness in your eyes now quickly replaced by anger. “I do love you, that’s why I’m acting like this, you asshole!” You wipe your tears furiously with the back of your hand before glowering down at him. “But if you can’t keep your mind sober long enough to see that then call me when you can.”

He registers the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut, causing it to ring in his ears. Within the blink of an eye, you’re gone. Fate is a really messed up bitch for this.

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week.

A week since the last time he touched anything, though he had been tempted when Yuta invited him over for some sativa. The drinking and partying isn’t hard to let go of. It’s the weed, because it got him through the hardest days.

A week in, and he’s pretty proud of himself.

Nowadays, he tries to occupy his shaking hands with guitar or studying but he’s started playing so often that his hands are now raw and in pain. Today, because the weather’s nice outside and his fingers hurt like hell, he decides to take a walk.

It’s aimless at first, just exploring the streets around his apartment on foot. But then ten, fifteen, thirty minutes pass, and without knowing it, he’s arrived at his destination. Johnny’s place. Standing in front of the door, eyes boring into the bright red paint of the front door, Mark feels himself start to slip. No, he decides, he has to do this. This is the right thing.

A shaky knock on the door is followed by another stronger one. He waits a minute before trying again, yet as his hand lifts to place another knock on it, it slides open to reveal Johnny himself in casual wear. “Hey,” greets Johnny, giving Mark a nod. “What’s up? I told you I’d drop the next batch off at your place, you didn’t have to come out here.”

At Johnny’s question, Mark feels his breath caught in his throat. Not only is the guy taller than him and towering over him in every aspect, but he could definitely throw Mark under the bus for his own crimes. But no… he wouldn’t do that, right? He had done enough for Johnny over the past three years that he would let him off easily, surely? A gulp is heard in Mark’s throat as he straightens his position in front of Johnny.

“That’s the thing. I… I don’t want to do this anymore.”

For a moment, Mark thinks that the taller man will be angry. Johnny stands before him, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“I just need to.”

Johnny immediately starts to argue, tilting his head. “You know you’re my best seller, though. No one sells as much as you, and I trust you with all the big deliveries. Who am I supposed to give the heroin to now… Ten? As if, Mark.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

“I…” Mark starts, though he stops. “I need to stop. I’ll finish the batch from this week, I promise. I only have like, two deliveries left but I just, it’s not healthy for me. And it’s not because I’m planning to sell you out or anything, or find someone else but I just can’t do this anymore.” He finds himself ranting, finding more interest in anything but Johnny’s face. “I’m not happy, I’m angry and anxious all the time, and being around the drugs only makes me want to do it more, and I just… I just can’t, John.”

When he finishes his unfiltered rant, he looks back to the taller male and tries to read his expression. Will he be angry? If his earlier debate was anything, he definitely wouldn’t let Mark off without a fight.

But instead, the older nods. “I get it. Just finish your deliveries for this week and call it done.”

Mark blinks at Johnny’s easy acquiescence. “T-That’s it? You’re not going to fight more?”

“You want me to?” Johnny asks, cocking an eyebrow that’s almost mocking.

“No, but I…”

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

“No, that’s not it.” Mark shakes his head. “I just…”

“Mark,” sighs Johnny, standing straight from where he had been leaning rather casually against the doorframe. “I’m not stupid, okay? I know that drug dealing is hard for you. And I’m also not oblivious, I know that you and your girlfriend broke up, okay? Yuta told me what happened with the coke, and I wasn’t surprised when you refused to sell it anymore.”

Mark frowns even deeper at the mention of it, but Johnny continues. “I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you say it’s not good for you, then it’s not good for you.”

“But…” Mark starts, but doesn’t find the words to continue. It was… that easy. “Okay. Uh, thanks, I guess. For everything?”

“Sure. Just don’t come crawling back when you can’t make rent on your McDonalds’ salary. Male strippers make pretty good money, if you’re interested.” It’s clear Johnny’s joking, so Mark rolls his eyes and laughs, though the sound is somewhat tight.

“I’d love to talk to you some more about ways to get a hustle going, but I have to go find a new dealer, and teach Ten how to stop giving weed to everyone he meets because he thinks they need a pick-me-up.” Johnny sighs, as though the life of a drug dealer is the most difficult of them all, which in Mark’s experience, it might just be.

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

Johnny nods in acknowledgement before shutting the door. Mark breaths out a heavy breath.

That went… surprisingly well. Maybe Lucas was right, maybe it really was this easy all this time. Perhaps he had always just been the one believing that it was difficult, because he had made it so. He had been stressing over it all this time, but Johnny was more easygoing about it than he’d thought.

As he walks the path home, he thinks he deserves a reward for his endeavors. It’s a bit selfish maybe, but he opens his phone, and you’re on his speed dial.

“Hello?” You ask, voice bright as always but clearly a bit guarded from the name that had flashed across your screen.

“Y/N,” Mark breathes out. It’s only been a few days since you had swung by the apartment.

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

He doesn’t quite know either. He had quite honestly been a bit impulsive in pressing on your contact, and now that you truly rest across the phone from him, he has no idea what his purpose was. “Um, nothing much, I just wanted to tell you…” A soft breath leaves his lips. Will you be happy for him? “I told Johnny that I quit, that I’m done.”

There’s a momentary pause on the line, and Mark begins to worry that you’ve hung up when you finally breathe out, “That’s good, Mark. I’m… I’m proud of you.”

Proud. He had only been hoping for a “good for you,” at most, but to hear that you’re proud of him, it makes him smile to the ground as he walks the trail back to his apartment. Fuck, you’ve made him weak. “Thanks.”

“I guess you really are doing well then,” you say.

When he gets home, riding the high of his successes from standing up to Johnny to calling you, he flushes his Xanax pills down the toilet and watches as they swirl away into oblivion, as if they had never existed in his life in the first place.

—THE FIRST CRASH.

Mark connects his lips to your neck and suckles on it softly, drawing a moan out of you. The sound you make goes straight to his dick, and he releases a breathy groan against your skin. “Fuck, you sound so pretty, princess.”

Princess—that’s the name he’s given you, because all he wants to do is treat you right. And he does, especially in times like these, where you feel the heat of his body on top of yours and he devours your moans in his mouth.

He currently lays between your spread legs, your combined figure lost in his bed sheets as he softly grinds his hardened core against yours. He’s still got his jeans on while you’re laying only clad in your panties, yet the feel of the denim is enough to have you moaning. You tilt your head back as a light mewl leaves your lips, your body subconsciously grinding down on his.

It had been complete heaven for the both of you when you had given him your virginity, your purity, at the beginning of this year, and since then you have been basically insatiable. You had never felt such desire for anyone before him. Now as his hands rub small circles over your clothed clit, you want him once more.

You’re shaking your head, so needy for him but he doesn’t relent, only smirking more while he continues rubbing sinful circles on your clit. “Tell me what you want.” He wants to hear your beg.

Voice soft and breathy, you say, “Please, Mark, I—”

The doorbell rings. It’s heard through the apartment and Mark groans, rolling his eyes while attempting to keep you going. “Keep going. It’s probably just Lucas forgetting his key again.”

Though the mood was momentarily killed, you both try to fall back into place. Now his fingers have left your clit, instead pulling your panties down to your midthigh. “Shit, you’re soaking,” he moans out in amazement, running a finger through your wet folds. As much as he wants to dive in and fuck you until you’re cumming all over his cock, he needs to hear your sweet voice dripping dirty words for him first. Easily, he slides a finger in, to which you groan at the stretch. But it’s not enough.

“Don’t tease me, please.”

He smirks, slowly sliding his singular digit out of your sensitive core whilst he thumbs your clit. “Go on then, princess. Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck,” you curse and he finds it so hot. “I… I want you to—”

The doorbell again. This time, Mark audibly curses. “Fucking hell,” he sighs, removing his fingers from where you need him. Instead, he moves up and places a sweet kiss on your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s still fully dressed, so he simply opens the door and slips outside before closing it again behind him. As he’s walking down the hall, the doorbell rings once again, causing him to roll his eyes. God, how many times was Lucas going to lose his keys?

The person at the door, however, isn’t his roommate. It’s Johnny, holding a black gym bag. Mark already knows what it is. He runs a hand through his hair, already crazy from how you had been running your hands through it. “Hey, John,” he says, taking the bag clearly in a rush. It’s Sunday, which means Johnny’s dropping off Mark’s deliveries for the week.

“Hey, man,” greets Johnny, handing over the list. Mark doesn’t even bother to check that everything’s there, so the older man raises an eyebrow. “Busy?” He asks, eyeing Mark’s disheveled clothes and the fresh hickey on his collarbone.

“Kind of.”

“Nice. See you next week,” says Johnny with a click of his tongue and a wink, then Mark closes the door and he’s gone. Now, back to what’s important. He slings the strap over his shoulder and makes his way back to his bedroom. As soon as he enters, you look up at him with wide, anticipating eyes.

You’ve pulled your undergarments back on, much to his displeasure. Mark drops the dark bag on the floor in the corner, and your eyes find it. “Johnny came?”

“Yeah. Just dropping off for the week,” replies Mark, his mind not exactly on it as he takes off his shirt, tossing it somewhere. He moves back over your figure on the bed, lips on the curve of your breast fully intending to return things to the intensity they were at just earlier.

Though his lips trail up to meet yours and his hands begin tugging your panties back down, he can tell from the way you’re kissing him that you’re not fully there. So when you moan his name, he knows it’s not out of pleasure. “Mark,” you say softly against his lips.

“Hmm,” he responds, callused hands gripping your thighs and leading them open. He’s about to slip his hand inside your panties, but your hand stops him.

“Can I have some?” When he looks at you, your eyes are not focused on him, but the bag in the corner. Your eyes are faded, clouded as your both ascend to a place of pleasure. You… wanted drugs? Sure, he’s blown a few times in your mouth but in your relationship spanning over a year already, you’ve never directly asked for any.

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

You bite down on your lip. “What’s in it?”

“I don’t know,” reveals Mark truthfully as he gets off of you and makes his way over to the package, picking it up and placing it on the bed. You’re sitting up now, peering over the bag with interest as he unzips the gym bag open. Though the exterior looks unsuspicious, the bag opens up to reveal bags of white powder and green kush.

Cocaine.

It’s dangerous. Mark gazes down at it, biting down on his lip.

“Is that… cocaine?” You ask, not unaware of the extreme drug sitting in your boyfriend’s room.

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

A silence falls over the two of you, both just staring at the white bags. It’s almost unbearable, how much Mark wants to throw the bag away and just resume your activities, but you’re still gazing into the bag with contemplation, fear, and even… curiosity.

“So, can I have some?” You ask again.

Mark sputters for a second, blinking. “Babe. I—are you sure?”

You nod, eyes dark and curious. “Yeah.” At your confirmation, sounding like it was more to assure yourself than him, Mark stares holes into the white substance. It’s filling the bag to the brim—surely whoever he has to deliver it to won’t notice a line’s worth missing.

So it’s with steady yet hesitant hands that he pulls a pack from the bag, directing you. “Grab your credit card,” he says, walking over to his nightstand. Unzipping the bag just the slightest, he pours out a small amount. Just a little bit, he swears.

When you return to his side with your said card in your hand, he takes it from you and lines up the coke on the table. In a neat little line, it’s set up for you. “Okay,” he starts, looking at you. “Just hold down one nostril and—”

“I know how to do it. I’ve seen it at parties.” You interrupt him as you kneel, finally head level with the nightstand. It’s true; the few parties you have attended alongside your boyfriend, there’s more than enough depictions. He watches with interest as you lean forward, holding one side of your nose closed, and snort up the entire line in one go.

First, you cough into the nightstand. When you turn and look at him, you’re wiping the remaining white dust from your nose. “You okay?” Your boyfriend asks you, to which you nod. “It takes a few minutes to work.”

Again, you nod silently, sitting down on the bed and gesturing Mark to come to you. When he approaches, you lay back in his bed, looking up at him with lustful eyes. “Now, hurry up and fuck me.”

The words are so rare from you. It’s all he needs to hear, unbuckling his belt and dragging his jeans to the floor in two swift movements. Within moments he’s back on top of you, feeling your heat once again. He starts slow, pressing kisses to your stomach, breasts, and neck while waiting for the drug to take effect. He knows the exact moment that it begins to work; your pupils immediately dilate, and suddenly you’re a loose, moaning mess underneath him.

Your muscles relaxed, Mark immediately presses a long kiss to your swollen lips while dragging down your panties. He would usually opt for more foreplay, but he’s waited long enough. He pulls away for the shortest moment to slip on a condom, but before you know it he’s already flush against you again.

It feels so good, even just his touch on you. You’re so sensitive, senses heightened by the drug that you feel everything: his large hands on your breasts over your tips, his lips marking your neck. When he leads his dick to your dripping entrance, you watch in anticipation, though you’re shaking.

As he finally slides in, finally filling you up, you tilt your head back and let out a loud moan, the loudest yet. It just feels so good, you feel so full, and he’s so, so deep.

Everything is…. so good. Euphoria creeps into your headspace.

He pulls out, and you moan again. “Ah,” you gasp sharply, feeling every ridge, every muscle stretched as he slides out, only the tip inside you. Then he slams back in, causing your back to arch and your toes to curl. “Oh, fuck,” you moan out again, eyes closed tightly, lost in the pleasure.

Mark’s hand grips at your hips, eyebrows furrowed in focus as he falls into a rhythm. He would have taken some himself, but he wanted to watch you fall apart under him. Suddenly you grab at his free hand, and he intertwines your fingers. You’re squeezing him, his hand and his dick altogether, so tightly as you’re lost in your pleasure.

“Fuck, princess, you feel so good,” he moans out, closing his eyes. He immediately opens them again, not wanting to miss a second of you. “You love my cock, huh?”

Breathless, you nod without words.

“And to think, just a year ago you were an innocent little prude. Now look at you, taking my cock like the slut you are. High on my drugs, fuck—” Mark taunts, moaning aloud as you suddenly clench around him. “Fuck, you feel so tight.”

When he adds his hands to your clit, rubbing the nub in circles the way he knows you love it, the pleasure is heightened for your sensitive body. Your temperature rises, your heartbeat uncontrollable—all the telltale signs of that euphoric high.

A few minutes pass like this, you completely out of it and moaning at the top of your lungs whilst your boyfriend fades in and out of your vision. You grasp onto his arm, tilting your head back. “Mark, I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he musters out, never stopping his hips. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock like the good girl you are.”

And you do, losing it as you tighten around his length, walls clenching repeatedly. This brings him over the edge, cumming into the condom with a shaky breath. He keeps the rhythm going for both your sakes, though his thrusts go erratic as he comes down.

You do the same, your thirty minutes of elation coming to an end soon. As soon as you’ve come down from your orgasmic high, you immediately relax. Your breathing is labored as you relax into his sheets.

Mark pulls from you with a low groan. By the time he’s tossed the condom off into the trash and returned to his bed, you’re already asleep, chest rising softly. A post-cocaine high can do that to you. A soft chuckle leaves his lips as he slides into bed with you, slipping a hand over your waist.

With the way your body fits right into his, one could say you were made for each other. In Mark’s mind, maybe you were.

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

His hands shake as he curls the wrapping paper, giving it a soft lick to secure it.

Tomorrow will be four weeks, a whole month since the last time he had done anything. He had passed his exams. After he had thrown the pills away, he was sure that everything would be smooth sailing. But he was wrong.

He’s disappointed in himself, he is. He wanted to be better, but it’s harder than it seems. Lucas would be disappointed in him. You would be too.

Luckily, neither will find out.

Right now he’s tucked in his bedroom away from Lucas with the excuse that he was napping, but he’s not. Instead, he’s wrapping a joint with the leftover weed tucked in his nightstand.

It’s not because he wants to, or because he’s being peer pressured by anyone around him. It’s for one person only—his dad.

On this day, five years ago, Pastor Lee passed away.

The first three years, the hardest ones, he had Lucas. The past two years, he had you.

No—the first three years weren’t hardest to face, this one is. He still has Lucas, but not really. Had he swallowed his pride, had he just told his best friend that he wasn’t okay when he had asked about his father’s death anniversary, things would have been okay. Lucas would have nodded in sympathy, then dropped everything he had to be there for Mark. They’d chill and drink a couple beers—no, not drink, not anymore—but maybe watch a movie and play some games until the day had passed. That would have been bearable.

But that hadn’t happened.

When Lucas had asked Mark how he felt about the day, Mark had lied and blubbered out a, “Oh, was that today? I totally forgot.” Why had he done that? He doesn’t know.

Because he had had too much pride to admit to his friend that he was struggling… Now he’s here, trying to take care of his pain in the only way he has left.

He lights it, fingers still shaking, and his body relaxes into the mattress as he finally gets a taste of the clouded, sinful smoke once more. The only downfall to this is that he knows, oh he knows well, just how much pain that it causes for him and those around him.

—THE FIRST BURN.

Over the years, Mark has grown accustomed to the warmth.

It’s what you do to him, what he associates you with. Your first kiss, despite the cold winter air, warmed his soul from the inside. Whenever he looks at you… there’s a feeling of espousement that explodes within his chest. Yes, he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it often. He doesn’t need to. You know. You’ve opened his eyes to the beauty of love, the exhilaration of showing yourself to someone and being fully accepted. In his life once frozen over with the loss of his father and the death of his innocence, you showed him warmth.

When he wakes, you’re burning up.

More than you should, even with the two of you naked beneath his blankets. You’re sweating, he realizes as he slides his hand, which he had slung around your waist as the two of you drifted into dreamland, over your skin.

You must be hot underneath the blanket, so he starts to slide it off the blanket from your figures. Then he hears it: you cough, the choked sound coming out scratched and labored. Though you’re turned away from him, he can hear the struggle in it. It’s as if… there’s something blocking your throat.

His eyes immediately widen, adrenaline spiking as he sits up, grabs your shoulders, and turns you around. No, no, it can’t be. Where you had been laying, facing the wall, there’s remnants of your vomit, though some had gotten lodged in your throat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. His fingers grab your wrist. You’re still breathing. You’ve still got a pulse, but it’s fast, too fast. So fast, he can barely count it. “Shit,” he curses. You’re overdosing. You’ve overdosed. Fuck.

It’s the cocaine.

“Y/N,” he calls, voice already loud enough to make the house burst into flames with the amount of desperation he puts into it. Shaking your shoulders, he tries again. “Y/N, baby, fuck—wake up!” When you don’t come to, he turns his head over his shoulder, screaming, “Lucas!”

It’s only the early morning, will he be awake? “Lucas!”

“Mark…?” Your voice draws him out from his panic, and he turns to you with wide eyes. Your eyes, pupils dilated and shaky, fly all over the room. “W-What’s—” You don’t finish, because immediately you’re flinging yourself over the side of his bed and throwing up the remainder of what’s in your throat out on his bedroom floor.

The door slams open. Lucas’ worried face appears. Mark is trembling, breath shaking, and you’re still vomiting over the carpet. At the moment, Mark doesn’t care that the both of you are naked in his bed. “What the hell happened?”

Mark feels himself start to slip away, only a moment from hyperventilating, but he speaks. “Hospital… cocaine—overdose, I—”

“I’ll go start the car.” Lucas is immediately out the door, loud steps running down the hallway to grab his keys. At least somebody is in a stable state of mind. Mark starts to move, standing to dress the two of you, but you grab his arm as he steps out, perhaps using the last of your energy. Your eyes are wild, your mouth parted as you heave heavy, labored breaths.

“I… I can’t breathe—Mark, I can’t,” you start between hurried breaths, but don’t finish. Immediately you go slack, falling back in his bed with closed eyes rolled into the back of your head.

“Fuck,” he curses, immediately throwing on his jeans and sliding your dress over your sweltering body. Though he’s stumbling and racing to gather things, his phone, his wallet, and your’s, he picks you up into his arms bridal style, racing out of his bedroom into the living room.

Flying out the front door, the cold morning air greets him in an unpleasant fashion, only making your perspiring body seem even warmer, reminding him of his faults. Lucas is already sitting in the front seat, ready to go, but Mark throws the two of you in the backseat. At this point you’re completely gone to the world, head thrown back against the cushion as he struggles to put on your seatbelt. It seems like an arbitrary precaution in this case.

As Lucas starts to drive, moving as fast as he can possibly go, Mark clutches your hand. “Baby,” he finally breaths out as reality begins to set in. This is his fault, he did this to you. He doesn’t deserve to hold your hand, so instead he lets go, placing it in your lap before leaning forward to place his head in his hands.

“Oh my fucking god,” he finally lets out, exasperated.

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

“My name is Hyunjoon, and I am addicted to alcohol. It has been… six weeks since my last drink.”

Mark bounces his leg erratically, glancing around the room. There’s some people he knows, recalling their faces on campus or around town, but some people he's never seen in his life. He’s supposed to reveal himself to these people? He doesn’t belong here.

Or maybe he does. After his last breakdown, it had taken him three days to fess up to Lucas. His friend, though disappointed, was more than understanding. “It’s a long road,” he had told Mark at the time. He said that he knew of an addiction support group in town, and encouraged Mark to attend. He’s right; Mark knows he can’t do this alone.

“Glad to see you’ve gone another week, Hyunjoon. Happy to see you back.”

He’s next, so he stands. “Um,” he starts, rubbing his nape and feeling awfully out of place. “I’m Mark, and I’m addicted to…” he sighs. “A lot of things.”

The kind looking leader of the meeting offers him a smile. “You can share if you’d like.”

He takes a deep breath. There’s so many people, so many eyes. “Mostly weed. I drink a lot, or I used to. I… I was trying to stop everything then I had a—” How to describe it? “Relapse, last week. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“We commend you for your courage, Mark.” There’s a soft round of applause in the circle. The smiling leader then continues, “We ask everyone who is new to this group, ‘why.’ Why do you want to stop your addiction? Why do you seek help? Besides the obvious reasons that it’s bad for you.”

This question doesn’t take long for him to answer. “I hurt someone. Someone that I really loved, and honestly… I hate myself for it. So I have to stop.”

There seems to be a couple of nods around the circle as Mark sits back down. He releases a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. This will work. Things will be okay. He will get better. He will get you back.

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

Mark finds himself in the same position he had been in earlier in the car, except this time he’s sitting on the floor right outside your room on the hospital floor, hiding his head in his hands. What is wrong with him?

What had he done to you? What had he allowed you to do to yourself?

God, he’s fucked up.

Lucas is inside with you. He had wanted to be there when you woke up, but he couldn’t. He could barely look at his face in the hospital bathroom mirrors; how was he supposed to face you, IVs hooked up to your arms as a result of the drugs that he gave you? It was supposed to be fine, it was just a little bit! It was supposed to help the experience you two were having. But instead, it almost ended your life.

He looks back now. Just two years ago, when you had first met, you didn’t even drink. You’d never been kissed, never been touched. Now he’s… done this to you. He’s despicable. You don’t deserve him. You deserve better.

The door opens, and Mark finally pulls his head up to see Lucas step out with a somber expression. It’s a stark juxtaposition that saddens him, for Lucas is so often the light hearted joking one of the two. “She wants to see you.”

Mark parts his lips, shaky breath exhaling. “I can’t.”

Lucas takes a seat next to him on the floor, sighing. He probably looks crazy, shirtless and puffy eyed on the floor, but his best friend moves next to him anyways. “I know. She’s not angry, you know.”

“That’s the worst part,” mumbles Mark, staring out at the bleak white walls of the hospital in front of them. He doesn’t say much, but Lucas understands him it seems.

“Something’s gotta change, Mark. Something’s gotta give.”

He knows, with a soft nod of his head. Of course, he knows what Lucas means, but what it means to him is different. He has to give something up, and it’s going to be you. Not because he can live without you or because he doesn’t love you, but because it needs to be you. You can’t be around him any longer. You’ll only continue to be hurt.

When this thought finally occurs, and he accepts it, it becomes a little easier to face you.

He rises to his feet. “I’ll… I’ll see you later,” he finally says, twisting the doorknob to your room open.

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

He doesn’t know why you asked to see him for lunch, but he does know that you look good. You look healthy, you look better than you did that day when he slipped into your hospital room and saw you there, laying lifeless and gray. But that day, you still smiled when you saw him.

You look rather happy, like you’re doing okay without him, though he hopes that’s not that case—no, that’s not a good thing to hope for. He hopes that you’re doing okay, but that you’ll be even happier when you’re together again. Again, you smile at him over your food. Even after all this time, you still look at him like he’s the center of your universe.

Though you had made small talk about your lives, what you were both doing, how your mom is, how Lucas is, and other unimportant things, it’s at the end of the meal when your voice finally sobers, though you keep a smile on your lips.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you out here.”

“I…” Mark starts, blinking, before nodding. “Yeah.”

You laugh, causing the slightest smile to break out across his lips. It’s still the same laugh you had, that fated night when you met. “I just wanted to see you again. And talk. We haven’t talked in a while.”

Mark’s smile turns into a bittersweet simper. “I thought that was because you didn’t want to talk.” Though you had spoken to him on that phone that one day, he had chalked that up to you being polite when he suddenly called.

“Well, at first, yeah, but you know it’s been almost a year since we broke up and… I had some things I wanted to tell you.” Him too, but he’s not entirely sure he’s at his best just yet. Nevertheless, he smiles and nods.

“I’m listening. You know I always am.”

You take a moment or two to simply stare at him with thoughtful eyes as you think over your words. All the while, your sweet smile never leaves your roseate tiers. Finally, hands folded over your lap, you start.

“Thank you.”

Mark blinks, but you continue. “I know that we didn’t end off on the best terms but I wanted to make sure you knew that I was thankful for you. For having you. You’ve done a lot for me. You’ve taught me a lot, and I can’t thank you more for everything you’ve done.”

You blink repeatedly, eyes fluttering before you continue, which leads Mark to think that these words might be just as emotional for you as they are for him. “Thank you for teaching me love. Because of you, I’ve grown a lot and become a better version of myself. A stronger one. I’m really thankful that you were my first everything: my first real date—” His mind flies back to that night. That movie really was a horrible movie.

“My first kiss.” Does it feel right, now? Yes. Can I kiss you? Yes.

“My first time.” It was awkward, but it felt, as it always did, right.

“Thank you, for being the first guy I loved. I really… really loved you, Mark. But most of all,” you say, gazing at his wordless figure with those eyes of yours. They’re not as innocent and naive as they used to be. They’re matured now, hardened, but still, the sparkle is there. The same sparkle that had attracted him that night, three years ago, with that damned white dress.

“I forgive you.” Mark releases a shaky breath. “For everything. I don’t want you to blame yourself anymore. It’s not your fault, really. I’m better now, I’m healthy. Please, don’t hurt yourself anymore because of me.”

“Y/N, I—”

“I met you in my first year here. We’re going to be seniors, Mark. We’re going to graduate and be thrown into the real world, where there’s real consequences. I don’t want the consequences of what happened to weigh you down. I just want to move on, and you deserve to move on too.” From the glint in your eye, it’s clear how long you’ve pondered over these words.

He wants to reach out to you, to grasp you and bring you back to him. Because he’s trying to let go of the past so that he can focus on loving you fully as you are.

Sure, you can forgive him, but he needs to forgive himself first. He’s not quite fully well yet. He has to be patient.

A soft exhale leaves his lips. “Thank you. For forgiving me.”

Yet another sweet, beautiful smile spreads across your lips. It’s the smile that haunts Mark’s dreams. “You’re welcome. And thank you again for everything.” As the waitress appears, returning Mark’s credit card that he had graciously used to pay for the meal, you stand with your bag.

No, you can’t be leaving just yet. “Stay in touch, okay, Mark?”

But he has to let you leave. The day will come when it’s right. “Yeah,” he manages, swallowing the lump in his throat. Yet as he watches you walk away, he can feel that that string of fate he had always believed tied the two of you together slowly wearing, twisting, breaking.

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?”

Your voice is scandalized, angry. Mark simply keeps his gaze to the living room floor, eyebrows furrowed in complete unhappiness. He never wanted it to end like this, but he’s run horrible with thoughts that the things he did brought pain to you. It’s time to end it. Not because he wants to, but because he should.

“We just should,” he responds bleakly. “After what happened, I think it’s clear that we’re not good for each other.”

It’s been a month now since you’ve been discharged from the hospital. After you had convinced your doctor that you weren’t addicted to drugs and in need of rehab, you had gone home. Mark had luckily had enough saved to pay off your hospital bills; neither of you wanted your parents knowing. “Mark, it’s okay. I told you it’s okay!”

“No, it’s not. It’s not just because of the overdose. Things have been like this for a while now.”

You attempt to grab his hand. If he allows himself to bask in just one moment of your kindness, he’ll give in. You beg, “Mark, please, hang on for me, for us. I promise things will get better, things can change.”

He snaps, pulling his hand from your’s. Your eyes widen up at him, shocked and appalled at his sudden movement. “No! Can’t you see? You didn’t even take that much. I took more coke in my first snort than you took in that entire line. The overdose shouldn’t have even happened, but look, it did. This is wrong.”

“What, the drugs? I’ve been telling you that. Please, we can get better. We can find help.” The fact that you’re still pleading him with kind, gentle eyes, makes this all worse. It only further proves that you’re good. He’s not.

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, shaking his head in frustration. “We’re not right for each other. This isn’t working.”

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

“We’re just not… destined to be together. What happened, it was God’s way of telling us that this is not right. We’re not right for each other,” he explains, voice exasperated as he tries his best to explain the mess of his thoughts.

This seems to take you aback, your voice finally rising. “Oh, so now you care what God thinks?”

No, not really. But sometimes he has to listen. He doesn’t respond, so you continue. “I’ve been more than willing to make this work for two years, Mark. You think any of this was easy for me? My first boyfriend and he’s a freaking drug dealer for God’s sake. I tried to take it all because I loved you! I took care of you when you were hungover, I waited around shady areas at night so that you could drop off deals, I stuck with you for everything. Fuck,” you shout, causing Mark to tense. You rarely curse, and based on your usage of it now, he knows just how upset you are. “I even overdosed and I’m still here. Yet it’s always you pushing me away, making it difficult. Why are you running away from us?”

He’s not running away. “I’m not running away,” he declares. “I’m letting you run away.”

“And what makes you think I need to run away from you?”

“Because! You heard yourself, don’t deserve those things. You should have someone to take care of you when you’re sick, not always be the one fixing me when I’m sick. You should have someone to walk with you through the shady areas. That’s not me. I’m not… right for you.” He finally spits it out, eyebrows tightened together as he releases the thoughts that have been on his mind for a month now.

You’re silent for a moment, taking in his words with your arms crossed over your chest. When you speak, your voice has returned to its normal speaking volume. “You told me that you believed in fate, that you believed in us. Is this fate? Fate that we met, and fell in love, and broke up? Is it fate that you hurt me over and over again and I came back, every single time? Because if that’s fate…” A single tear falls from your eyes, though you wipe it away so it’s as if it never even existed. It seems even you have some pride now, not to cry in front of him. “It seems like your idea of fate is pretty messed up.”

Mark takes a large breath, looking away to gather his thoughts before looking back to you. You’ve both come so far since that night, the image of her clouded by the purple lights, the energy of the party. Now, all that glamour is stripped away. It’s just you and him, as you are. “You had to meet someone like me, so you can know what you deserve.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to call it quits, and blame it on destiny?” Your tone is mocking, questioning his reasons and probably his sanity.

“I’m not calling it quits,” he immediately retorts, responding sharp and quick. “I’m letting you go.”

“No,” you say as you approach him. “You’re giving up. On us, on everything we worked hard to build. Our trust, our relationship, everything.” Your finger digs into his chest, pointing an accusing blame. “I broke up with you,” you emphasize. “Not the other way around. I broke up with you because you tugged me around, you pushed me away, and you never listened to me. I got tired of it, and broke up with you.”

With that, you pull away from him, though when he finally comes to realize the weight of the conversation you just had, he sees you grabbing your bag and slipping your white ballet flats with purple bows on. “Y/N.”

He wants to say he’s sorry, because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He hadn’t planned for the conversation to go up in flames.

Whenever you walked out during arguments, there was always a promise to call later, to talk when your minds were stable. But now, as you turn over your shoulder, walking out of his apartment and life, you muster a goodbye.

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

“Senior year!” Lucas yells as he throws open the front door with the power of the Hulk, startling Mark who’s still unpacking some boxes of cookware in the kitchen. “It’s our time, time to shine!”

A soft laugh leaves Mark as he places some cups in the cupboard. He and Lucas had left their apartment for two months for the summer to return to their homes, but here they are, back and ready to take on their final year. They had finished middle school and high school together, and now they’ll graduate college together. It makes Mark smile.

As he leaves the kitchen to greet his best friend in the living room, he sees that the guy has already brought in a number of his boxes. “Hey, man,” calls Mark, who leads Lucas in for a dap.

“Hey yourself, you barely talked to me this summer,” Lucas chastises playfully. “Ignoring me, I see.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head. “Not ignoring, just… working on myself.”

“Good,” responds Lucas, turning to bring in the rest of his boxes. Yes, Mark had spent the entire summer dedicating himself to the lost cause that was himself. He started working out again, got a job, and even worked on rebuilding his relationship with his mother. Things were looking up for him.

He feels ready. Lucas’ voice interrupts his thoughts. “Hey, wanna take a break and get some food?”

His question meets a raised eyebrow from Mark. “You just got here, like, two minutes ago.”

“And?”

A laugh leaves Mark’s lips, and he shakes his head. “Nothing. But, uh, I can’t. I was going to go… see Y/N.”

“Oh?” asks Lucas, leaning down to tear the tape on one of the dark cardboard boxes filled to the brim, probably with Lucas’ pillows; the man was like a giant baby, sleeping with ten pillows. “You called her and asked to meet up?”

“No,” responds Mark, who follows these words with a deep breath. “I’m going to go see her.”

Lucas stands straight once more, his playful expression from earlier now serious. He shoots Mark a soft smile, patting him on the shoulder. “Nice. I’m happy for you. Are you leaving now?”

“Uh, yeah, I was planning to go after I put all the kitchen stuff away.”

Lucas’ grin grows even wider, stretching from ear to ear as he gives Mark a little pat on the bum, which is supposed to be encouraging. “Well, then go get her, tiger! Good luck, man,” he yells supportively as he pushes Mark out the door.

As he shuts the door, Mark blinks. “Dude! I don’t even have shoes on! Or my car keys,” he laughs, banging on the door.

Some time later, Mark finds himself hesitating as he parks his car a block down the street from your sharehouse, the same place he had kissed you, that many years ago. He doesn’t even know if you still live here. You had been broken up since the beginning of your junior year, who knows if you had decided to move out?

He contemplates this as he walks down the sidewalk to your place, hands in his pockets and gaze on the floor. Surely, if you’re not there, one of the girls will point him in your direction? Hopefully.

Oh, but you are there. As your home comes into view, he sees you. You’re there on the front porch, dressed in a simple white skirt and the same white ballet flats with purple bows that you can never seem to grow out of.

But you’re not alone.

There’s a man with you, though his back is turned to Mark’s view. He blinks. His steps stop completely. Surely it could be anyone right? A neighbor? A classmate?

But that’s impossible. Not because class doesn’t start for three days or because you and him met the neighbors on all sides of your house, but because you lean up on your toes, the way you always did with Mark himself, and kiss the stranger’s cheek.

It would have been easy to lie to himself, but then it’s much too clear. He realizes it then as he stares, only a few steps away from the path that would have led to your steps, the steps he took when walking you back on your first date, intertwined hands swinging between the two of you.

He’s too late. Maybe much too late.

He was a fool all this time. Thinking that he could be better for you, that he could defy fate with his free will and urge the universe into letting you be together. Lucas was wrong; life isn’t free will, neither is love.

This is his fate, there’s no use denying it.

He stands staring for a few moments, simply gazing in complete desolation at the sight before him. This is it, this is the end. He’s ready to submit to his poor fate, the internalized idea he’s housed that he’d never be able to find a love like yours ever again, but then you see him, probably because he stands out like a stain of black paint on the green canvas of your lawn.

He doesn’t hear you, but your lips form his name, “Mark?” and your eyes blink in confusion.

He doesn’t wait too long anyways, for he’s already turned on his heels back to his car. Fuck fate and its tendencies, giving hope where there will only be heartbreak.

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

The smell of you invades his senses, but he doesn’t care. It’s one of the first nights in a long time where you’ve agreed to go to a party with him. Though other girls beg for his attention, he’s still only got his eyes on you. Your outfit tonight is much too nostalgic.

“You know,” he whispers in your ear, dancing against your backside with a hand on your waist. “You look best in white.”

“I know,” you respond, chuckling whilst dancing back against him. He had taught you how to dance a while ago, and you just keep getting better and better.

“You wore this dress on purpose, didn’t you, you little minx,” he teases, though a playful laugh leaves his throat. His words draw a knowing giggle from you, and Mark feels as though he could get drunk on the sound alone.

“Maybe,” you respond back, turning and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. This is when Mark gets a good look at you.

It’s so easy to remember the way you first appeared to him, standing awkwardly in a corner of a party just like this. This time the lights decorating the aura of this party are not purple, but his heart is all the same. You’re wearing the same outfit now, definitely at this point to tantalize him and tease him; you loved to make fun of him after he told you that he had fallen for you because of that dress alone.

But you’re different now.

You’re brighter, taller, more mature. Now you are not just your person carrying your own thoughts, but his as well. You know him, know his thoughts and his feelings, know his worries without asking. Your smile is bigger, it reaches your eyes more now than it did that first night, a forced simper at the strange guy coming to flirt with you. You dance with more confidence, you carry with yourself a quiet strength despite your hesitant nature.

He loves you. God, he loves you. He tells you just as much.

With a hand over your hip, he pulls you close. You think he’s going to press another tipsy kiss to your lips, but he doesn’t. Instead he brushes his lips to your ear and he whispers, so softly you would have missed it if you hadn’t been purposely filtering the party’s music to focus on his voice: “I love you.”

You blink, and stop your dancing. It’s the first time he’s ever said this to you.

“Mark…” you start, lips parting in surprise, but he’s pulled away to smile sweetly at you. It’s not flirtatious, the kind of smile he gives you before attempting to pull you in the bathroom for a quick one. Nor is it the knowing grin he shoots before guiltily asking you to go refill his drink. It’s a small one that barely touches the tips of his lips, and the look alone makes your heart melt in espousement. “I… I love you too.”

You had told him, of course, the other month when you had tore him apart in his bedroom after finding him hungover. But this time it’s real, and in the future you both will choose to remember this as the first time.

Some might think that it’s unorthodox to confess such strong feelings such as love in the middle of a party, sweltering with the heat of dancing bodies and the musky smoke in the air. But for the two of you, it doesn’t matter. It’s just you two in here; you only see each other.

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

Mark’s currently in his room, completely bare except for his bed and desk, sulking away. When he had returned home with a bitter lilt in his steps, Lucas didn’t need any explanation, stepping out to “meet Yuqi.”

Of course, it had been Lucas who had put him in this place of thinking he could get you back but in the end, it was only himself that he had to blame. He never had the chance, it was his fault for thinking he ever did.

He’s learned his lesson.

It’s only an hour later when Lucas knocks on the door again. Fuck, Mark thinks inwardly while rolling his eyes. It’s only the first day back, has this giant managed to lose his keys, again? He makes his way out to the door, already preparing to give Lucas hell for being so irresponsible, but Lucas never makes his appearance at the door.

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown up at your place uninvited.” He’s quick to interrupt you, shaking his head. It’s easy to pretend to be strong; he just needs to maintain a strong front until he shuts the door again.

“It’s not that, I—”

“I won’t do it again, I promise. I know you said you wanted to move on and I shouldn’t be surprised, it just hurts to see it, and so, I’ll—”

“Mark—”

“I hope that you’re very happy, and that he can make you happier than I di—”

“That’s my brother, you daft idiot!” You finally cut him off, voice rising to a volume louder than his. He had flinched at your sudden peak in volume. You give him a pointed look, and when he doesn’t dare speak again, you continue. “That’s my brother, Mark. He helps me move in every year, you know that!”

That’s true, he does know that. And he’s met your brother many, many times. Shit, he realizes.

“... Oh.”

“Mark Lee, you think I could move on from you that quickly? It’s been like, two months!” You scold him, as if the idea is preposterous.

“Well,” he reasons. “Technically we broke up a year ago.”

You seem to have the energy to argue back. “Okay, but I only really let you go when school ended this year.”

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment following your words, before you both start to laugh. You crack first, trying to remain serious when all you want to do is envelope him in a hug, for how could you ever love anyone else? You can’t even imagine trying to date anyone right now. He follows right after, shoulders relaxing as you start to chuckle.

“We look insane right now, you know,” he says, sighing as his chortle comes to an end.

“Yeah, and I’m insane because I drove like a madwoman chasing after my ex because he saw me with my brother,” you say with a pointed tone, to which Mark sighs.

“Okay, in my defense, I saw him from behind, and you are awfully touchy with your brother!” He starts, when you begin to laugh again, pure amusement breaking out across your visage. Wow, just five minutes ago he had been regretting all his life decisions, yet here he was with you again, making conversations like you had years ago in your relationship.

When the laughter dies down, the two of you are left staring at each other, and reality sets in. Yeah, he had run away when he saw you with your brother of all people, and you had chased after him, your ex. Where does that place you?

Mark speaks first, breaking the short silence. “I’m sober now, you know. I haven’t done anything, anything at all, in three months now.”

Surprise seems to claim your face at the revelation, and he’s not sure if he should feel proud that he managed to shock you with his success or saddened that it seems to be that much of a surprise. “Oh?” Your surprised expression is replaced with a smile. “I’m proud.”

He nods, unsure what to say next, but luckily you add on, “What made you decide to stop?” You’re undoubtedly reminiscing on all the times you had begged him to give it up, to which he would stubbornly resist.

“You.”

Your features contort into an incredulous expression. “Me.”

“Really,” Mark urges. “I…” he pauses, preparing himself for the words about to leave him. He had long pondered over this moment, wondering if it would truly happen. “I lost you, and I know that I said it was because we weren’t meant to be together but somewhere along the line I realized, I can live without weed, and parties, and alcohol but I can’t live without you.”

“Mark…” You start, lips parted as you grow silent.

“No, please, let me finish, I don’t want to take all the credit because it was Lucas who had to come and knock some sense into me and make me see: sure, fate can be real and that soulmate shit might be real too because I believe you’re mine, but I know that everything is a choice, including love.” His mention of Lucas has you smiling, and he has no doubt Lucas has talked to you recently, attempting to be the middleman once more. “I love you, there’s no doubt about that, I love you more than I love partying, my friends, or anything. And if I love you that much, there’s nothing that can keep me from you.”

He grasps at your hands, and thankfully, you don’t pull away. “Not God, not fate, not anybody. Only me. I was the only thing keeping us apart. I want to be with you, I want to make things better, and I promise… I promise I’ll do everything in my power to be the best for you.” Mark takes a deep breath, taking a moment to glance down at his hands holding yours before looking back to your eyes. “I can’t promise that I won’t have relapses. But I promise that as long as you’re there for me, I will be there for you. I’ll walk you through the shady areas, I won’t run away.”

“Mark—”

“I don’t know if my words will be enough for you to take me back but I swear to you on my entire being that I will be here—”

“Geez, Mark does sobriety make you extremely prone to interrupting, or what?” You butt in, but you laugh, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. Whether it’s you natural shine or tears building in your eyes, neither of you know. “Don’t even go there, or explain anymore. Of course I’ll take you back, you idiot. You think I would chase after you like that if I didn’t think about running back to you every day?”

This causes him to laugh. “I’m glad you didn’t. I wasn’t ready. I was waiting until I was good enough to run to you.”

“You ran away earlier,” you point out teasingly, and he rolls his eyes, pulling you close over the threshold of his apartment.

“That was the last time.”

Your hands find his chest, resting upon the expanse of it as you look up at him with a cheeky smile. “Better be, mister.”

“Oh,” he muses, as you wrap your fingers around the fabric of his shirt and all feels right again. “You’re bold.”

“A year apart does that to you,” you smile, still a hint of shyness on your lips as you finally tug him in, kissing him. You melt into him and his hands immediately find themselves on your hips, just where they belong.

Oh yes, there it is again, that feeling of euphoria. You’re the only drug, the only high he needs.

#NCT-WRITERS #mark lee angst #mark lee smut #mark smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee fanfic #nct angst #tw: smut #tw: drugs #tw: drinking

2K notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years ago

Text

commercial break; SEVEN

this is part of my netflix & chill series ! happens a few months before part 7

summary; And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare. It’s a perfect plan. warnings; horny jk, jk wants to roleplay... everyone point n laugh, mentions of his impreg kink lol, making out, tits, honestly jk is just very horny n in love lol, jk in a vampire costume w fangs O_o rating; mature (18+) wc; 2k

notes; if u don’t know who lindsay is first of all ur sick, second of all here’s my queen’s top moments. also i just gotta say, this was originally gonna be a larger fic (a halloween special) for my ncouple, but i got a lil busy with school n ultimately didn't have time to invest in this as a whole installment so..... enjoy this commercial break instead!!

Jungkook loves Halloween.

He loves the pumpkin carving and the decorating. Loves the spooky music and the abundance of candy. He loves it, absolutely adores it, and for the second year in a row, he gets to spend it with you! Yet another person he loves very much.

He doesn’t remember ever being this excited for Halloween. Last year, you had roped him into going to some frat party with him, had egged him on, begged so cutely that it was your last year in college, baby until he caved. The two of you had spent the night drinking until you blacked out, Ubering home with your costumes half on, and then unceremoniously fucking in his living room with the blinds wide open.

(The next neighborhood meeting had been very awkward for Jungkook.)

It was his first time ever drinking with you like that, and he vaguely remembers, through his own drunken gaze, how cool you had been. Had absolutely owned a bunch of greasy football players at beer pong in your little sexy nurse costume. And when the crowd cheered your name, shrieked in awe, it had been him that you turned to for praise. “Did you see me, baby,” you had giggled, crowded him against the wall of this random house until Jungkook was sweating profusely. In lieu of a costume, he had worn a silly jogger set with a skeleton design that was supposed to glow in the dark, according to Amazon. You had told him he looked adorable, had kissed and squeezed his cheeks until Jungkook was a flustered mess.

It was still early into your relationship— if Jungkook did the math, you were only about five months in at that point —so he didn’t know how else to cope with the rapid thundering of his heart, the confession sitting on his tongue, the then scary L-word begging to be heard. So, he took you home and fucked you until your little nurse cap slid off your head and you were begging for him to let you cum, thus earning him his first ever offense for violating the neighborhood rules (i.e., traumatizing a group of middle schoolers by fucking in plain sight).

Long story short, Jungkook loves Halloween, and he loves it even more when he gets to spend it with you.

(He’ll never admit it, but he’s a hard romantic. He wants to do cheesy things with you, like cuddle you into his arms when you get scared, pat your head until you can look at whatever is happening on screen again. He wants you to feel safe in his arms, wants to be your refuge when things become too much. He likes to think he’s done a pretty good job so far.)

Jungkook’s plan goes like this:

First, welcome you with that Halloween basket you’ve been sending him tweet links about all month. The cute little Jack-O-lantern candy bucket stuffed with candy and hair ties and a soft Halloween themed blanket. It’s so cheesy, makes him blush when he catches sight of it in his closet, but Jungkook will do anything to please you.

Next, after presenting you with your Halloween gift and having you coo and tell him he’s a good boy, he’ll invite you to break your new soft blanket in. The living room will be prepared with an assortment of your favorite foods, the flat screen ready to play whatever horror movie the two of you settle on.

And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare.

It’s a perfect plan.

It’s the best way to spend his favorite holiday, with his favorite girl by his side and some of his favorite horror films on the big screen. Jungkook spends all of October geeked up for it, even considers hanging up lights around the living room to really set the mood. He’s so excited, can’t wait to spend another wonderful holiday at home with you, that he doesn’t fully realize why you haven’t brought up the long awaited topic of costumes.

“You like?” you ask, standing at the door of his bathroom with a sultry look in your eye, tits practically pouring out of the tight top you’ve wiggled into, skin oiled up scandalously. He fumbles with the fake vampire fang prosthetics he’d been trying to glue in for the better half of an hour.

He had heard the door open downstairs when you got here, had called out his mandatory greeting as he heard you come up the stairs. But none of that had prepared him for the sight of you in… whatever this was.

Jungkook doesn’t really understand exactly what you’re supposed to be dressed up as until the two of you are back downstairs—blinds drawn, full moon slipping in through the cracks—with some random horror movie pulled up on the TV. “I’m Lindsey,” you whine, brand new fluffy blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It shields your boobs from view, but he’s not sure if that’s a win or a loss. “From Total Drama Island!”

He settles in beside you, doesn’t get too comfortable because it’s nearing sundown now and he knows the herds of children are bound to start flowing in. “Uh huh,” he says mindlessly. His collar feels itchy, the overly-detailed vampire costume he meticulously scoured the internet for being one size too small. You snuggle into his side anyway.

“You don’t know anything about cinematic masterpieces,” you frown, avidly tuned into The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, because apparently you love horror movies all of a sudden, a fact that genuinely throws Jungkook off. He’s not sure what it is about you that had deluded him into thinking you would be a scaredy cat, but he doesn’t take the new bit of information too hard.

The doorbell rings right as the first gorey scene ends and you make a big show of huffing and whining as he rushes to answer it. But it’s only the beginning of the long night that awaits, and, as Jungkook comes to find, running back and forth from the door to the couch is harder than it seems.

Anyway, Jungkook’s neighborhood is a little posh, or ‘bougie’ as you like to claim, and trick-or-treating hours end a little before eleven pm. By then he’s tired, having refused your offer to switch places in fear that your boob might fall out of that scrap of fabric you call a top and earn him his second neighborly offense.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to your boobs falling out in private.

“Stupid,” you giggle when he gets caught in his long cape, the sound slowly melting into a whimper as he slips his hands beneath your top, fighting with the ridiculous push-up bra you’ve donned tonight. Hands tangle in his hair, mess up the careful side part he’d styled up for tonight, and legs lock around his waist. “Your curtains closed?” you tease.

He huffs, catches your chatty lips with his roughly, presses and presses until your mouth must bruise. He belatedly remembers about those sharp fangs he’d glued on—hey, if he was going to dress up as some gaudy monster it might as well be realistic—and doesn’t realize until he tries to bite your neck and you let out a little yelp. Truthfully, he feels bad right away, but then you’re practically dissolving in his arms so he plays along. “Shh,” he hisses.

The roar of a chainsaw and terrified screams fill the living room, almost drowning out the soft sounds you release by his ear. “O- Or what?” you pant, flinch when he pushes your sad excuse of a skirt up over your waist. “Gonna b- bite me?”

And so Jungkook does.

You shriek. “That hurts, you idiot!” you scold with a tiny whine in your voice, but Jungkook’s cock is so hard. Your tiny, tight outfit does you no favors. Tits in his face, tiny thong against his bulge. He wants to make you sob, litter bites and marks all over your skin until his love makes you ache. You must see the crazed look in his eyes, because you drop the scowl. “Hey,” you say slowly, hand on his chest. “You look like you’re gonna eat me.”

He lets go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He wonders if you can feel his thundering heart beneath your palm. “Fuck,” he sighs, leaning away to regain his senses. Was it something in the air? Was it the fatigue? The full moon? Why did he want to fold you in half and fuck his cock into you until you were a crying, shivering mess? Something about you tonight, laid out for him to take, makes him feel absolutely insane. Starved and psycho; he just wants to take and take until you don’t have anything more to give. He purses his lips, tries to ignore the hot feeling in his lower abdomen when your hardened nipples register to his eyes. “I think I’m becoming evil.”

Of all the idiotic things his brain can come up with, this one is definitely top five. His cheeks flush right after, fueled by the boisterous laughter that escapes your lips at his statement. “Oh my god,” you gasp in glee, hands falling down beside your head. “You’re becoming evil?’

Jungkook frowns, flopping down on top of you to hide the embarrassment that paints his face. “Shut up,” he mumbles against your neck, warm and safe.

A hand cards through the back of his hair, nails dig lightly into his scalp. “Aren’t you the cutest little vampire,” you coo, seemingly ignoring the rock hard cock Jungkook presses against your thigh. He’s still so horny, has this sick thought that he could just pin you down right here, tear that silly costume to shreds and swallow you up in his lust. But your voice is so sweet, has his eyes fluttering shut as you gather him in his arms. “Silly vampire,” you hum, one leg thrown around his hip, a subtle roll of you hips up into him.

Jungkook huffs, licks a flat strip along the base of your neck. It draws a shaky exhale from you, has your hands digging into his back when he begins to slowly lap against the skin, nibble and tug until your back is deliciously arching up into him. “Wanna push you down,” he confesses quietly, hands securing themselves against your hips as he leans back. You're all dazed, eyes trained on his fanged mouth when he hesitantly adds, “l- little human.”

You could laugh, tease him for his sudden weird need to role play with you, but you don’t. A look of understanding crosses your face, sly smirk slowly following. “Oh?” you grin, hand coming around to cup his cheek. “The little vampire wants to use my body?” Jungkook tightens his jaw at your jab, but nods nonetheless.

You’re a feast before his eyes. Boobs in his face, pussy begging to be filled. You’re his, just like Jungkook is yours. And when you indulge him and his stupid whims—kinks, he should say, occasional interests that sometimes make him question himself—his heart feels warm and full. Proud and unashamed, like the truest version of himself when you look at him with those eyes. And your words only confirm it.

Your hands reach down for your top, pull the flimsy material over your head in one swoop that has your bra coming off with it. It drops to the floor. If it makes a sound, Jungkook doesn’t hear it over the shrieks of terror on screen. the blood deaths, the suspenseful music. All he hears is he hammering of his heart.

It’s two of your sneaky fingers that come up to play, pinch one nipple tenderly as you meet his eyes. “It’s all yours,” you purr. “I’m all yours.”

And the thirst he feels, well. It’s a little vampiric, to say the least.

—

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jeongguk smut #mine

1K notes · View notes

prozd · 3 years ago

Text

Bones of the Forgotten

For those unaware, when I was 12 years old, I used to write very gritty Mario fanfiction. The only reason this exists is because we hit a charity milestone for Extra Life (which by the way you can still donate to here: https://www.extra-life.org/participant/450294)

I decided to write the sort of fanfiction that 12 year old me would've enjoyed writing, so here is my love letter to my youth.

A question block can come in handy in a variety of ways. You just gotta know how to scrap it down. Easily done enough with a precision focus Fire Flower blowtorch. The first thing you gotta do is realize there's nothing bringing that sonuvabitch down; those fuckers float in the air forever no matter how much you push or pull 'em. Instead, you gotta carve off pieces from it as it's floating up there. Awkward at first, but by the fiftieth time, it's fucking clockwork.

Melt down the pieces and you've got the golden goo perfect for crafting all sorts of nasty tools. A bat made from question block has just enough lightness for a easy swing, but just enough density to still effectively break a kneecap. A blade still won't pierce, say, a Chain Chomp, but it can at least pierce most Koopa shells. Plus, some people just like the gold color; they think it looks sick.

I personally think the best use of question block goo is making bullets out of it. They're denser than most others and they maintain their speed for longer. The only downside is they stand out if you leave them in a body at a crime scene, but that's irrelevant as long as you're cleaning up your messes properly. If anyone had the time and resources to search the bottom of the sea near Rogueport Docks, I imagine you'd find a glittering trove of golden bullets scattered among the bones of the forgotten.

One of those bullets dances idly through my fingers as I listen to one of my subordinates, a Craw with the quite frankly unfortunate name of Garf, lament about his recent mistreatment by the Syndicate.

"Ishnail, they just stomped the shit out of us! Gus and I, we weren't doin' NOTHIN' and those leafy fucks attacked us. Everyone knows the Plaza's neutral territory, we gotta DO somethin' about this."

Craws get a bad rap, in my opinion. They get labeled as savage, but I've always found them to be much more thoughtful than people would assume. Even in this moment, as my eyes gaze upon Garf's tattered, bloodied vest and bandana, and his curved beak squawks in rage, I notice the slightest trace of tears at the very edges of his eyes. Aw.

"Let me ask you one question, Garf." Out of respect, Garf immediately goes silent. Again, thoughtful. "Were you and Gus carrying your spears?"

"I......I mean.....we have to, it's part of Craw culture...."

"I'm well aware, but Garf, I'm sure YOU'RE well aware that no weapons are allowed in the Plaza. I mean, at the very least, keep a goddamn gun hidden in your pocket, don't wave a fucking SPEAR around. You're just asking for the Piantas to give you a beating."

I get up from the dingy sofa I've been lounging on and dust myself off. "But I can't have Don Pianta thinking it's okay to fuck up my guys. I'll have to have a word with the ol' mustachioed fuck." I pat Garf on the cheek and wipe a tear away with my thumb. He nods in appreciation.

I motion to two of my subordinates, a scrappy looking Goomba named Goomfrey and a laidback Hammer Brother named Hamma. We step outside HQ and into the bustling, grimy streets of Rogueport's east side.

As long as I've lived in Rogueport, it's always carried the smell of the sea in the air. It's a welcome scent to me, having grown up in the Seaside Kingdom. My mom was a Bubblainian; she raised me when my deadbeat Koopa dad left us, and what she gave me was the snail shell on my back and a love for the water. Merchants shouting and the occasional "STOP, THIEF!" ring out as my muscle and I make our way through the Plaza. We pass the gallows where the Shadow Queen's corpse was supposedly hung from one thousand years ago. Fittingly gruesome lore for a city filled with murderous rat-bastards.

A sickly sweet scent starts to mingle with the smell of the sea and garbage I'm used to. It's an indication that we're entering the west side of Rogueport. Sure, it's a much tidier area than where the Robbos and I live; there may be fancy-ass things like "flowers" and "benches," how hoity-toity. You can put lipstick on a Li'l Oink, but it still smells like shit.

We walk into Westside Goods. There's no need for the customary password; Peeka, the Boo shopkeeper, knows why I'm here. She opens up the back door, and we walk up the stairs in the back alley to Don Pianta's office.

"Ishnail, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Don Pianta stands behind his desk; as much as I hate to admit it, his presence is overwhelming. "And you brought friends, too?" he notes as he sees Goomfrey and Hamma.

If you want to live long in Rogueport, every time you enter a room, you have to mentally gauge 1. the quickest way to escape, 2. who you may need to disable and/or kill to escape, and 3. how easy that's all going to be. Two giant yellow Pianta in suits stand guard at both sides of the Don's desk. A blue Pianta in a white suit, the Don's underboss Frankie, closes the door behind us.

Piantas are not easy to injure, let alone kill; I know this from years of tangling with the Don's gang. The little palm trees and skirts would make you think otherwise, but Piantas are naturally built like fucking dump trucks and hit just as hard. Hamma's a Glitz Pit fighter, and I've seen what he can do with that hammer. Goomfrey gets underestimated for his species, but his reputation precedes him; he has bitten off more fingers than your average Rogueportian. Still, a fight against four Piantas, even with my question block bullets, would be brutal. It's telling that you never see a Pianta with a weapon because nothing will kill you faster than simply their own fists.

"Your men attacked mine, Don. And for what, carrying spears? You and I both know that's bullshit."

"My men....have been on edge. Your little Bandit friends have been scuttling around, picking too many pockets they shouldn't be. Keep that shit on the East Side where it belongs, and we'll be fine."

As Don Pianta talks, he habitually cracks his knuckles. Out of all the Piantas in the syndicate, Don Pianta is truly a mammoth; his muscles are barely contained by the suit he's wearing. Honestly, if he wasn't my ultimate arch-nemesis in this town, shit, I'd fuck him. I like my men beefy.

"Alright, Don. I'll tell my boys to keep their weapons out of the plaza. You and I both know no one benefits if we fight in the streets. Bad business for both your establishments and mine. Let's keep things quiet."

"Agreed," The Don extends a giant hand. I shake it firmly.

I turn to leave with my muscle in tow. As I open the door to leave, I hear a whisper.

"Get your slimy shell outta here, you fuck."

I pause. I give Goomfrey the look, and he smirks. Goomfrey's eyes quickly dart and I know he's already memorizing every little detail about the yellow Pianta who whispered the insult. Without another word, I close the door behind me.

---

There's one more use for question block goo I forgot to mention. It's perfect for weighing things down.

I breathe in the salty seaport air; it's particularly sweet tonight. The golden bullet dances between my fingers; I know it's a bad habit, but it's fun to fidget with. It'll go to good use though. I load it into my Fire Flower pistol with a few others and carefully attach the silencer.

"Now, listen, uh...what was his name again?"

"Paulie," says Goomfrey, standing to my side with a grin.

"That's right, Paulie. I'm a pretty patient person, I think most people including your boss would agree, but I've got a real sore spot about the shell, ya know? It's just, it reminds me of my dear old ma, and I love her to bits. You understand, right?"

There is no response from Paulie due to his crushed windpipe courtesy of Hamma's hammer. Quite frankly, I'm impressed he's still conscious from the pain. He looks up at me from his crouching position eyes filled with hate, his hands and feet encased in reforged golden question blocks. Piantas are heavy, so four blocks worth is safest.

"I did promise the dear Don that I'd keep things quiet, so let's cut to the chase." I point the gun at his forehead and before he can react, I fire three shots. There's no need to prolong this shit; I'm not a sadist. Hamma and Goomfrey pick up the body and toss it off the port into the sea.

"For what it's worth, boss," says Hamma in a low, pleasant baritone. "I like your shell. Looks good on ya."

"Aww, thanks."

#mario #fanfiction #charity #paper mario #thousand year door

119 notes · View notes

shorkbrian · 4 years ago

Text

shorkbrian getting into Haikyuu? It’s more likely than you think.

(Yandere Miya twins anyone?)

(rip to all the kind people that have already seen me gush about this but uhh)

So my sister is watching her friend’s cats. So my cat Bagel is suddenly bombarded with the attention of two male cats. It’s like watching two 18-19 yr olds pester and stalk (literally they stalk her) a 25 yr old and it’s giving me inspiration for how annoying that would be because I feel annoyed for poor Bagel. They won’t leave her alone!!! And even when she like hisses to let them know they’re getting too close, they just freeze and when she calms down they inch closer and closer. And one boy is completely enamored by her. He keeps chirping and trilling at her very softly and trying to talk to her and she isn’t having it. He literally just follows her around the house and watches her. Whatever she touches he has to touch. Wherever she goes, he’s right behind her.

Imagine the Miya twins are like staying with your family (cause the parents met once at a business conference) while their (the twins) parents go on vacation. Your parents see the boys are rattling their kid and like messing with you, but they’re just like “aw how cute! They’re just being boys! They’re trying to get to know you!”

Oof and the boys just. Are an invasive species essentially. Your room isn’t your own anymore - one of them is constantly going through your stuff or sprawled out on your bed or reading your books. Always trying to touch your hair (“Please? it’s so pretty”) or give their opinions on what you should wear for the day. At night the two of them sit on your bed and talk to you (bother you) while you do your skincare routine. If you go to watch a movie they plop down on the couch next to you, one on either side. You gotta be careful about going on your phone because one of them will snatch it out of your hands or be peeking over your shoulder to see what you’re looking at. Oof and what if (since the boys would be a bit (like a year or two cause in my experience boys are generally less mature than their female counterparts of the same age) younger than you) they haven’t learned how to share and there’s this underlying element of competition in their actions. You constantly feel like you’re getting pulled apart at the seams, tugged this way by one twin and that way by the other. They vie for your attention like it’s a prize, something to be won.

Your parents think the boys are well-mannered and respectful but they’re anything but that. The boys are huge brats used to getting their way - when they were children they would always get the toy they wanted, no matter what. Even if they had to throw a tantrum. And it’s not like they really mean to be overbearing and scary and always-present or manipulative! They’re just bored and horny and it’s convenient that the house they’re staying at has the perfect little toy for them to play with.

You go outside one day to find the two scrapping in the dirt, fighting about something (don’t care what, you think physical fights are childish and petty) and so you yell at them. Go on and on about how they’re brothers, for Christ’s sake. Whatever they’re fighting about, they need to learn how to resolve it like grown adults. The two of them need to learn to share, you’ve seen them do nothing but bicker over who gets this and who gets that. You’re so tired of their immaturity. Both the boys are like “OOP”. Obviously they go “well okay, you want us to share? Fine.” And now everything is worse cause you’ve got the two boys working together now; hanging off of you, following you around, watching your every move. They steal cheek kisses and lingering hugs and why are you upset? They’re learning to share just like you told them to!

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #yandere haikyuu #miya twins #Yandere miya twins #atsumu #osamu #miya #miya osamu #miya atsumu #yandere atsumu #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines

533 notes · View notes

multiplefandomsblog · 4 years ago

Note

your roommate hcs are so cute, can i request for naib, demi, tracy, andrew, kurt, patricia, and victor?

:0 holy crap yes! I’m so glad you enjoyed the roommate hcs!! Me and the other mods hope you enjoy these! Thank you for requesting :))

(i added melly because why not? lmao hope you don’t mind.)

Part 1!

Naib Subedar

This man deadass didn’t know you were living with him

Even when people told him about it, he wasn’t rlly paying attention and didn’t rlly care

Your stuff in his room? He thought it was his or someone just broke into his room and left it there

When he saw you on the toilet however, he just freaked out.

“Why the hell are you shitting in my room!?” “Your room? I’ve been living here for 2 months!”

Once he found out you lived with him, he made sure you knew what was his and what was yours

also, since he’s very protective of his things-- you being one of them-- he would totally get jealous if he caught you tallking to someone that wasn’t him.

he would probably give you the silent treatment and act like a pissy baby

He hates it when you touch his stuff

especially his photos, the photos were special to him because they were of him and his army friends.

You’d sometimes catch him looking at the photos with a longing in his eyes, it was highkey sad.

having you live with him meant lots and lots of training

he made sure you were always prepared for matches and that you don’t get downed early

when you got downed early however, He would scold you but he would still rescue you anyways because he’s soft

“You’re such an idiot, you’d better do better next time! Or else I’ll kick your ass.”

one time he got cocky while kiting because you were watching him

he forgot to turn on his elbow pads and face palmed into the wall.

“...You saw nothing.” He turned around, a bit woozy from hitting his head on a wall. He flipped the hunter off before stumbling wooshing away

When you first get to know naib, he’d probably come off as intimidating and menacing

but once you get to know him--the real him--, you start to understand that even though he may be tough on you, its because he wants you to be the best

he has good intentions

During matches he’d let you handle yourself and made sure you didn’t rely on him too much

One time you needed to shower but you ran out of your shampoo so you used his.

When he questioned you, you simply responded “What? You don’t need it anyways, you’re bald!”

He didn’t rescue you the next round.

should’ve seen that coming

though he forgives you when you braid his luscious long existent hair for him

Kurt Frank

The amount of times you almost stepped on this man is astronomical.

he would constantly be in his tiny form because he would lose a lot of his things

his tiny form helped him find his things easily

Though when you first moved in with him, you had no idea what his ability was

so when you first saw a tiny version of your roommate you thought he was just a weird doll

until you heard him say a tiny, “Hey can you move your ginORMOUS foot? You’re stepping on my book.”

You fucking screeched and took off your shoe to try and kill him

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

After he explained to you about his ability you calmed down a bit and spared this tiny man but only this time!

Frank loves books, he probably filled your shared rooms with stacks on stacks of books

You’d often see him tiny, waving at you while you’re decoding

Once you overhead Kurt arguing with First Officer over who was the rightful owner of some sort of treasure map

They fought for days,

kurt would constantly complain about it to you

turns out it was just a game on the back of a Cereal box.

sorry this is short like kurt

Tracy Reznik

Would be a little awkward at first, but the awkwardness slowly fades away when you both make bad jokes

she gives me childhood best friend vibes

Has her doll sitting in the corner of your shared room room, it’s lifeless eyes scare the living shit out of you in the dark you try not to make eye contact, afraid it’ll curse you or smth

if she was mad at you she would move the bot in a way that looked like it was flipping you off you off in your direction before you went to bed.

Always making little robot things that are super fun to play with

Loves sharing her things. Has no problem with it

you wanna wear her clothes? sure

you want to wear her underwear? evEN BETTER-

Pulling all nighters, trying to get her machines to work like how she wanted it to work.

Would live off of kraft Mac n cheese and junk food in the modern day

Pretty hyper, chugs pink monster energy drinks while pulling all nighters, also, in the modern day

would probably be a bruh girl

Her room is a mess, covered with blueprints and scrap metal

her room is practically a safety hazard

Sometimes she dresses her doll up a bit, putting wigs or her old clothes on it (which scares you half to death)

Once she made her doll dress up like her

and you almost went up to it to ask what it wanted for dinner.

Has a photo of her and her dad

You never wanted to bring it up, worried it might make her upset :(

Sometimes she’d feel really guilty about being downed in the first 30 seconds

please comfort her, she feels super bad

She always relies on you to rescue her

She gets really happy and thankful when you body block for her but she still gets a bit concerned when you do it randomly

“i wasn’t even kiting-” “Protecc the mecc.”

Demi Bourbon

Always out at the bar

Smells like alcohol constantly

tipsy 24/7

she’s never 100% sober

You have to hold her hair out of her face when she comes back to your shared room to hurl

Likes bringing back hard vodka or weird flavoured alcohols back for you guys to get wasted try together

Room is bit cluttered, but she doesn’t have much in her room since she’s always out in bars or matches

Usually latches onto you like a parasite when she’s drunk.

it gets a bit awkward when her face is a bit close to yours,

“Are we about to kiss right now-? BLeurghgrhgherrgh.”“...*audible sigh*”

You’d go to her expecting her to heal you like a normal person but no

instead she shoves dovlin down your throat

She likes to do your makeup, and always adds a matching beauty mark

unless you don’t wear makeup, then she’d ask you to do hers

always loves how she looks afterwards

more than sometimes demi would get into bar fights,

so you know she’s about to throw hands when she starts takes off her earrings-

10/10 would fight for you <3

She’s gives me cool wine aunt vibes

Probably a lesbian too (check out our Demi smut fic ;))

Or bi, idk

Just straightn’t

She’s really good at hyping you up, especially when you’re taking shots

“CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG-”

Andrew Kreiss

Would be very shy at first, opens up a little when you get to know him

Totally a night owl, can’t sleep at night from all the guilt and “what if’”s

if you see this baby awake at night, hug him, he really needs it

You’ve never seen the other side of his face

How does he see with hair in his eyes?

He’s albino, which is super dope

Sometime you fear he’s thinking about burying you

You always see him thwacking Luca with his shovel

Barely talks

Room is moderate

He doesn’t want you to find out too much about him

He may seem bland, but he loves sweet food

You’d bake him cookies and other sweets

He’d act as if he’s not embarrassed and brush it off

“Are you blushing?”“No, I-I’m sunburnt.” “On your face?” “....I stare into the hot red sun sometimes because it eases me.”

to keep his lie going, every time he catches you staring at him he would fry his eye balls by staring into the sun until you left

partially the reason why he can’t see well

When he’s not looking, you stare at him while he’s eating the stuff you made because he looks so happy :’)

One time you found him down in the dumps so you made him a cup of coffee, and when you handed it to him you said-

“Depresso espresso?”

*sniff* ”..are you oka-” “IM NOT CRYING, YOU ARE”

he actually cried

it was such a nice gesture(?), that he started ugly crying

You’d ask him if he wanted hugs during matches when you see him get stressed

He’d be flushed and kinda confused

hug... him? why tho lmao

he’d definitely agree tho, to be fair, with some hesitation

if y’all ever cuddled in bed, i feel like he’d be a little spoon

poor boy needs the comfort, he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be little spoon tho

he just wants to be close to you

Victor Grantz

You love playing with his dog, Wick

Super nice and polite, but a little guarded

The type to be too afraid to call people out when they do something wrong but would totally trash them in his head

You write him little letters everyday and leave them on his bed to make him happy :))

He’d a be a little spoon

Wick would always join you guys while cuddling

Kisses would be soft and gentle

Usually sends you the first letter in matches

Loves to cuddle

He bb 🥰

You always get him a birthday present AND a Christmas present

You also get a gift for Wick

He loves giving you surprise hugs

Likes to read with you while cuddling

Literally a cinnamon roll

Once he was eating a cinnamon roll

And you whispered

“C a n n i b a l i s m .”

He was very confused

and kind of scared- were you going to eat him?

Patricia Dorval

Room always smells like herbs

She could literally smoke weed and you’d think it’s some magical healing herb

it magically makes you feel better

Always there to stun the hunter when you’re ballooned

The mature one

Her room is organized, with boxes labeling what herbs and magic stuff that are in them

You were cooking dinner for the day and you accidentally used one of her fancy herbs in your soup

She didn’t realize until she tried the soup

She wasn’t mad just disappointed

She lectured you on how you shouldn’t touch her stuff or use it for cooking

Gotta admit tho, the soup was pretty good

she acts like the mom everyone wishes they had

totally the type to be like, “dude we should think this through.” before doing something risky

and then five seconds later, “cowABUNGA MY DUDES”

one time she caught kreacher leaving the mens washroom without washing his hands

seeing as she was the mother of this manor, she had to protect her children from diseases

so she yeeted her monkey skull at kreachers head, cleanly knocking him out

and everybody cheered.

Melly Plinius

When you heard melly was going to be your roomie, you couldn’t have been more excited.

you finally had a victim for the many insect pick up lines!

So you decided to make some good first impressions by waiting for her in your room.

so when she arrived to your room and greeted you, you happily greeted her back, and slipped in the pick up line.

“Hello, my name is Melly. I believe I will be your ro-?”“Yeah nice to meet you too, say, what do bees make?”

She kinda thought you were a bit rude so much for first impressions

“...Erm, honey?” she replied hesitantly

“YES DEAR?”

... okay maybe you weren’t thaaaat bad.

after that she kind of developed a teensy crush on you

so it was hard living with you because of her crush, since she was constantly flustered

you loved her reactions, she constantly got red.

it was funny watching her try to keep her cool and fail.

185 notes · View notes

maybankiara · 4 years ago

Photo

YOU’RE IN MY HEAD

pairing: Footballer!Rafe Cameron x Reader

summary: When he keeps putting you off your position during matches, you decide to take it up with him -- unbeknownst to you, there’s more to Rafe than just wanting to prevent you from being a good football player (and it’s called unresolved sexual tension.)

w/c: 4k

a/n: happy valentine’s day!! @drewstarkey and i have a whole football!obx au (soccer, for you americans) planned that i keep putting off, so here’s a little something loosely inspired by the idea, until that finally arrives. also, in this universe, football is a unisex sport. i’m not a football expert so there may be some inaccuracies. i hope you enjoy both the day and the fic! (and do let me know if this football!fic is what people are interested in.)

masterlist

It’s the half-time of one of the better matches the team has played this season and, of course, Rafe Cameron ruins it by uttering a single sentence: ‘Y/N, you’re swapping positions with Kiara.’

The captain’s orders don’t end here, and he decides to implement some more strategies the team has practiced before, adapting the approach to the heavy-defence strategy that North Carolina is playing tonight. Sarah gives you a sympathetic look and a tap on your hand, but all you can do is shake your head.

This is the third time in a row Rafe has put you on the sidelines, basically. Always swapping with Kiara, whom everybody knows to be a lot fiercer right back than you, or anyone else on the team. Just like you’re better at being in the front, charging for the goal.

When the changes are in place and there’s about five minutes left, Rafe asks if anyone has got questions. Peterkin stays quiet and lets Captain Cameron take over, just like she always does.

You raise your hand, and Rafe calls on you. ‘What the fuck, Rafe? Why are you putting me in the back again?’

His jaw clenches. ‘We need someone firmer on the front.’

‘But you also need a firm defence,’ you argue. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

He stares at you and you hold his gaze, unwavering, feeling his sister stir next to you. On the other end of the locker room, Kiara pulls her jersey down, biting her lip. ‘Y/N’s right—’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ Rafe cuts her off. ‘Now let’s get back on the field.’

You listen to what he says, but not without letting your disagreement with his choice be written all over your face. When you’re headed out, he’s waiting to be the last, and you bump into him as you’re walking out, shoulder to shoulder, torso to torso.

He glares, and you clench your teeth, trailing behind Pope.

Back on the field, time flies. You warm up quickly and it’s back in the game again, only on a different position than where you started. Kiara offers you a sympathetic glance, much like the one Sarah gave you, because everyone is starting to notice that Rafe is treating you differently.

As you run, a little out of the grounds he told you you’d be covering, saving the ball more than a handful of times, you feel his watchful eyes on you. You’re not meant to be playing the right back but you’d rather do your best, even if it means overexerting yourself, just to make sure you don’t lose.

You foul an opposing player and drop to the ground, feeling your ankle get sore; Rafe’s the first to get to your side, helping you up. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

It’s a free kick, but not a yellow, so you say, ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘Don’t go breaking your legs, Y/N.’

You pull your arm out of his hold, sending a glare his way as you go back to your position. You should keep paying attention to the ball, because it’s about to be kicked, but you can’t help but shout, ‘If you let me play what I’m supposed to play, maybe I’ll listen!’

The game picks up. You dive a few more times, Kiara gets a nasty foul that has her off the pitch for about half a minute, Topper gets a cramp, JJ fouls in the front and gets a yellow, John B and Rafe nearly start a scrap when someone gets Sarah to the ground – but you win.

That should be what’s important, you think as the entire team is hugging and celebrating, but your heart isn’t in the right place.

Playing football is far from fun when you keep being treated like a lesser player than someone else.

Time wears on, the team gets changed, and it’s time for a proper celebration, down at the Wreck. Sarah tries getting your spirits up, even Kiara tries telling you that at least you evaded getting fouled like that, Kelce tells you that you saved his ass, but none of it matters – not when Rafe celebrates as if what he’s doing is right.

Seriously. Three matches. It’s fucking ridiculous at this point.

You approach Rafe without hesitation, but still keep your voice hushed, because you’re not exactly trying to ruin everybody’s happiness with your tension. ‘Can we talk?’

He glances at you as he pulls his jersey over his head – your eyes drop to his lean torso, despite the fact you see it on an almost weekly basis.

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he says, and takes his shorts off. ‘You were good today, as a right back.’

‘That’s not my— Jesus, do you need to be half naked right now?’

‘What?’ he asks, almost innocently, but the grin betrays him. ‘I’m getting changed. Why are you getting so worked up?’

‘I’m not—’ You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out an exasperated huff as he takes off his socks, too, and is now wearing literally just boxers. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

He chuckles, dropping down on the bench. You half-wonder what Topper, sitting next to him, must be thinking – and realise that most of the team is taking selfies and chatting in the other end of the locker room. It’s just you and Rafe.

Good.

He looks up at you from the bench, manspreading with his back leaning on the wall. ‘What do you want?’

‘I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kind of trying to have a serious conversation with you right now.’

‘Yeah, I got that.’

He’s hot. Okay, he’s hot and the reason why you’re so bothered about him being almost naked is because it’s taking your mind off of what you’re wanting to talk about, and giving a different meaning to you being “worked up”.

So you gather all your courage and bring your eyes up to meet his, trying to exude as much fierceness as you can muster. ‘I need you to let me play on my position. I’ve had enough, you can’t keep doing that if you’re not training me to play Kiara’s.’

‘Easy,’ he says, shrugging. ‘Then we’ll train you.’

Your jaw drops. ‘Are you being fucking serious right now?’

Before he gets to answer, JJ calls from the other end that they need to hurry up, if the team wants to make it to the Wreck at a normal time. It breaks whatever moment you and Rafe were sharing and, telling him the conversation isn’t over, you retreat back to your locker. It takes all you’ve got to not let this affect the celebratory mood, because winning 2 - 0 is pretty damn good, and you should take some credit for that. Even if it wasn’t on your position, for half of the match.

It ends up not being so difficult, actually, to not think about what happened. Once you’re back in Kildare and at the Wreck, food and drinks are flowing, and as long as Rafe is out of your earshot and sight, it’s good. He tends to stay away from you most times, anyway.

(Which, okay, you can admit now sometimes bothers you, you’ve had a few drinks.)

It’s not so difficult, until JJ lounges in the chair next to you, beer can in one hand and a donut in another, asks, ‘What’s up with you and Cap’n?’

‘Don’t even get me started,’ you sigh. ‘I don’t know what crawled up his ass.’

‘Language, Y/N.’

‘Fuck off, Maybank.’

The blond just grins, probably happy to see you slightly irritated – but not at him.

He pushes the chair back from swinging into its normal position, resting his elbows on the table. He leans towards you as if he’s about to tell you a secret – even his eyebrows furrow, the ever-present smile shaping into a frown. ‘Seriously, he keeps pushing you in the back. He’s gotta have a reason for that.’

‘Not that I’d know of,’ you admit. You shrug, lightly, despite the actual weight of the subject. ‘I thought we made a good team in the front. He assisted me, I assisted him… It’s been working well.’

JJ nods, pondering. ‘It was the game against New Jersey, right?’

‘The last time I played without the change?’ You play until JJ nods, then sigh, playing with a broken piece hanging off the wooden table. ‘I didn’t even get to play, since that bitch nearly sprained my ankle.’

‘It’s always your ankle,’ JJ says, chuckling.

His thoughts take him to stories of all the injuries you and the rest of team have gotten so far, drawing a couple of your teammates into the conversation. Rafe slips off your mind for the most part, as you laugh along to the ridiculous number of times Kelce has faceplanted while tackled, or to Pope is retelling how he defended the goal by getting the ball in his nuts, which made him fear for his offspring (it was all fun, and makes for a hilarious story).

It’s only when you glance around the table and catch him in conversation with Topper, or James, or Sarah, and his eyes are trained on you for just a moment before they’re gone – as if he wants you to see him, but wants you to question whether it was an accident. You feel yourself growing stiff; when it happens too many times, your mind flashes back to the locker room – you, trying to talk to him; Rafe, half naked, grinning at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He’s conceited. He’s selfish. He’s attractive, with that prep-boy look around him that falls apart when he’s leading the charge on the pitch – when the wisps of blond frame the sharp lines of his face, and he embodies the look of the leader he’s become.

It just sucks that you don’t quite agree with his leadership, and he doesn’t quite agree with you speaking up about it.

Night wears on, and your teammates flock to their beds, one by one. You’re only staying at the Wreck, the local hotel, for a night – tomorrow’s a new day, a new tournament. It would be smart to go to sleep early. Get the energy you need for tomorrow, because tomorrow’s filled with press conferences, which you don’t tend to enjoy.

It would also be smarter to deal with the captain tomorrow morning, when you’re both sober, instead of the buzz running through your veins right now.

By the time it hits midnight, it’s only you, JJ, Pope, Kiara, Rafe, and Topper. Instead of taking the big table at the wreck, the few of you retreated to a secluded one in the corner of the hotel’s dining room. Topper’s beating everyone at cards, but Kiara’s at his neck, and everyone has downed enough drinks for the night to be called quits soon enough; you are starting to sober up, and can already feel the headache looming.

Inadvertently, you glance at Rafe. He’s holding his cards in one hand, spread evenly, long fingers adorned with rings keeping them in place. Across from you, his eyes don’t meet yours, as they look around the table, through everybody’s poker faces – you notice the angle of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jawline, the unstyled hair having the slightest bit of a messy wave to it. You hate how much attention you pay to the parting of his lips, and the line of his nose, the curve of his eyes; his Adam’s apple bobbing as he taunts Pope across the table, trying to get him to break the cards.

When he turns as if scalded and his eyes meet yours, you don’t avert your gaze.

It might be the alcohol, but the room is starting to feel a little stuffy, a little warm; you’ve never realised how intense his gaze can be. It’s almost as if it’s unguarded, spiked with the few drinks everyone’s had.

You clear your throat, looking at your cards – you’re definitely not going to be the one winning anytime soon. ‘I think I’ll head to bed, soon.’

If anybody notices the fluttering of your voice, they don’t comment on it. Kiara nods, JJ boos you, and Rafe says: ‘We should all probably head to bed if we want to be ready for tomorrow.’

‘Okay, Cap’n,’ says Topper, resting an arm around the blond’s shoulders. ‘You go get your beauty sleep, me and the boys are going to let you know how it went when you wake up in the morning, princess.’

Kiara clears her throat, drawing the attention to herself before quirking an eyebrow at Topper. ‘What’s making you think you’re getting rid of me?’

There’s a collective of ooh’s, and you think about staying, but it wouldn’t be smart. Rafe’s right, you all would be better getting some sleep, but there’s also the fact that you’re pissed at him and you’re drunk enough for that to be making you seem in a bit of a different light.

(You’re still struggling to breathe, a little bit. Hopefully no one has noticed.)

In the end, you bid everyone goodnight, pay your bill, and head for your room. You’re still not feeling well and there’s a water dispenser in the ground hallway, opposite end of where the stairs to the upper floor are. You think about making a cup of tea, but settle for water – water is good.

Cold water should unhaze your mind.

You stay in the hallway, for a little pit – it’s peaceful here. Hallways have meant something to you ever since your team’s career started to take off two years ago. Wherever you go, rooms and places are different, but hallways are nearly always the same. They’re always just transit spaces, connecting point A with point B; it’s not quite a liminal space, but it’s where you feel like nothing can hurt you.

That is, until you’re about to set your foot on the stairs, and you see Rafe walking out of the toilets.

His eyes settle on you at the same moment and both of you freeze; the hallway is quiet, save for the music reaching it from the dining hall. You can almost hear your heart beating.

‘Thought you were going to bed.’

You raise your glass, which you refilled just before embarking for your room. ‘Had to stop for a bit.’

He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Outside of the locker room, outside of the dining hall, he doesn’t seem like the overconfident Rafe you’ve got so much against. He still is the same – it just doesn’t show that much.

‘I meant what I said earlier,’ he says, slowly, as if the words are hard to push out. ‘I think your should train to be right back.’

If you had half a shot more, you would’ve thrown the water into his face. Now, all you do, is say – ‘You’re an asshole, Cameron.’ – and go up the stairs. For a moment there’s nothing, but then there’s rushed footsteps coming up the stairs, and you feel a hand on your wrist, and his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around instantly. You’re too angry for that – you close your eyes instead, and breathe, before collecting yourself enough to not explode.

He’s still holding your wrist when you turn around, and he’s close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating off his body; the cologne mixed with the scent of fresh clothes.

‘Please don’t be angry with me.’

You scoff, pulling your hand out of his grip. ‘You’re ruining my life. You know how important this is to me, and you keep— you keep putting me where I don’t belong!’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and he sounds earnest; he sounds the way his face looks – a small frown on his face, lips quivering breathlessly, the wrinkles around his eyes almost pleading with her. ‘I’m just doing what’s best for everybody, Y/N.’

‘I don’t play defence. That’s Kiara’s job, but apparently that’s not good enough for you. You know where I’m good at.’

‘You’re good playing any position.’ He says it quick, as if the words escape from him. He swallows loudly enough that she hears him and takes a step back, shaking his head. ‘Look, you’re one of the best players on the team. That’s why—’

‘Then why don’t you put me where I can be the best?’

‘Y/N, just trust me, okay?’

‘No,’ you say, crossing the distance he created between the two of you until his back’s pressed against the wall, and you’re right in front of him, a finger jabbed into his chest. ‘I want to know why you’re doing this.’

He hesitates; you feel his heart beating faster than you thought possible. ‘We were playing against rough teams. I couldn’t let you get hurt.’

You scoff again, half-laughing as you rub your forehead with the back of your hand. ‘That’s bullshit. Jesus, Rafe, you’re spewing shit.’

‘Look, it’s the truth. I couldn’t take that risk.’

‘But you could take that risk with Kiara.’

‘Yes.’

No hesitation; no wavering. It’s something he must’ve thought through, over and over again, for the answer to be so certain. You’re a little taken aback, and your finger falls from his chest, but the distance is still almost nonexistent.

It’s because I’m good, you tell yourself, that’s why he’s keeping you safe, but it doesn’t ring true. Not when you can smell his cologne and not when his eyes drop to your lips, cheeks flushed.

So you decide to ask why.

He hesitates again, and you feel his shoulder slump as thoughts run through his head. Whatever he settles on, he’s certain, and you can see it. His voice is almost sad when he admits, ‘After the game against New Jersey, I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. I couldn’t lose you on the pitch, because when you weren’t around, it was like I couldn’t get my head straight.’ He pauses, and then: ‘I’m sorry.’

Rafe breathes slowly, carefully, but your heart is racing around your ribcage, threatening to break through. His words echo around your head as you try to make sense of them – make sense of the way he felt like it was more than just a admission of being a good team – make sense of the way he’s looking at you like he’s expecting more than a reaction to the recognition of your worth as a teammate.

There’s a feeling in your chest that you can’t describe. It’s in your throat, in the back of your head, burning through your ears – a thought almost too scary to form, but then it does, and it refuses to leave.

So you swallow the gulp in your throat and ask, ‘Is my being good on the pitch the only reason?’

A beat. ‘No.’

You nod, slowly, as if in a trance. His eyes are gazing into yours with intensity you’ve never felt before – it’s as if he’s asking you to say something, to do something, to show that you understand what he’s saying without saying it.

And you do.

You do.

You nod, and your lips are on his before you get the chance to think this through. His hands are quick to grab your waist as your fingers get tangled in the soft waves of his hair, bodies pressing against one another in a heated rush.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ he mutters, a moment before his lips find your neck, fingers slipping underneath your top, dipping into the skin on your back. You moan, a little too loud, and he laughs against your neck. ‘We really shouldn’t.’

‘Yeah, we shouldn’t,’ you agree, watching him as he pulls his head back to look at you, a dazed smile on his face. ‘My room or yours?’

Rafe’s grin is enough to set your body on fire. ‘Yours is closer.’

He kisses you again, a firm kiss planted on your lips, before taking your hand and letting you lead to your room. The moment the door is locked, your lips are on his neck, clothes are clumsily coming off on your way to the bed, and you only have a second to wonder how long this has been inevitable until his lips hit the right spot, and every thought is as good as gone.

When you wake in the morning, you’re half-surprised to find him curled into your side, head resting on your shoulder and an arm draped over your stomach. He’s still asleep, and you take a moment to think about how calming—how right—it feels to be here, with him. The hotel room is nice, a quiet rose gold, and the light coming through the windows is making it almost ethereal.

It doesn’t feel like a mistake. You’re still a bit angry about being pushed back, but things seem a little different now that you know he wasn’t trying to hinder you, but protect you.

(You still need to tell him that you don’t need protecting; you know what you got yourself into when you decided to play the sport.)

With a smile on your face, you start playing with your head. He wakes within five seconds, with the same dazed look on his face from last night. His eyes find yours and he pauses for a moment, as if he were taking it all in, before his lips find home in yours. Neither of you think about morning breath, or about the fact that you should both probably go for a shower before leaving the hotel, because Rafe snuggles into your shoulder, pressing butterfly kisses to your collarbone, as his hand traces circles around your stomach.

You take it upon yourself to ask, ‘No regrets?’

‘None.’

‘You should have one,’ you tease, and only let him be frightened for a moment. ‘Pushing me into the back.’

He sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck. ‘Are we still arguing about that?’

‘We will be, until you let me play offense again.’

‘If it was you instead of Kiara yesterday, it could’ve messed with your leg,’ he says. Before you get to respond, he pushes himself off the bed so he can look at you. ‘I know your ankle is still hurting from New Jersey even if you’re not saying anything.’

You can’t deny the truth.

Rafe kisses your forehead. ‘Just promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I always am.’

‘More,’ he says, breaking into a smile. ‘I need my partner back.’

‘If you promise to never make decisions for me without consulting me first.’

He squints, as if thinking about it, but you can tell he isn’t. ‘I promise.’

‘Okay, then.’ You wrap your arms around him and pull him down, kissing him softly. ‘I promise to be more careful.’

In the end, it’s like he promised – you go back to playing offense, in the front of every attack, and you and Rafe are back to being the dynamic scoring duo you’ve always been. Except this time this dynamic extends to beyond the field, and you support each other when the football isn’t around. Nobody is surprised by the turn of the events – you’re not entirely sure, but JJ passes Kiara a few bills when you and Rafe break the news to the team, and you think there was bets going around.

Things get back to fine. Things get better. You end up winning the tournament, and Rafe kisses you with the cup in his hand, and the next morning, the headlines are full of your and Rafe’s names more so than your team’s, but that’s fine. You’ve made it.

You’ve got everything you need – you just never thought it’d be no one other than Rafe Cameron, the Captain himself.

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #obx fic #my fic #i even made a wee graphic for it bc i was born but also bc it's not a usual fic #it's a gift <3 #anyway i might be willing to explore football!rafe a bit more in the future if there's interest #no clue if the obx fandom is even alive rn #anyway the left pic is bc that's the rafe i imagine being here #the smoker posh boy kinda type #you know the kind that fleur likes (not that i'm exposing her or anything)

119 notes · View notes

angelstarterkit · 4 years ago

Text

yearning

-kuroo testurou x reader

warnings: angst, unrequited infatuation, self-deprecation (?), slight cursing

note: this is my first fanfic since middle school! It’s nice to be writing again, even if it hurts my feelings :’). sorry if this sucks lmao it’s a vent piece and VERY self-indulgent

There was something about him that you couldn’t get over. Kuroo Testurou was just completely enchanting. Maybe it was that stupid cowlick he swore was a stylistic choice. Maybe it was how attentive he was to his teammates, but brushed it off with gentle jabs and sly remarks. Maybe it was the way his eyes sparkled when faced with a problem that made him rack his brain, but whose answer was on the tip of his tongue. Whatever it was, you were completely head over heals. Enamored with his very being.

He has never spoken a word to you before.

You were running late to meet your friends on the roof at lunch. A question about misgraded points on a test had turned into your teacher droning on about the importance of academic integrity and human error. In your opinion a simple apology would of sufficed. Regardless, you were rushing through the hallways at a concerning speed. You had promised a friend the day before that you would pack her an extra lunch in repayment for buying your food when you forgot your money at home. As you rounded the corner you smacked into the human equivalent of a brick wall, which sent you and both lunches sprawling to the floor. A baritone voice sounded above you.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry about that!”

FUCK. You immediately cringed and felt the beginnings of a warm flush crawling up your neck. You glanced up to see a shock of raven hair and a pair of amber eyes staring down at you in bewilderment. Goddammit Kuroo. Of course it had to be him. Before you could respond he immediately dropped to his knees and began to swiftly help you reassemble your lunches, not that they were edible anymore. Your poor friend, looks like you’ll both starve. You regain your barrings and scrambled to help him clean up.

“No! I’m the one who should be sorry. I should’ve looked where I was going,” you rushed, trying to scrap together any semblance of dignity you had left.

He lightly chuckled in reply.

“It’s all good, must’ve been pretty important to have you in such a hurry.”

He shot you a crooked grin that almost made your breath catch in your throat. You were pretty sure your blush was in full force now. After assembling the soiled food back into their boxes, he wiped his hands and stood up, offering you a hand. You gladly took it. God, your heart was pounding in your ears. You were positive he could hear it if he listened hard enough. It was a careless accident, nothing remarkable, but you couldn’t help but recall all the meet cutes from every romance movie you’ve consumed. This could be it, a year and a half of pining all building up to this very moment where he finally recognizes his affection for you-

“So, what’s your name?”

This time your breath did catch in your throat. He didn’t even know your fucking name. You spluttered your name, wanting to bitterly remind him he’s heard it during attendance for the last two years. He gave you his name in return, holding out his hand, like you had no idea who he was. You tried your best to force an easy smile of your face while you shook his hand.

“Well, I gotta head out. Try not to run into more people as you go,” he teased.

You gave him a tight smile and assured him that you would try you best. Your face dropped immediately as soon as you turned away. When you recounted the event to your friends when you finally reached the roof they tried their best to console you. At least he knew your name now, right? It would be easier to talk to him now, right?

There was a brief moment of recognition in eyes the next day when he saw you walk into class. He gave you a smirk and a nod. You smiled back. That was it. You hoped that maybe he would catch your eye in the stands when you attending his game later that evening. Hoped that he would give you another charming grin, maybe even seek you out after the game was over. He certainly let his eyes roam the crowd, but they never stopped on you.

The only time he spoke to you again was when he approached you during lunch to ask the whereabouts of, who you found out to be, a mutual friend. You thought it was a bit odd, but you gave him your best estimation. You found out he confessed to her that afternoon, two days later. She gleefully revealed at the lunch table that they were officially dating a week after.

You felt ridiculous being this upset over a boy who barley acknowledged your existence. For christ’s sake, it took him almost two years to learn your name. You couldn’t exactly be mad at him for never recognizing your feelings, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Even if you hadn’t spoken more than two sentences to him, you had developed a strong admiration for him. He was just so... good. He tutored underclassmen free of charge in his spare time, just to watch them succeed. He never let the first years give up on themselves, constantly reminding them how valuable they are to the team, even if they saw nothing but the bench. It stung, but you admired the way he walked his girlfriend between lessons, a softness in his eyes and a quirk in his smile as he watched her. God, how could you not like him?

So you kept going to his games. Kept stealing glances at him in class. All the while knowing he would never turn to look at you. Why would he? You were just another face in the crowd after all.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo testsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro angst #haikyuu!!#kuroo haikyuu #.writings

33 notes · View notes

twstarchives · 4 years ago

Text

This Happens, and I...

Card: Lab Coat - SR Characters: Epel, Crewel, Jack, Cater, Vil (mentioned) Notes: Connected to Lilia Lab Coat

Chapter 1

—ALCHEMY WORKSHOP—

Crewel: The lambent flower, as its name suggests, is a plant that radiates light.

This plant is able to convert various nutrients into magic power and store them.

When it blooms, it releases all of the magic it had saved, making it give off a radiant shine.

Its petals won’t stop giving off that magic after it blooms, so it withers very quickly, and it’s difficult to breed them.

In fact, our own school’s botanical garden has hardly any at all.

For our Magic Potions lab today, we’ll be using nectar from lambent flowers.

Obviously, this nectar is extremely valuable. So be very careful when you take some from the jar with your droppers, puppies...

(Shatter!)

Epel: AHH?!

Crewel: The puppy that barked just now...

You’re Pomefiore’s Epel Felmier, yes? If you have a question, then quietly raise your hand.

Epel: I don’t have a question, I just... um...

I hit the jar of lambent flower nectar with my elbow... and broke it.

Crewel: You what?! ...Y-You spilt more than half of it!

Epel: I-I’m sorry... I-I was careless...

Classmate A: Oh, no... You really screwed up. See you on the other side, Epel.

Epel: Huh?

Jack: I heard from one of my seniors that if you make Professor Crewel mad, your life as a human ends for good.

They said he “disciplines” any student who makes some stupid mistake till they’re bowing on the floor crying their eyes out.

Epel: Th-They’re just exaggerating...

Crewel: Exaggerating. Yes, exactly, only exaggerating. That comment made it very clear what your stance is on this.

First you waste valuable lab ingredients, and then brush it off like that...

You’ve got some nerve, you mutt!!

(Crewel brings out his whip)

Epel: Ahh!!

Jack: Th-That had a lot of force there.

Epel: I-I’m sorry... I really am! It wasn’t on purpose...

Crewel: Be quiet! Bad boys who make excuses must be punished.

You spilt one teacup’s worth of nectar. Collect that much again, and don’t miss a single drop.

I’ll give you... yes, two months to do this. If you don’t have it all collected by then...

You know what’ll become of you, don’t you?

Epel: ...*Gulps*

(W-Well, he gave me a chance to make up for myself. I gotta break my neck tryin’!)

Yes, I understand. I’ll go and get back all the nectar I wasted.

Classmate B: ...No way Epel’s really gonna be able to do it. He looks like seeing a bug would be enough to send him screaming bloody murder.

Classmate C: He should just call it quits and tell him “I can’t do it” while he still can. That pretty boy’s got too much pride.

Classmate A: Oi, cut him some slack!

What are you going to do when that sheltered little boy starts bawling his eyes out? Hahaha!

Epel: ......

—BOTANICAL GARDEN - TEMPERATE ZONE—

Epel: I’m getting that lambent flower nectar no matter what!!

...It’s been a week since I promised myself that. I’ve been coming to the botanical garden to check on the flowers everyday, but...

I only planted five flowers, and they’re still just buds. I can’t get their nectar if they don’t bloom...

But even if they did bloom, I still only have five flowers—I wouldn’t even be able to get a whole spoonful of nectar.

And I have to get an entire teacup full? How am I supposed to do this?

Cater: What’s this~? I see Mr. Cutie from Pomefiore over there!

Epel: That voice... That’s gotta be Cater-san.

How many times do I have to tell you? My name’s not “Cutie,” it’s Epel.

Cater: Yup, yup, you’re as cute as ever today ♪

Have you thought about starting a Magicam yet? I could show you how.

I’ve said this before, but I think someone as cute as you could absolutely be an influencer~

Epel: ....Hah. Right now, I don’t have the time for that.

Cater: What’s the matter? You look glum.

Epel: Well...

Cater: So Professor Crewel told you to bring him one teacup’s worth of lambent flower nectar... I see.

Epel-chan, you poor thing. Wasn’t it obvious this was impossible from the start?

Epel: Huh?

Cater: Lambent flowers take about two to three years to bloom after they bud.

Epel: Whaaat?! T-Two to three years?!

Cater: That’s how long it takes to build up enough of that magic power they need to bloom.

So I don’t think there’s any way you could get a whole teacup in two months.

Epel: S-So then why did Professor Crewel tell me I only had two months to get the nectar?

Cater: Well, he lives by the motto “Discipline your dog till it stops biting the hand that feeds it.”

Epel: Discipline...?

Cater: He’s probably waiting for you to come crying “I can’t do this anymore~!” to him.

Epel: S-So, you mean... He was just being mean from the start?!

Cater: You got it~♪

Well, maybe it’s better to say it’s just his teaching style.

Huh? Epel-chan, are you listening?

Epel: ......

I... I’m not the best at studying... and yeah, I make a lot of mistakes... but... I always try to fix them...

And I... just want to be acknowledged...

So when he gave me a second chance, I thought “I have to put in everything I’ve got”...

But he was just being mean... My classmates were making fun of me too... I can’t believe this...

Cater: Wait, you’re actually really shocked?!

Epel: This happens, and I... I... and everyone got to... ah!

Cater: Hey, don’t cry, Epel-chan...

Epel: ...I want to prove them all wrong!!

Cater: That option?!

E-Epel-chan, you’ve actually pretty competitive, huh?

Epel: I'm not a mutt... or a pretty boy!

Cater: I think it’d be better if you apologized while you’ve still got time. ‘Cause this was an impossible game from the start...

Epel: It... can’t be impossible. I’m going to outsmart all of them!

Chapter 2

—INTERIOR HALLWAY—

Cater: Oh~? Are you heading back now, Epel-chan? Then let’s go to the Mostro Lounge together ♪

What do you say about making your Magicam debut by taking a selfie with me against a super aesthetic café backdrop?

Epel: Cater-san... Sorry, I can’t today, I think. I have to go to the botanical garden.

Cater: Botanical garden... What?

Are you still collecting lambent flower nectar because you want to prove yourself to Professor Crewel?

Epel: Yes, of course I am!

This is compensation for the valuable nectar I spilt. I’m going to pay it back.

Cater: You sure are stubborn. But remember we talked about how this was impossible from the start?

Apologizing ASAP will make everything sting less.

If you’re scared of Professor Crewel, want me to come with you?

Epel: C’mon! I thought I already told you “it can’t be impossible.”

Cater: Huh? What do you mean...?

Epel: Hehe... Here, come with me. I’ll show you something cool.

—BOTANICAL GARDEN - TEMPERATE ZONE—

Cater: Epel-chan, where are we going? We’re already really far into the botanical garden...

Epel: We’re almost there. Oh, here, I can see it.

Cater: Huh? Is something here...? Wait...

Whaaaaaat?

The flower bed is full of blooming lambent flowers!

Huh? You only had like five before, right? How many hundreds is this?

Plus they all look strong, and they’re already blooming flowers... No way...

How’d you do this?!

Epel: Hehe, it was as easy as a can of—er! It was very easy!

Remember what you told me, Cater-san?

About it taking time for lambent flowers to build up enough magic power to bloom?

Cater: Oh yeah, I remember.

Epel: Hearing what you said reminded me of something the teacher told us during class.

Crewel: This plant is able to convert various nutrients into magic power and store them.

When it blooms, it releases all of the magic it had saved, making it give off a radiant shine.

Epel: And in that case, if I just keep giving it nutrients, it’ll collect more and more magic and bloom quicker!

...Maybe? That’s what I thought.

But the store-bought soil you use for growing regular flowers wouldn’t work at all...

So I decided to give it a special fertilizer packed full of lots more nutrients everyday.

Cater: A special fertilizer?

Epel: I made it myself!

Cater: You say that in such a cute tone, like you just baked some sweets... but fertilizer, huh? You made some?

Epel: Yeah! It’s all inside this bag...

Cater: THAT STINKS!!

*Cough*... Wait... It’s making my eyes and nose burn!! What’s that disgusting smell?!

Epel: Ahaha, isn’t it normal for fertilizer to smell?

Cater: This is not normal!! This doesn’t bother you at all, Epel-chan?

Epel: It’s not that it doesn’t bother me, it’s just I’m used to field wor—wait, no, um... I’m used to gardening.

There’s so much fertilizer right at your disposal at this school! You could get as much food scraps as you want in the cafeteria.

Cater: Food scraps?!

Epel: And the most important thing to make this special fertilizer is...

Horse shit!

Cater: Horse... huh, what?

I just heard a word I never thought I’d hear coming out of the mouth of our delicate Epel-chan...

Epel: It’s horse shit. A horse’s dung. I’ve been getting some everyday from the horse-riding club.

The horses at this school eat really well, so they make loads of it everyday. It really helped me out.

Horse shit doesn’t just help grow the plants; it nurtures the soil too. It’s really the best fertilizer you could get!

Cater: D-Do you have to keep saying it so many times? Cay-kun is getting shaken up...

Umm, so, you’ve been collecting food scraps and horse dung everyday for two months...

Then mixed it together to make a suuuper smelly fertilizer, and that made the lambent flowers bloom at a crazy speed...?

Epel: Yeah!

Cater: Epel-chan, I can’t believe you! You’re way bolder than you look!

I’m actually blown away!

Crewel: Just when I thought I heard a ruckus over here... this is an odd pair. What are you doing in the botanical garden?

Hm? Don’t tell me I’m seeing... lambent flowers blooming in that flower bed?!

Epel: Professor Crewel, what do you think? I grew lambent flowers!

I’m really close to being able to get you one teacup’s worth of nectar... Please wait a little while.

If you’d like, I could even get a whole teapot’s worth.

Crewel: Heheh, hahaha! And here I thought you’d surely tuck your tail and come crying miserably to me... I didn’t see this coming.

You must have needed an extraordinary amount of dedication to raise lambent flowers up to this point, since they die so easily.

You’re a much pluckier puppy than I’d taken you for. Good boy, Epel Felmier.

Epel: Thank you...!

Crewel: However, don’t think I’m going to be lenient with your class and exam grades just because of this.

I’m just holding you in the same regard as the other puppies now.

This recognition is simply for making up for your shortcomings.

Epel: Yes, I understand. I’ll continue working as hard as I can from now on.

Crewel: Good answer. ...Keep this up and prove yourself to the other students too.

Epel: Okay!!

Cater: ...There you go! “Good boy” is Professor Crewel’s biggest compliment!

Epel: Ehehe...

Cater: All’s well that ends well, huh? ♪ Man, but anyway...

The sparkly, shiny lambent flowers, and a smiley Epel-chan. You wouldn’t even have to edit this; it’s already super photogenic.

Hey~ Is now the right time to make a Magicam account? I’m sure you’d go viral!

Epel: I’m sorry. I’m going to go to the library now... to study!

I’m going to keep doing my best in Potions... and maybe... I’ll even be able to surpass the Dorm Leader!

See you later, Cater-san. Excuse me!

Cater: Ehh~! Don’t be so cold~ Your super nice senior¹ will help you study~!

1. Your super nice senior

Cater refers to himself as “oniisan” (big brother), but I tried to substitute with something more fluent-sounding that still conveys a similar feeling of familiarity/him being “older”

#epel felmier #personal story #lab coat

129 notes · View notes

otonymous · 4 years ago

Text

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part III: Near & Far

Description: Promising beginnings and a premature end throw you into a tailspin Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised. Potential trigger warnings: depictions of mild PTSD symptoms, mentions of death of a close family member, disappearances, “breakups,” angst, profanity Word Count: 1882 words (~9 mins of falling in love and wallowing in angst 😱😂) Author’s Notes: If you’re still following this story, please accept a giant (virtual) hug from me to you! Thank you very much from the bottom of my heart for supporting me and this piece of work! 💖 Without further ado, I present to you part 3 of my slow-burn Shaw fic, written for the lovely @op-peccatori as part of my follower milestone celebration.

As always, dear reader, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

“You can relax, you know. I won’t try anything funny while you sleep, not my style. Besides, isn’t this much better than camping out on the floor?”

Nodding your head before you realize that Shaw probably couldn’t see you in the dark, your “Yes” comes out in a mewl so pathetic you wished you could immediately take it back.

His snicker shakes the bed, reverberating across squeaky springs to where you lay beside him, right at the edge of the twin mattress as you tried not to let your hands touch.

No matter how much you wished for them to.

Beyond the window, a neon signboard paints electric shadows on your walls in splashes of pink, flashing in time to a rhythm Shaw tapped out with one foot beneath the covers.

“Is it cool if…if we didn’t draw the blinds tonight? I can’t sleep in complete darkness.” He had asked you earlier that evening, towelling off his hair as he emerged from your bathroom wearing a shirt your ex had left behind along with your broken heart a year and a half ago.

Snoopy looked much better riding his skateboard across Shaw’s broad chest anyways.

And there, in the midst of an awkward arrangement where sleep would surely prove fleeting, the sounds of the night: the low hum of the refrigerator, the pawn shop’s sign buzzing just on the other side of the windowpane…the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, steady like Shaw’s breath beside you as it counts down precious time—

“I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning.”

Ba-bump.

“No, there’s…there’s no rush. Honestly.”

“Can you really afford to miss more work because of me?”

Silence. You couldn’t refute the truth.

“Tell you what, in exchange for putting up with me, you can ask me anything you want. I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes; surely you must be curious about some things. Might as well find out before I go.”

Your stomach knotted, clenching tight. He was right. For all you know, it was now or never. “Why did you join? The triad, that is.”

He is silent for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to piece together.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

Out of all possible answers, this wasn’t one you were expecting. Turning onto your side, you study the handsome profile of his face — watching as pink mixed with lavender in the most ethereal way until you were overcome with the sense that in this vast ocean of life, you and him stood on very different shores. Eyes still fixed on your ceiling, Shaw continues.

“He was an undercover cop, working to infiltrate the ranks of the group I’m currently a part of. I only found out by accident, and he made me swear up and down not to breathe a word of it to mom. Then one day…he was gone. Just...disappeared off the face of the earth. Mom and I went down to the station every day for months, knew the names and faces of everyone who worked in that building, but it was like Gavin never even existed.

“It was too much for her. I came home late from school one day — found her on the floor, barely breathing. It was dark in the apartment…so dark. She had probably just drawn the curtains. By the time the paramedics arrived, she was already gone. Heart attack, they said.

“I lie awake at night sometimes, wonder how I’m going to tell him that mom’s no longer here — go through the motions in my head, rehearsing every line. ‘Cus I know that sooner or later, that day will come. There’s no way he’s dead. I know my brother.”

A glimmer at the corner of his eye catches yours. Beneath the covers, your fingers inch towards his, finding courage in the darkness to brush against his pinky as if the sliver of warmth could express what words simply couldn’t convey.

“With mom gone, there was nothing to lose. I joined the group, worked hard…did what they needed me to do to gain their trust, all while collecting scraps of info here and there — whatever I could get my hands on in the hopes that it’ll lead me to Gav.”

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

Tiny drops of rain speckle your windowpane. And when Shaw’s finger hooks around yours as if in a solemn pinky swear, the tears burning your eyes finally fall. You don’t ask him how many years it’s been, the dirty deeds he’s had to sully his hands with. You don’t question him about the father he doesn’t mention. All you can do is watch as a solitary drop rolls down the side of his face before soaking into lavender strands fanned out on the pillow, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows back bitterness only he knew.

In spite of it all, he is the one who chuckles when he turns towards you, eyes red rimmed even as his brows rise in feigned exasperation when he says, “Why are you crying?! I’m the one with the tragic past here!”

And when you start to cry even harder, his soft hushes of “Shh, shh…I’m sorry, that last part was a joke. It’s all right, everything will be okay, I promise,” burrows deep into your heart and you believe him.

Because when he reaches towards you — the thumb wiping the tears from your eyes calloused yet gentle — you are struck by a sense of overwhelming tenderness:

In the carefulness of his touch.

In the way he regards you with the sincerity of some unspoken emotion.

In the entirety of this man whom the rest of the world has already written off.

And that is when you know…

“I didn’t mean to make you cry by telling you all this, I’m sorry.”

…that you are in love with him.

“I’ll make it up to you. Ask me another question. Maybe something less depressing this time.”

A smile spreads across his face. You wished there was a way for you to keep the warmth of his hand on your cheek forever. Sniffling, you try again.

“Wh-why did you keep coming in to my store everyday? There’s a lot of other convenience stores in the area—”

A flash of panic in those amber eyes, and Shaw is turning over with lightning speed until all you can see is the smooth expanse of his back.

“Changed my mind. A guy’s gotta keep some secrets! Goodnight!”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

Wrap your arms around the pillow.

“Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.”

Bury your face into its cushiony fill.

“Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

And inhale deeply.

Shaw’s scent on your sheets is faint now, so much so that you can’t be entirely sure you’re not imagining it, having gone through this ritual countless times since the day Shaw left your apartment…

…and stepped out of your life.

* * *

“Is there…any way I could stay in touch with you? I-I just…just want to make sure you’re okay…”

Voice trailing off, you watch as Shaw gingerly shrugs one arm then another through the sleeves of his leather jacket, still wearing the Snoopy t-shirt he had slept in the night before after you told him he could keep it. His own was torn beyond repair, stubbornly dyed in blood regardless of how much you scrubbed at it. And when he hesitated still, you said he would just be doing you the favour of taking out the trash.

Smoothing down the front of his jacket, Shaw glances at the phone in your hands — eyes tracing along your eager fingers, poised to type. The expression on his face is unreadable, as if the man you had spent the night sharing secrets with was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

“It’s better if we don’t. I’ll be fine, just laying low for the next while — boss’s orders. And I don’t want the cops coming around to your place again. Detective Whatshisname looks like he could be really good at hounding pretty girls like you.”

That smirk again, so familiar to you by now. And in the compliment that would’ve made you blush bright red before, nothing but a smokescreen.

“Shaw, I don’t mind—”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?" The force in his voice cuts, and you barely breathe to feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting up your face until you have no choice but to meet his gaze. Those eyes are dull, like molten gold frozen beneath a layer of impenetrable ice. “Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys. Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

The shiver that runs electric down your spine makes the hairs on your skin stand on end. It was like looking at a stranger. Heart racing, your palms grow clammy with sweat, unsure of exactly when your phone had dropped from your hands, slipping away like…

“I don’t care about the cops! I’ll deal with them—”

“DEAL WITH WHAT?! You think that just because you managed to turn them away at the door that it makes you a hardened criminal?! WE are not the same, okay? My life is worthless. I’ve already signed it away a long time ago, I’m ready to give it up without a second thought. But you…you’re different. Y-you’re kind, innocent. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. One day, you’ll make someone the luckiest person in the world, be a beautiful mother to beautiful children. Don’t sell yourself short…not for someone like me.”

The silence that descends is thick, suffocating. You don’t speak, afraid to open your mouth because it takes all your concentration just to keep the tears from spilling from your eyes.

Finally letting go of your chin, Shaw reaches behind his neck to undo the clasp on the thin gold chain he wore, the jade disc pendant that hung from it still warm from the heat of his skin when he places it in the palm of your hand.

“It’s not much, but it was a gift from my mom and the most valuable thing I own. You saved my life, so it’s yours now. Maybe…maybe one day, you can give it to your own child.”

Lump in your throat, you can barely breathe, let alone tell him there was no way you could accept something that precious, something that priceless. That you didn’t drag him home that night, broken and bleeding, in the hopes of gain; not for money, not for love.

He curls your fingers around the heirloom, gentle thumb pressing on index, middle, ring then pinky in turn before your fist finds itself held tightly within the press of his much larger hand for one…two…three seconds…

…before those purple Chuck Taylors take him to your door…

Slam.

…and just like that, the man with the lavender hair is gone.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Forgive me for trolling, but there really was only one bed LOL! Hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter, and please stay tuned for what may be the final instalment in this Shaw saga! - XOXO

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

Thanks so much for reading! 💕 Check out more of my work here! 📚(Please do not repost/copy/alter my work. Reblogs, on the other hand, are a-ok and much appreciated! 👍🏼💖)

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #evol x love #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #mlqc shaw smut #mlqc shaw fic #mlqc fic #my writing #fanfiction #elex

151 notes · View notes

iliumheightnights · 4 years ago

Text

We Have A Jedi [20] | Peter Parker x Male Reader

Fandom: Star Wars, Marvel

Pairing: Peter Parker x Male Reader, Tony Stark x Son Reader

Summary: (M/N) and Peter are settling into their new relationship with ease. However the Stark boy can feel whatever he’s been worried about is getting closer.

Previous | Next

Read from the beginning

…

“So yeah...He’s in prison now and the bank is safe.”

(M/N) listened as Peter finished up telling him about his latest crime fighting endeavor. The two were in Tony’s lab, Peter was upgrading his suit while (M/N) tinkered away at T3. Bwoop. “T3 says good job,he thinks you'd make a great jedi.” The droid did a little happy dance. “Hey watch it! I still have a wrench in you.” The droid stopped at that. Peter let out a laugh at the interaction. “Hey be nice to him! Thank you T3, I think I’d make a good jedi too.”

Peter went back to his suit but his eyes caught something. “Hey what’s this?” He walked over to the container and began looking through it. “Oh, that’s just a project I’ll start someday.” Peter continued to look through it. “It’s all just...scrap? Is this part of you dad’s old suit? And are these...captain america’s leather straps? What exactly are you planning to make?” Peter looked back over to his boyfriend who finished up his work on the droid. “It’s a surprise...and going to be for emergencies only. I still don’t have all the parts anyways.”

“What else are you missing?” (M/N) only put a finger to his mouth. “It’s a surprise.” Before Peter could say anything else Tony walked in. “There’s my favorite boys, dinner’s ready. You staying Peter?” Peter nodded at the older Stark man and Tony caught sight of the box. “Ah! I see you’ve found the mystery box of crap. I’m not exactly sure what he’s planning to do with that but it has scraps of all the avengers in there.” (M/N) stood up from T3 and walked over grabbing the box. “Yes, and it’s important so please keep your hands off.” He playfully glared at them before putting the box away. “Alright. Dinner?”

…

The sound of blaster fire returned to him. For a while it had seemed like the dreams, the visions, had left him. But tonight proved otherwise. Once again the colors purple and gold flashed. “Keep fighting!” The fighting seemed even more chaotic than it had been. The sounds of explosions and smell of fire filled his senses, it was like he was back in the middle of the war.

The landscape around him changed from the darkness of a void to a cityscape. It was the same domed city from all the other times, at first it was everything was normal and then with a flash it was on fire. “You’re too late.” (M/N) recognized that voice, it was one he hadn’t heard in a long time. He turned to where the voice was and looked the Sith in his red eyes. Kren. “There is only one victory here...and it doesn’t belong to either of us.”

With another explosion the sith was gone. “What’s going on?” (M/N) said aloud. The dreams had never gone like this before, never showing Kren, but he wasn’t the only one it would show. “(M/N)?” He turned to the familiar face and saw Peter. The boy stood there looking confused as the battle raged on behind him. Another voice entered his mind, the one from before. “You should have gone for the head.” There was a bright light and then (M/N) watched as Peter seemed to dissolve. “(M/N)-” He tried to run after the boy but couldn’t reach him before he was completely gone. That’s when he noticed how the fighting had once more gone quiet and all around him ashes littered the landscape.

He felt a presence in front of him. Looking up he saw him. Revan.

“It has begun.”

…

(M/N) woke up with a gasp. He took in a deep breath before pulling on some pajamas. “Mr.(M/N). Are you alright? I monitored your vitals rising, are you distressed?” (M/N) stepped out of his bed and walked over to T3. “Yes, but I’m alright. Friday don’t record anything in this room until I say so alright? I have something private to do.” The A.I did as he requested and he woke up T3. Bwoop? “T3, hey buddy. I need you to help me record a message.

…

Thanks to the dreams (M/N) wasn’t able to go back to sleep and now he was barely staying awake in class. He felt his eyes beginning to close on him. “I’m sorry Mr.Rogers am I not interesting to you?” (M/N) didn’t respond. “Mr.Rogers!” That got his attention and he saw the entire class looking at him. For a moment he forgot he was under Steve’s name here. “Sorry sir, didn’t get any sleep last night...but I agree with you being boring.” The class laughed but the teacher didn’t seem pleased. “Detention after school.” (M/N) shrugged but put his head back down. With what happened last night and the things he’s faced, detention didn’t mean anything to him.

Finally the end of the day came and (M/N) quickly left his classroom. Normally he would stop and wait for Peter and Ned, but he wasn’t feeling it today. He’d apologize to them later. He was moving down the hallway, pushing past people when he felt their presence. “(M/N)! Hey, what’s up? You normally always wait for us.” Ned asked, Peter on the other hand looked worried. “(M/N)? Babe you okay?” (M/N) just kept looking ahead as he moved. “No I’m not.” Then Ned spoke up again. “If it’s about detention don’t sweat it! Peter and I can wait for you if you-”

“It’s not that Ned. I just...don’t feel good.”

He turned the corner to exit the building but Principal Morita stood in his way. “Mr.Rogers. I’ve heard some things from some teachers and heard you had detention. My office.” (M/N) let out a frustrated groan before waving his hand and walking past the principal. “You don’t need to talk to me. I’m free to go and don’t have to go to detention.” The principal fell into a daze. “I don’t need to talk to you. You don’t need to go to detention.” Ned was in shock of what he just saw but besides him Peter was worried about what was making his boyfriend tick.

The two boys followed him out of the school. “Is someone going to tell me what all that was!? It was like something out of Star Wars!” Ned shouted, (M/N) didn’t stop walking and Peter noticed how he was walking in the opposite direction of Where happy was waiting and knew then something must have been really wrong. “Sorry Ned, I gotta follow him.” Ned only nodded, “Yeah! Just...text me!”

Peter went to follow (M/N), but had lost where his boyfriend had walked off too. “Aw man, where are you?”

(M/N) wasn’t sure where he was going. He wasn’t ready to go home, not ready to see his father, he just wanted to think. He didn’t keep track of the time so who knows how long he actually walked but he found himself in a part of new york where construction work was going on for new buildings. No one was around so it must have been an off day for them. Needing to sit down, he placed his bag on the ground and sat next to it.

He watched as storm clouds gathered in the sky. The wind picked up and a chill creeped into his skin. He wasn’t sure what to do, he knew the visions were telling him something but he wasn’t sure what. Whatever it was telling him...it meant lots of people were going to die, Peter included. He could sense that Peter was getting closer to him and he wasn’t sure what he was going to say to him. The sound of footsteps were getting closer and he couldn’t tell if it was Peter or maybe Tony coming to talk.

“You make this too easy.” It was neither of them. Feeling the hair on the back of his neck standing up, (M/N) quickly rolled out of the way of a lightning shock. Landing into a fighting position he got a good look at the sith who attacked him. The familiar wicked face of the red twi'lek greeted him. “Talon.”

“In the flesh.” She lunged at him and he dodged out of her lightsabers slashes. He reached for his own, only to realize he no longer had them. “Karabast.” He landed and continued to dodge her slashes. “Oh...what’s wrong? Lose your lightsabers?”

Seeing a weak spot on a pillar above them, (M/N) used the force to bring the next level down on the sith. He then took this chance to gain the advantage and moved into a hiding spot. It was quiet and soon the hum of Talon’s lightsabers were the only noise being made. Soon the sound and smell of rain poured into the construction sight. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Focusing through the force, he pulled another pillar down distracting Talon. He moved out of his hiding spot to another. He had to figure out how he’d fight back. Thanks to his quick movements and loose bars and rocks, (M/N)’s clothes had been torn up pretty good. A quick slash and (M/N) let out a yell as he felt the tip of her saber just skim his arm.

Without much thought, (M/N) used the force to launch himself into the air. He grabbed onto the next floor’s supports and began to climb the building. He could hear Talon close behind, he heard a swirling sound and ducked his head intime as one of her sabers went flying past him and returned to her. He continued to make his way up the construction site, the rain making his footing and grasp slicker.

Of course Talon had made her way to the level he was on as well. “Go on, keep running. I love the chase.” (M/N) was breathing hard, the rain coming down harder now, drenching him. “Where’s your master? Too afraid to face me himself?”

“Oh my master has important things to do. More important than YOU.”

“Aw so that’s why he sent you to deal with me.”

That definitely got her angry. Just as she was about to lunge again, her foot was webbed to the support beam. Spiderman went flying by, landing on another beam. “You know, I KNOW red sabers mean bad guys so I suggest you surrender.” (M/N) felt his heartbeat quicken, normally he would be happy to see Peter but this wasn’t a good thing. Talon let out a snarl before throwing a detached beam at Peter with the force.

Luckily Peter had got out of the way just in time by webbing out of there. “Woah! Close on-” He swung head on into a shock of Talon’s force lightning. “Peter!” He watched as the boy fell down a story but landed...hopefully okay. The sith let out a wicked laugh and cut herself out of the webbing, “Now...back to you!” She swung her blades at (M/N), but before they made impact with his body, he had grabbed her hands.

He pulled her hands down to his level, letting the blades illuminate his face. It was then that Talon quickly lost her smirk as she saw (M/N) with a deep frown himself. She also noticed something else, his eyes were just a bit more yellow then before. (M/N) was tightening his grip on her hands and it wasn’t long before she called out in pain dropping one of her lightsabers.

Using the force he pushed her back, grabbing hold of her dropped saber he let the red illuminate his face again. He couldn’t help it anymore, seeing what she did to Peter, he let all of his anger out. With a yell he brought up the red blade and ran at the sith letting it hit her other one. Red blad clashed with red blade, (M/N) was letting his anger get the best of him and it was showing with how he was gaining the advantage against Talon.

He had pushed her to the end of a support beam, with a quick slash to the beam Talon went falling down. (M/N) quickly cut a rope and went swinging down after her. Talon being the acrobatic that she was, managed to land on her feet. However before she was able to get back into a fighting stance, (M/N) swooped down on her. Brining the red blade down, he slashed her right in half.

It got quiet again after that, only the hum of the lightsaber, the rain and (M/N)’s heavy breathing. “W-what have I done?” He turned off the lightsaber and caught his breath. “Peter.” Remembering his boyfriend he quickly ran to him. Getting down to his boyfriend he saw he was breathing. He pulled off Peter’s mask quickly to properly look at him. “Ugh...What happened? I feel like that time I put a paperclip in the outlet.” (M/N) couldn’t help but laugh at that, he was just relieved to see his boyfriend okay. “We are SO talking about that later. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Peter smiled. “Me too...you. I’m glad you’re okay too. Where'd the red lady go?”

“Dead.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

(M/N) called Happy to come pick them up and to also get the remains of Talon out of the construction site. Happy was...frantic to say the least, first because (M/N) didn’t show up after school and second both boys looked torn up. “What happened?!” (M/N) only shook his head and carried Peter to the car. “Not now, just...get us back to the compound please.” Happy, while still shocked, did what he said and drove them both back. In the back seat, (M/N) held onto Peter like if he let go he’d lose him...which he very possibly could.

Arriving back at the compound Tony was already waiting for them. (M/N) helped Peter out of the car and started taking him to the med bay. “Oh god, What happened?! Are you okay.” He grabbed Peter’s other side and helped carry him in. “I’m fine, Peter I think will be okay, I just want to get him checked out.” Tony looked worried at him. “And you too, you look like you’ve been put through the shredder.”

Not much was said after that, both boys were taken to medical and looked over. Luckily it seemed like both of them had only received minor cuts and bruises. (M/N) was sitting up in the bed he had been placed in, Tony sitting in a chair next to him. “She was a sith.” At that Tony lifted his head at that. “She's dead. I killed her.” (M/N)’s voice was quiet. “I couldn’t let her come after any of you...and she was trying to kill Peter. So I killed her first.” Tony quickly got up from the chair and hugged his son. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. You did what you had to do.” (M/N) didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so he simply hugged his father back.

A little while later, he entered the other medical room where Peter was. “Hey.” Peter was laying in the bed but quickly jumped up upon seeing him. “(M/N)! You’re okay!” He pulled him into a hug and (M/N) couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course, you saw me before this. Don’t you remember?” Peter blushed. “Yeah...but I was just worried.” He ran his hands through Peter’s hair. “It’s alright. I’m okay, you’re okay...we’re okay.”

…

That night Peter had stayed at the compound, the doctors and Tony wanted him to stay over to be watched over. They wanted the same for (M/N) but he refused any help saying he was fine. Night had fallen and everyone had gone to sleep, making sure the coast was clear (M/N) entered the lab. Surprisingly, his dad actually wasn’t up for once. Not wanting to risk getting caught, he made his way over to his work bench and pulled out the box from earlier. With the box in tow he made sure to quickly return to his room.

Setting the box on the ground he pulled out Talon’s lightsabers and sat on the ground with them. He placed her lightsaber on the ground and began focusing on the crystal’s within them. He lost himself in his thoughts as her lightsabers loosened up and tore apart until only the Kyber crystals remained. He could hear them calling out to him like his lightsabers before had...but these were different. These were muted, like they were corrupted.

He gripped the crystals, he could feel the power that radiated from them. Closing his eyes, he let the images come to him. At first there was nothing and then he felt cold and images of Kren, Talon and the sith all flashed at him. The scene of the jedi council wanting to erase his mind came to him and he felt...he felt angry. He was quickly getting frustrated and knew his anger was building rather quickly. Then he realized, it was the crystals. The crystals had so much anger and hate in them it was pouring into him.

The images continued to flash at him and he tried his best to hold on. The anger was growing too strong and it was getting harder to focus. As his vision clouded, in the darkness there was a small piece of light. Using all his strength he focused as hard as he could on that small piece of light and finally a new image appeared. Peter. Then like a rolling storm more and more images came flooding into him. The avengers, his mother, Sheyo, Tony. Everything that kept him in the light. Those feelings of anger fell away and all that remained was hope, happiness and love. Opening his eyes, he looked down in his hands and saw that the kyber crystals had changed. They were no longer the angry and corrupted red that the Sith always had, however they were also not the same color he had before in his old lightsabers. They were white. Placing the crystals on the ground, he moved over the box of components and began meditating. After the encounter with Talon, he knew he couldn’t go defenseless anymore he needed new lightsabers. He focused on his friends, his family, the people he needed to protect.

He continued thinking about all of them, as he did the pieces from the box began floating along with the crystals. The sound of clicking and spinning was heard but (M/N) continued to meditate. The crystals became encased by the new lightsaber hilts being made. When (M/N) opened his eyes he saw two new lightsabers, all made from parts of the avengers suits and gear. Most noticeable was his dad’s old armor fragments as the outer shell of them. Grabbing hold of the sabers he activated them and bright white blades shot out.

“I’ll be ready for whatever’s coming.”

…

Peter woke up and walked to (M/N)’s room. Before he even knocked on the door Friday spoke to him. “Mr.(M/N) is in the training room Peter.” Peter stopped and wondered what he was doing there. “Thanks Fri.” With that he walked to the training room.

Seeing the simulator was active, Peter entered the observation room and lost his breath as he caught sight of (M/N). His boyfriend was in the simulation with two new white lightsabers fighting the computer generated enemies. “I’m not sure if this is because of yesterday or if there’s something he isn’t telling us.” Peter looked over and saw Tony sitting in a chair watching the boy fight. “What do you mean?” “It’s been two years and he hasn’t had his sabers and now...now he has new ones. I”m not sure if it’s because of that sith you fought yesterday and he just wants a defense...or if he’s planning on leaving again.”

Peter felt his heat drop a bit. He wasn’t wanting (M/N) to leave, but he also knew his boyfriend wanted to help people and would eventually return to the war he had told him about. The simulator shut off and (M/N) deactivated his sabers. Grabbing a towel he wiped the sweat off his head before leaving the simulator, Peter went to speak to him. “(M/N)! Hey, I saw you in the simulator. You looked good. When did you get new lightsabers?”

(M/N) smiled as he saw Peter. “Hey. Glad you enjoyed the show.” He lifted up one of his lightsabers. “I made them last night. I figured I needed some extra protection in case more Sith come our way.”

“That makes sense.” (M/N) saw Peter’s hesitation. “Want to hold it?” At that Peter’s eyes widened and he gave a genuine smile. “Wait...really? Yes! I-I mean I’d love to.” (M/N) only shook his head and handed Peter the saber. “Wow, it’s heavier than I thought it would be.” “Well yeah, it’s still a weapon.” He watched as Peter looked it over, running his hand over the casing. “I made it from all the components in that box you were curious about. See my dad’s armor there. The grip is made from Steve’s old leather straps. There’s more too, however I didn’t have anything to add for you sadly. You didn’t have any components or anything.” Peter smiled. “I’m going to fix that.”

“Isn’t that sweet.” Both boys turned to the new voice and (M/N) quickly recognized the Mandalorian. “I’m guessing your boyfriend?”

(M/N) didn’t reach for his lightsabers, he wasn’t a threat. “Ven. A pleasure to see you again...what are you doing here?” The familiar mandalorian had two other Mandalorians beside him.

Ven frowned. “I need your help.”

...

Ven and the other two mandalorians had returned to their ship leaving (M/N) with his father and Peter. There was some tension in the air but they all knew what had to happen. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I need to do this, Ven helped me and I need to help him. Especially if Kren is involved. I need to put an end to him once and for all.”

Tony only nodded and pulled him into a hug. “I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. I kind of...figured something like this was coming since you made those new laser swords this morning.” He pulled back and smiled at him. “Just come back in one piece okay?” (M/N) nodded before looking at Peter. Peter was smiling and (M/N) noticed that he was holding something behind his back. “So...you know how you made your lightsabers out of the gear? Well I wanted to be a part of it...just different.” He pulled out his hands and handed him a sash...it looked quickly made with a simple needle and thread. “I made it out of my old spiderman suit. I don’t really wear it anymore and figured you could wear it and think of me.” (M/N) quickly pulled Peter in a hug. “I love it.” Pulling back he took the sash and put it on. “What do you think?” Peter smiled and held up a thumb. “Looks good.” Then it got quiet and before Peter could say anything (M/N) pulled him into a kiss. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

“Just come back soon.” Then with that (M/N) gave one last look to both him and his dad before moving towards Ven’s ship. Peter and Tony watched as he left. “He’ll come back to us...right?” Peter asked. “He always has.” Tony said those words, but something felt off about them. As for (M/N), he couldn’t help the feeling he got that it would be the last time he saw them for a long time.

…

Are you ready fam? The Siege of Mandalore begins! Now’s the time when everything changes. So buckle up and get ready.

#star wars #marvel #avengers #peter parker #tony stark #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x stark reader #tony stark x male reader #tony stark x male!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x son reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x stark reader #tony stark x stark!reader

84 notes · View notes