#No fresh cookies for me unfortunately

[tyrantisterror]

I ordered some cookies from Insomnia Cookies as a little treat to help me get through today and tomorrow but I guess the address got messed up and I didn't notice until now because they just sent me a photo of my cookies being delivered to a completely different front porch than my own and anyway that's basically how this week is going for me as a whole : (

[sweet-and-sour-bites]

https://www.tumblr.com/sweet-and-sour-bites/763257255073349632/can-i-have-burning-spice-cookie-x-reader-who-is-a?source=share

Different anon here....saw this and loved it and one line gave me an idea for a request....can you do burning spice x ticklish scardycat reader? Like reader was very scared of him at first and burning spice took em in as a 'you are so adorably pathetic, unable to even defend yourself because of your fear and you bend at tickling? Someone that weak needs to he protected...that's it, you're mine now' and then just throws them over their shoulder lmao...

Of course hun! Love this idea.

☁️Burning Spice Cookie x Scaredy cat Gn!Reader

The sandy wasteland stretches on and on before your eyes. The air is dry and makes your throat cry out for a fresh cup of sweet juice. Though you hate to cross such a deserted wasteland, you must. Sent by Dark Cacao himself to warn Golden Cheese Cookie of the arrival of the Beasts.

Your feet ache as you cross from the snowy ice land to the sandy plains to reach her. You dare not stop in fear of what could happen, though. Just as you begin to lose yourself to your thoughts, a loud noise startles you. Up ahead, you see a large cloud of dust and sand. Though scared and trembling from the thought of trouble that is just over yonder, you brace yourself and run towards it.

Reaching the area in a few minutes, you walk through a chasm of fallen rocks. Looking around, you notice the gashes and burn marks littering the ground and cliffs. Suddenly, something is flung just before you into the wall to your right. Stepping back, you brandish your sword at the new hole in the wall.

*Cough* *Cough* "Goodness me, what and utter brute." Your eyes widen as you see Golden Cheese Cookie herself stumble out of the hole.

"Your majesty!" You rush over to her and help her to her feet as best as you can. Though you only reach about waist height for her, you know it's better to have some support than none. She's looks down at you confused and worried.

"Young one, what are you doing here?! You shouldn't be here! You need to leave at once!" You shake your head.

"I am a messenger sent by Dark Cacao. He needed me to warn you of a Beast coming to claim your soul jam for himself." You saw her grimace.

"Unfortunately, it is too late. He is already here."

"So, you think I'm the thief, little cookie?" Your eyes widen at the sound of a deep and rough voice from above. Looking up, you see a large cookie that just screams danger. With a golden smirk, he leaps from his perch and drops down just aways away from you and Golden Cheese Cookie. The dust around him settles, and you find yourself staring at each other. Him, filled with curiosity and excitement. You, terrified and worried.

"You carry a sword, will you fight against me too?" He points the tip of his weapon at you, but Golden Cheese Cookie pushes you behind her.

"Don't you dare! She's but a messenger, not a soldier." She glares at the large cookie with a fierce look that could send you running home. For a moment, the Beast looks over at her the back at you before smirking and raising his weapon.

"She should've thought about that before coming here." Without a second to waste, he charges at the two of you. Golden Cheese Cookie pushes you away from the fight and parrys his attack.

"Run! Get out of here now! Warn Dark Cacao!" With that, you high tail it away from the fight in hopes of making back to your king. That Beast was right; you're no soldier. The sword you have is simply to deter others from attacking. You don't know how to fight.

The sounds of the battle draw further from you as you run. You'd say over twenty minutes have passed since you left, and you now find yourself in the ruins of an old palace. What can you say, you can't fight but you can sure run. Slowing down you take a breath and pull out a sheet of paper.

"Your Majesty, I find myself sending you this letter on behalf of Golden Cheese Cookie. She is currently fighting the Beast Cookie that is out for her soul jam. I am running from the fight in her orders. Please send immediate assistance to the Golden Cheese desert asap. With regards, (Y/n) Cookie."

With the letter written, you bring out a small blackberry bird and tie it to its foot. "Hurry, give this letter the his majesty Dark Cacao. Waste no time. Go!" At your words, the little bird flys off in a hurry. You sigh in exhaustion and slid against one of the old crumbled pillars.

"Oh little cookie~ Come out, come out wherever you are~"

You shoot up quickly and run over to a more hidden pile of rubble. How? How did here reach you so soon?! Shouldn't he be fighting Golden Cheese Cookie?! Unless......oh no. She must be badly hurt for him to be here without worrying about her. Oh, you hope the king will be here soon.

"Oh come now, no need to be scared. I won't hurt you. Much. Hahaha!" You close your eyes and cover your mouth to prevent any sound. Sliding down to the ground, you begin to shake in fear. Dammit! You know everyone else was busy in the kingdom, but why did they have to send you?! You can't fight!

You're too scared too.

All becomes silent, and with what little courage you have, you open your eyes. Oh fuck. You feel a shiver go down you spine as you see a large shadow block what light was on you. Slowly looking up you see the large beast stand above you, looking down at you with a sharp, golden grin. "Found you~"

"Ahhh!" Fear course through you as you dodge his attack. Without much haste, you run deeper into the ruins. You hear the loud steps of that brute not too far behind you. Risking it, you look behind you and see him gaining on you. That is until your world fumbles and you fall.

You feel a pain course through your leg as you hit the ground. You take a peak at it as you see a gaping would with jam running out. You let your head fall and curl in on yourself. "Why? Why me? Why was I sent here? I can't fight, I can't." You wallow in your self-pity as Buring Spice stalks towards you. Standing over you, he lets his eyes wonder over your form.

Normally, seeing a cookie wallow would bore or anger him. However, he must admit, you are quite the looker. Soft dough and a soft heart. You cower from him, which is odly...satisfying. He takes the end of his weapon and puts it under your chin, moving your head to look at him. You look up at the beast with tears in your eyes and fear in your heart. He smirks down at you and bends over.

"Mhm, how about a deal, scaredy cat?" You give a little nod, not trusting your voice. "You'll come with me as a sort of...pet or spoil of war, and I won't turn that so called queen to crumbs." Your eyes widen at his words. Either way, you're at his mercy, but hopefully, you can bide time for Golden Cheese Cookie and his majesty. At least then you can help in some way.

"I'll go with you." Your voice comes out just a little above a whisper. Cracking from the running, crying, and heat. He smirks and pulls you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

"Haha, wise choice, scaredy cat! Ha, I think I shall call you just that. After all, with how much you tremble and cower, it is but a fitting name." You don't say anything as you try to make resting on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes a little more comfortable. He begins to walk out of the ruins, and you feel yourself sawy to motion, causing you to feel a little sick. Stupid motion sickness. You really are a miserable fool. You can't fight, you're always scared, and now, motion sickness to top it all off.

Burning Spice notices this and stops walking. He pulls you from his shoulder and holds you with one arm. You look up at his with confusion. "This seems to be better. Don't want you throwing up your guts now, do we?" You nod, a little embarrassed, and the two of you continue on.

Good grief, what have you gotten yourself into. From a simple cowardly messenger to a Beast Cookies' pet. Damn, you feel as if your body is shot with how anxious you are. You can only hope Dark Cacao will save you in time. You do wonder though, what will become of you, as Buring Spice Cookies' little pet.

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 5

shy!reader really wants to tell construction worker!rafe how she feels but what if he doesn’t feel the same way?  

c/w: the L word, mostly fluff, her being an overthinker & getting a little jealous, pda, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.3k 

sooo this is the last part! (might write some extras but i make no promises) & just wanted to say how much i appreciate everyone who reads my stuff. the first part was my first piece of writing on this blog and i was overjoyed by the warm welcome and all the kind comments, asks & reblogs (nothing goes unnoticed by me!) so thank u so so much for being so lovely <33

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s been exactly two weeks since she came to terms with the fact that she’s in love with him.

She hasn’t been able to sleep all that well and has tried her very best to avoid Rafe, albeit fruitlessly since he insists on driving her home every day and on top of that, often invites himself over or asks her to stay the night at his— not accepting her excuses about being tired and having to wake up early.   

“Why don’t we jus’…be tired ‘n wake up early together then?” his grin is playful. And how is she meant to refuse that?  

And if everything he does wasn’t already suffocating her enough, he’s now helping with the renovation of the cafe since her boss wanted to expand the business; turn the small coffee shop into a bigger one in hopes of more space for new tables and seats, because the amount of clients they got was beginning to be too much for everyone to comfortably enjoy their stay. 

Therefore, she now has to work in the same building as him every single day because (unfortunately) the renovation work isn’t disturbing the current cafe from running nor decreasing the number of customers with a sweet tooth or a craving for their usual morning coffee.   

And none of this would be a problem, if Rafe wasn’t walking around all sweaty and dusty, biceps bulging whenever he’d lift wooden planks over his shoulder or carry around different equipment— looking as attractive as ever.

And with these newfound lovey-dovey feelings trying to break through the surface, she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to stop herself from ogling him or keep her rapid heartbeats to herself whenever he wanders over for a chat on his breaks. She tries to act as normal as she can, but she can tell that he’s starting to pick up on her excessive rambling and stuttering, flushed cheeks and anxious fingers fixing her hair every two seconds whenever he’s talking to her.  

In fact, she’s certain he can see right through her, knows that she’s hiding something. She can practically see how he wants to bring it up more often than not, but seemingly hasn’t found the right way to approach the subject yet, and she can sense that she’s running out of time— can’t tolerate lying to him for much longer.   

She’s been thinking this whole thing through over and over again, to the point of her head hurting while she bakes Rafe’s favorite lemon raspberry cookies as a distraction and because he’s been working so hard she wants to surprise him; see the soft smile that makes the whole world glitter whenever he graces her with it.  

And she wants to tell him, wants him to know how deeply she feels for him; how much she appreciates him but every time she tries to open her mouth, the words seem to evaporate before they’ve even begun to sprout on her nervous tongue.

Because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if this is all just a casual thing for him and she’s making it into something more than it is? These bleak thoughts turn her mood sour— a pout forming on her lips as she concentrates on topping the flamingo pink icing with fresh blueberries, adding the final touches to their most popular vanilla cupcakes.

And as she’s taking Rafe’s cookies out the oven, she comes to the conclusion that she really only has two options; she either tells him or she doesn’t.

If she tells him, there’s a very high possibility that he looks at her with a crease between his brows and words about not wanting for this to be anything serious hitting her against the face. And if she doesn’t, then…well she doesn’t really have anything to lose, does she? Except maybe the what ifs haunting her for the rest of eternity.   

She tries to get rid of the tormenting thoughts with a shake of her head as she sets the cookies off to cool down, and begins to place the finished cupcakes onto the display counter, trying her hardest to just forget about it all.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -  

Later that day, when Rafe is contently munching on the cookies she plated for him and happily distracting her from work, someone approaches the counter; a girl with glossy lips and shiny hair.   

“Hi! Could I please get a mango matcha latte?” her eyes are as green as grass as she places her order.  

“Of course, would you like it with ice or no ice?”   

“With ice, please.”

“Coming right up,” she gives the girl a polite smile when her payment goes through.   

“You’re working on the renovation?” the girl’s attention then turns towards Rafe, making Y/N’s gaze flicker over to them as she puts blended mango into the bottom of a tall glass.  

“Yeah, the cafe’s gon’ be twice as big as it’s now,” he drawls, putting the half-eaten baked good down.   

“That’s so cool. You know, I’ve always wondered how construction workers are so strong. Do you go to the gym a lot?” a saccharine voice reaches Y/N’s ears, making her brows furrow while she measures the right amount of matcha powder, trying to appear nonchalant.   

“Uh, yeah, yeah, also think m’workdays sometimes count as workouts,” he scratches the back of his head as she lets out a giggle. It wasn’t that funny, Y/N thinks with a roll of her eyes.   

“Hey, I was actually wondering if maybe you’d wanna hang out sometime? Could give you my number?”   

Something muddy swirls in her stomach in response to the girl’s straightforward question. She doesn’t particularly appreciate the fact that she’s blatantly hitting on Rafe right in front of her, even if she’s painfully aware that they’re not together and the girl probably assumed they were just friends, which they are.  

However, she can’t prevent herself from turning grumpy from the mere notion of him being interested in someone else. After all, the girl is stunning and she wouldn’t really blame him if he wanted to at least consider her offer.  

“Uh, m’actually not available right now,” he offers an apologetic smile when the girl’s shoulders slump.   

“No? That’s a shame. Well, let me know when that changes?” she gives him a flirty smile that makes Y/N quietly scoff as she pours the milk into the mix.  

“S’not changing anytime soon,” she mutters under her breath, making both of their heads turn towards her.   

Fuck, did she really say that out loud?  

“Sorry?” the girl asks, muted jade settling on her suddenly tense form.

“Oh, um— jus’ that…here’s your drink,” she peeps out in her state of embarrassment, feeling Rafe’s eyes burning into the side of her face as she sticks a paper straw into the beverage; the ice cubes clinking together when she hands it out to her.

“Right, thanks,” she says before looking over to Rafe once more, seemingly expecting him to give her an answer of his own.  

“Uh…yeah, what she said. Not changin’ anytime soon,” his grin is wide, making the girl’s cheeks flush.  

And when it’s just the two of them again, she flits her eyes down— busying herself with a wooden container of tea bags she’s trying to organize, unable to face him.  

“What was, uh…what was that about?” his tone is taunting, an annoying smirk playing on his features.  

“Nothing,” she quickly dismisses, avoiding his gaze.  

“Nothin’? You’re tellin’ me you weren’t just real fuckin’ jealous two seconds ago?”  

“N—no,” she can’t even convince herself with the pitiful denial.  

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, m’all yours, alright?” he chuckles as he stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth.  

“How did you know I jus’ was cravin’ these?” he asks around the mouthful as she tries to brush aside the sudden tingle in her ribcage.   

- - - - - - - - - - - - -  

A few days later, when her shift is coming to an end, her other coworker already beginning to take orders and telling her she’s free to go, she drags Rafe behind the counter and practically forces him to taste test a new recipe she’s tried out; a walnut carrot cake with lime buttercream. 

“Wow, this is…amazing. The sourness in the frosting is so good,” his voice is muffled by his chewing and her heart warms in response to his commentary, never one to shy away from showering her in compliments.  

“You think so? I actually added the lime jus’ cause I know how much you like citrus fruits so, m’really glad you like it,” she beams at him.  

“Yeah? Made this jus’ for me, huh? Can I ask why m’gettin’ this special treatment all of a sudden?” his tone is playful, tongue licking over his bottom lip to clean up the bit of icing lingering there.   

“Well, cause I love you and—” she blurts out before her entire body tenses; mouth hanging open in shock and wide eyes slowly moving to look at him, trying to verify whether he heard it or not. Of course he did. She wasn’t exactly quiet now, was she?   

“You…you love me?” he raises his brows in surprise.  

“Uh…I— I didn’t mean to…I mean, you probably don’t feel the same so doesn’t really matter. Just— um...jus’ forget I said that. I don’t know why I—”   

“What are you talkin’ about? You think I spend most of my time with you cause I…what? Dislike you? You can be so silly sometimes, you know?” he scoffs, setting the golden fork down on the porcelain plate.  

She stays silent. 

“What I’m sayin’ is that m’obsessed with you. I mean, you’re even in my fuckin’ dreams, right? But listen, love has always been a little, uh, tricky for me cause m’relationship with my family has always been, uh, complicated? But if me wantin’ to spend every second of my day with you means I love you too, then, shit, maybe I do. But I need some time before I can really say that shit, you get that?” his words are honest and raw and she thinks her rattling heart is going to beat out of her chest.  

“I— um…yeah, of course. Take all the time you need,” she finally manages out.  

“Hey, c’mere,” he says before he’s practically dragging her dumbfounded form into his embrace; — beefy arms pulling her flush against his chest.  

“I mean, we’re basically already datin’ at this point, no? Wasn’t sure how to make it official without freakin’ you out but since you love me, think you’re all good, yeah?” 

She mumbles something incoherent in response.  

“So wanna be my little girlfriend or what?” he murmurs into her hair.  

“I— of course I do,” she speaks against his shirt.   

“Yeah?”   

“Mhm,” she hums before he tucks an index finger under her chin and lifts her face to look up at him—his thumb toying with her bottom lip before he’s leaning down and smearing a sloppy kiss against her mouth.   

“Shit, you’re so adorable, jus’ wanna swallow you whole sometimes,” he murmurs with a soft smile tugging at his lips and eyes twinkling with something syrupy in them.   

“I love you,” she mumbles, almost inaudible; words still too tender to consciously say out loud.   

“Say it again,” he practically demands.  

“Um…I love you,” her voice is nearly a whisper.  

“What was that? Think you can say it a little louder?” he teases.   

“Rafe, stop…you’re embarrassing me,” she whines, cheeks heating up.

“No, m’not. Jus’ wanna hear you say it,” his smirk is all big and smug and it makes her huff.  

“ILOVEYOU, okay?” the words mesh together like fluffy clouds in the sky and her volume is louder than he’s probably ever heard it, causing a couple of curious heads to turn and the lively chatter around them to quiet down some.   

“Yeah? You guys heard that? She LOVES me,” he’s nearly shouting, looking around with a stupid grin on his face— making her flush and hide behind her hands as a few customers cheerfully titter in entertainment.  

“Congrats, dude!” someone even yells.

“Oh my god, Rafe. Why would you do that?” her mortified eyes widen as she crouches down; trying to find shelter behind the pale-yellow counter. “M’never leaving my house again,” she complains with a glare.   

However, he doesn’t seem all that bothered by the whole thing, simply chuckling with dimples denting his cheeks— the light-hearted sound making her stomach flutter despite the humiliation crawling up her spine and making her want to vanish into the cracks on the floorboards.   

“Of course you are, m’your boyfriend now which means m’takin’ you out on a date tomorrow, yeah?” he lifts her up with a grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him while his fingertips slip underneath the hem of her shirt, smoothing over her bare stomach and making her let out a squeak.  

Then, he’s grasping her jaw in one hand and pressing his mouth on hers again— her protests withering away like a dead rose when he slips his tongue past the seam of her lips, dragging out an involuntary whimper from her, before she pulls away and hides her face in his chest when she feels multiple pairs of eyes staring at them.  

“Rafe, can we just go already?” she pleads, voice small before he’s guiding her out of the coffee shop; his hand resting on the small of her back and calming her down some. 

And despite the little scene he caused, she thinks she might just be the happiest girl on the island as he helps her climb into his truck with a honeyed kiss warming the apple of her cheek.

[roguelov]

Scars and All

Summary: For a few years, you have been friends with Trafalgar Law. And for a few years you have harbored a crush on his dad, Donquixote Rosinante. You tried, and tried, to ignore such feelings, but perhaps it’s time to put it all out into the open. No more hiding, you will tell him how you feel. You only hope he will let you down gently.

Word Count: ~8.9k

Reader: fem/afab (reader referred to a sweetheart/sweet girl)

Warnings: SMUT (age gap (reader is in their mid 20s and Cora is 40), breast play, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, cream pie, dirty talk, small breeding kink, mostly dom!cora), minor angst (denial of feelings), pining, fluff in the end

(Fanart and inspo for the fic by levikra)

The idle rumbling of the car was the only thing keeping you grounded, or was the irritable sensation propelling your already splintered mind into more of a frenzy? You pressed your forehead into the steering wheel. The sun’s ray heated the faux leather, unfortunately not bringing you any relief or comfort. Just more irritation.

This is stupid.

Grumbling, you lifted your head, peering up at the picturesque house. It was simple with a small porch with rickety chairs to recline in, and a worn down welcome mat. Shutters muted by the sun. Its attached garage had its mouths open revealing a sleek vintage car and a motorcycle parked inside.

Plain. Ordinary.

Yet, it was frighteningly daunting. You white-knuckled your steering wheel. Your heart pounded feverishly in your chest. Blood pumped so loud in your ears you could barely discern the jumbled voices from the radio. A song? An interview? Why did it matter? Why were you focusing on such trivial things when -

Dumb. This is so fucking dumb and stupid and - and I should just leave. He wouldn’t -

You banged your head - again - against the steering wheel, growing out in frustration. “What am I doing here,” you asked the rhetorical question in the lone space.

You tilted your head, glancing at your passenger and the reason for the afflictions to your spiraling mind: a plastic container of an assortment of cookies. The container sparkled in the sunlight as if smiling giddily eager to be delivered.

You grumbled to yourself, “Why did I talk myself into this?”

*****

“Ooo, it smells amazing in here!”

You peered over your shoulder, looking back at your friend and housemate, Evelyn. She hungrily eyed all the variety of cookies littered across the kitchen counters cooling and some already packed neatly in containers. Giggling, she snatched up a fresh one, biting into it.

She hummed, smiling at you, “It’s so good.”

Your cheeks warmed and you smiled bashfully, “Thanks.”

She plopped down at one of the dining chairs, happily nibbling on her cookie. “So why’d you make so much? And why did you ask me to help?”

You snickered at her tone and small pout. “Ah well, I wanted to make some chocolate chip cookies but then you saw we had plenty of other ingredients so it just spiraled out of control from there.”

She frowned a bit, deciphering your roundabout words. “Stress baking?”

Your eyes dropped to the side. Caught. “Yeah, kind of.”

“Why?”

You added some cooled cookies into another container. “Well … I was thinking about bringing some to Rosinante .. and I know Law is still doing his shift at the hospital.”

She beamed, finishing off her cookie. “Yeah, I bet they will like them.”

You said nothing, you just closed the container, sealing it tight.

Evelyn watched you for a moment. Your hand nervously patted on your pants, rubbing off the flour and sugar. Your eyes darted around counting and recounting all the cookies. “What’s wrong? What do you think they won’t like them?” She asked.

“Huh? Oh, uh … no, that’s not the issue.” You shuffled side to side. “I thought that maybe I could finally do it.”

She cocked her head. “Do what?”

You fiddled with your fingers. “That … that I could tell Rosinante how I feel.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Really?”

She had known about your crush on him, you had confided in her some time ago. She had even comforted you when a few tears were shed under the veil of night. It wasn’t right to have a crush on your shared friend’s dad. You knew this. You tried to drop it, to let him go, yet with every conversation you had with him you fell a bit more.

“I … I just … I don’t want to keep pretending,” you quietly admitted. “If he doesn’t like me, then so be it … maybe I could finally move on once I hear it from him … it’ll be awkward as hell when we go over there in the future but … I should do this.”

No more delusions or what ifs. Your mind tired of these endless running thoughts every single night.

Eve gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled, a small one. You placed a hand on your chest, rubbing the spot over your racing heart.

I got this.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up a perfectly packaged container. You held the container close to your chest, however once you turned to leave you froze.

Seeing your hesitation, Evelyn got up and started pushing you towards the door. “Alright, go.”

You dug your heels into the floor. “But -“

“Nope, now shoo.”

“Actually I - I changed my mind. This is a terrible idea and I don’t want to do the adult thing anymore -“

“It’s a wonderful idea,” she urged you, opening the front door for you. “And he’ll love them.”

And you, she thought.

“I don’t care if he likes the cookies,” you grumbled. “It’s the other thing.”

“You can do it. I know he likes you back -“

You vehemently shook your head, pushing back on her attempts. “I can’t -“

She spun you around, grabbing your arms. Her eyes blazed with determination, far more than your own. “Yes, you can. You said you would do it, so no backing out.”

You hung your head, sighing deeply, “… fine.”

She beamed. “Great! And don’t worry, I’ll keep Law away … for a few hours.”

Your cheeks burned. “Whoa, it won’t -“

With one final shove, you stumbled backwards out the door. She chirped in a cheery tone, “Now, go. And good luck!”

The door then slammed in your face.

*****

Fuck it, just do it!

Shutting off the engine and snatching up the cookies, you hopped out of your car. Every step towards the front door, every time your heart jumped up into your throat. You wanted to turn tail and hide, but how could you go back home? Eve will certainly give you trouble.

I could just sneak inside and hide away in my room.

You muttered to yourself. It was at least a decent idea.

Wrong. All wrong, a voice hissed in the back of your mind. You’re a friend of his kid, why would he even see you like this? You shouldn’t have even entertained this for a second. It’s all wrong.

Your heart ached. You shoved that voice back, locking it in the far recesses of your mind. You didn’t need it whispering in your ear. Again. You just needed to get this all off your chest, you couldn’t bear the weight of this secret anymore. The rejection will sting, it will gut you, and you will cry, but then hopefully you could finally move on.

With a shaky hand, you pressed the doorbell. The chime cut through the silence. You flinched. Glancing over your shoulder, you wondered if anyone was watching this slow disastrous train wreck.

This is a dumb idea. Maybe I could -

The doorknob clicked then opened. You whipped around, staring up at the owner of the home, the father of your friend, and the owner of your heart: Donquixote Rosinante. With a cigarette hanging from his lips, he smiled warmly, “Hey, what brings you around here?”

Matching his smile, you held up the cookies. “I made a bit too much so I thought I would stop by and bring some.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? Thank you, here -“ he moved aside giving you space to step in, “- come on in, you know where the kitchen is.”

You nodded, walking in. Smiling, Rosinante closed the door behind you. You passed by the living room and into the kitchen with Rosinante following behind you. You set down the cookies on the kitchen island. Rosinante circled around the island to the other side. He took his cigarette, flicking the ashes into a small glass tray. His eyes darted over to you. He saw the question written so clearly on your face.

“I know I’m trying to quit. Just please don’t tell, Law,” he said, taking a small drag. “I know the kid is almost a doctor now, but it’s hard to break such an old habit -“ he winked “- it can be our little secret.”

Your heart fluttered. “My lips are sealed.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Joy, unbridled joy and elation, bloomed at the nickname. It brought a warmth unlike any other: sunshine on a snowy winter morning, bonfire on a cool summer night, or a warm blanket wrapped around at night. You couldn’t remember when it started, but you loved it. His deep voice mixed so lovely with the affectionate tone of the name. It was this small insignificant thing that made your heart cling to hope, hope that maybe - just maybe - he felt something.

“Do you mind?” Rosinante pointed at the container.

“Oh! Uh, no please go ahead,” you answered.

He smiled then opened it up. He inhaled the tantalizing decadent aroma. “Smells great.”

He plucked a chocolate chip cookie. Holding his cigarette between his fingers, he took a bite. He hummed. His eyes twinkled with delight. ”This is amazing! You’re a great baker.”

You smiled bashfully. “Thanks.”

Looking at him, your expression softened as he finished the cookie with a smile. However as he ate the last bite, your eyes caught something. “Hey, uh, you have …,” you gestured to a spot on your own cheek.

Rosinante tilted his head. His golden hair swept across his forehead. His innocent face made him appear decades younger.

How can a grown man look so adorable?

You reiterated, “You have some chocolate on your cheek.”

“Oh!” He swiped his thumb across his skin - to where you pointed - then gently sucked the chocolate off. He hummed, licking his lips. “Thanks.”

You kept your voice steady. “No problem.”

He really doesn’t understand what he does to me.

“Any reason you made so many cookies?” Rosinante asked, closing the lid.

You shrugged. “Just wanted some, but then it kind of spiraled into making a bunch of different batches.”

He smiled, leaning on the island. “Well, thank you for sharing. I might eat them all before Law gets a chance to try one.”

You mimicked him, resting your elbows on the island. “No worries, we have plenty back at the house … that is if Eve doesn’t eat them all.”

He snickered and took another drag of his cigarette.

Your eyes skimmed over him. He truly was a golden god, yet wrapped up with some boyish charms. You tore your eyes away. Your heart started to speed up again with the mere thought of spilling everything out in the open. He picked up the cookies, turning his back to you and putting them next to the fridge. It was out of sight, and somewhat hidden for a sweet treat for himself later.

Ok, fuck, breathe. Just - just say it. It’s now or never.

Clearing your throat, you spoke in a shaky voice. “Rosinante?”

He hummed, his back still to you,

I can do it. It’s fine - it’ll be fine.

You took a long deep breath. “I … I have something I want to tell you.”

He froze.

Instantly, he knew where the conversation would go before you could utter another word. The thing was Rosinante wasn’t clueless or oblivious to your infatuation with him. He will admit he didn’t at first, however it all clicked. He saw how you clung to each of his words, how you stared at him when you thought he wasn't watching, how you leaned towards him craving his warmth, or how you always sought out his company. He was surprised, yes, and in heavy denial for some time. But, as weeks passed, his observation and theory only solidified.

He could only hope your crush would pass.

Rosinante twisted around. “Please don’t.”

Most of all, Rosinante hoped and prayed his own attraction to you faded. It started as a small bud in his chest. Yet, the more and more you came around, the more you talked and laughed with him, the more the simple infatuation grew. It rooted its vines deep within his heart, taking hold and control of him. He craved your presence constantly, you were becoming his new addiction.

But, it wasn’t right.

Rosinante sighed heavily. Taking his cigarette, he smothered it out in the ashtray. “I know what you’re about to say.”

You blinked. “You do?”

Does he?

He glanced up, staring directly into your eyes. Why were his eyes so sorrowful? Or … pitiful? “You we’re about to make a confession, were you not?”

Embarrassment. White hot searing embarrassment coursed through you. Your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. You quickly dropped your head, hiding your boiling shame. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, nails burying into your palms.

“Please don’t.”

His haunting words replayed on repeat.

Fuck, I was right. Shit -

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing back the tears.

Rosinante frowned. Fuck. Maybe, he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe, he should have let you speak first. But, he was trying to save you some pain. He moved around the counter, hovering by your side. His hand raised to comfort you. However, when he heard the faint sniffles, his heart clenched and his hand dropped.

Damn it.

“Look, it’s -“

You snapped your head up. You smiled, an awfully forced one that didn’t convince Rosinante in the slightest. Taking a deep breath, you tried to swim faster than the typhoon of emotions hurtling through your mind. “No, you don’t have to explain yourself. I - I understand … I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

It was a long shot, an impossible chance. Why did a part of me believe it would work? How delusional could I be?

You spun on your heels to leave, but Rosinante caught your wrist. He tugged you back. His hands cupped your face, forcing you to stay and look at him. He searched in your frantic eyes to see if he overstepped. But, all he saw was pain trying to be bottled up. “I do owe you an explanation, it’s only right,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts, “sweetheart, it’s cliche I know but it’s not you, it’s me … I’m … I’m not right for you.”

Your heart - your conflicted heart - flipped. “… what?”

He sighed, “You are kind and wonderful and amazing -“

And everything I could ever hope for, he thought.

“- but I’m broken. I’m old. I’m scarred. I’m - I’m not whole.”

Unlike you.

His words swirled around in your head. Broken. Old. Scarred. “So?” You asked in a quiet voice.

Rosinante’s eyebrows furrowed.

Pushing down your nerves, you pressed on. “Not everyone is perfect and - and without flaws, do you think I am? Do you think I don’t have some sort of scars whether etched into my skin or across my heart?”

He blinked, taken back by your words.

Just spill it all. He … he already knows.

“Only you make me feel like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze. “Only you can constantly make me laugh and smile, and - and brighten my day. You make me feel seen, heard.”

Rosinante’s heart hammered. “Can - can you look at me?”

Your eyes wearily inched back up. Your eyes were glassy with tears threatening to spill.

He smiled sadly, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. “Hey, don’t waste your tears on this old fool.”

“Why not?” You muttered, desperately keeping your voice calm. “You’re amazing … why can’t you see that?”

Because I have a complicated past, he bitterly thought. I’m old, past my prime. You deserve better.

“Sweetheart -“

“Please,” you cut him off. “If - if you don’t like me, want me, or - or see me in this way then just please let me go. Don’t make me stay here any longer … but if you do … if you like me in some way … then …”

Your voice trailed off, leaving it up to him to interpret. An admission of his feelings? A kiss? It just had to be some obvious sign. You were trying not to crumble before him.

Please, just let me go.

Rosinante licked his lips. His heart raced sporadically in his chest. What should he do? What was the right thing to do?

To let you go.

To save you - one of his son’s friends - from this broken old man.

But what did he want? What did his heart yearn for?

You. He wanted you, he always wanted you. And maybe this was his only chance at happiness.

Why shouldn’t he at least try?

He leaned down slowly as if waiting for you to run, for you to get out while you could. But, you stayed firm. His face hovered inches above yours. His eyes bore into you searching and deciphering any signs, or tells, that meant regret. He couldn’t. He only saw hope, hope that this wasn’t a fantasy, hope that you could finally love and cherish him as you believed he deserved.

His eyes slid down to your lips, so soft and waiting so patiently. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. His eyes flickered back, locking with yours. “I want this, but tell me,” he whispered desperately; his hand now wrapped around the back of your neck holding you firmly, realizing he didn’t want you to run away now, “tell me you want this. I - I just need to hear you say it.”

You hesitantly reached up, touching the side of his face. His chin was slightly prickly unlike his usual kempt appearance. Your hand traced upwards, threading through his blonde locks - that nearly covered those beautiful rustic red eyes of his. “I want this,” you breathed out. “I want you, scars and all.”

Rosinante crashed his lips against yours. He claimed your lips, pouring all this untapped love into it. He wanted - needed - you to know how much you meant to him, how much he wanted this, and how long he had deprived himself of it. His lips parted, darting his tongue along your lips pleading for entrance. You shakily parted your lips, still surprised this was truly happening. Rosinante hummed, slipping his tongue inside. You whimpered faintly. With your head tipped all the way back to accommodate his height, you were truly at his mercy.

And you loved it.

He eagerly explored your mouth, swirling his tongue wanting to taste every part of you. You clung to him, feeling your knees about to buckle. Chocolate and hints of nicotine blossomed over your tongue. His tongue commanded your attention, yet so did his hands. His dexterous hands glided down your body. He awkwardly hunched forward, but he didn’t mind. He had you, he could hold you, touch you. His hands greedily roamed over you, mapping out the curves and lines of your body. He sneakily cupped your rear and thighs, making you gasp. Rosinante smirked against your lips. A quick squeeze and jerk urged you to jump.

And you did.

The ex-marine lifted you up quite easily. Your legs wrapped so wonderfully around his waist, and you threw your arms over his shoulders. However, he couldn’t make it quite far. Taking only a few steps, he stumbled into the wall. You were far too distracted by his lips and touch, you hadn’t noticed his quick reaction: one of his hands cradled your head, protecting it from the wall.

He pulled away from your lips, mumbling, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you panted.

He smiled, wide and beautiful, making his eyes crinkled in an adorable way. He was enthralled with you, and this moment. How could you truly be here in his arms, in his grasp? It was a dream, a dream he didn’t want to ever end. “Can we keep going?” He asked, nudging his nose against yours.

“Please,” you answered.

He captured your lips again, but slower. He wanted to memorize the shape and feeling of your lips. There was precision to his movements, a dance. The ex-marine knew how to maintain control, and how to draw everything out. Each stolen breath, each push and pull of his lips, each slow drag of his tongue, each teasing nibble left you clinging to him.

One of his hands slipped under your shirt, skimming up your back. You shivered at his cool calloused fingers. He murmured, “Soft.”

His fingertips drew nonsensical patterns, or so you thought. He purposefully drew hearts and spirals, carving his unspoken love. His hand moved upward before dragging his blunt nails across your back. He so desperately wished to mark your skin, to put his scar on you.

“Can I take off your shirt?” He begged into your swollen lips.

You didn’t answer. Using the wall as leverage, you haphazardly wiggled out of your shirt and tossed it randomly onto the kitchen floor. Excited and dazed, you didn’t bother to wait for him to ask about your bra. You unhooked it, adding it to the pile. His eyes widened, staring down at your breasts with his slightly mouth agape.

Fuck, this is really happening, he thought.

You nervously bit your lip. Your mind began to second guess his silence.

Shit, did I go too far? What if he didn’t -

Rosinante quickly hoisted you higher up then craned his head down. His lips wrapped perfectly around your breast, sucking on it. You sighed, arching your back to better help him. Your fingers slipped into his hair, holding his head close. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach. His tongue circled around your nipple. Your lips and mouth had just learned his sensual dance. Every swipe of his tongue, your body shuddered. He teasingly nipped at the bud, making you gasp. He removed his mouth with an audible ‘pop‘ like he wanted you to know how good you tasted, how much it pained him to break away. Yet, he couldn’t neglect the other. He kissed along your chest, hungrily capturing your other breast.

“Rosi,” you breathed out.

Fuck, he loves how that sounded. How could his name send such intense pleasure skyrocketing through his body? His cock jumped in his pants. Gods, he needed to hear it again, and again, and again. His hands squeezed your ass both trying to hold himself back and as if you forced it out of you.

And it worked.

You whimpered.

Faint, yet so sweet.

Pulling away from your breasts, he rested his forehead against yours. Your chests heaved in an odd symphony. The thinnest space separated your lips, your shared breaths mixed together. His air was yours and your air was his, souls were mingling in such close proximity. His eyes shone, all his emotions now officially and completely bare.

No, more hiding. No more denying.

He stole your lips once again, unable to get enough of them. Humming, you arched your back, pressing your now spit covered breasts into him. The tiny bit of friction of your perked nipples across his rough shirt sent sparks of pleasure down your spine. However, and unfortunately, he broke the kiss far too quickly. You eagerly chased after his lips, needing them. Rosinante hid his amused smile. He kissed down your neck, swiping that devious tongue of his over your sensitive skin. He whispered, “You taste like sugar.”

“I - ah - I may have made a mess earlier,” you admitted. “Butter and sugar got everywhere.”

He chuckled. He wanted to say he expected no less from his sweetheart. Sweetness seemed to always pour from you, and he always wanted to drink from you - to always have a taste. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated taking you here. He could lay you across the kitchen island, pour honey across your skin, especially your breasts, and have his way with you. But, he shelved such an idea.

Not today, another time, he promised himself.

“Upstairs?” He asked into your neck.

“Up - fuck.” Rosi nipped at your skin, gently sucking and soothing the spot. His lips curled into a smirk, a smirk you felt burned into your skin. Your head tipped back into the wall as he continued his sweet assault. How could such a kind, sweet man be so conniving, so sly?

“What was that, sweetheart?” He teased in a low tone.

“Upstairs.” You breathlessly added, “Please.”

“Of course.” He pushed off the wall, delicately carrying you up the stairs.

However, since he was so focused on carrying you, you decided to return such delightful favors. You started by peppering his face in adoring kisses from his cheeks, to his nose, then his lips.

He chuckled with a growing smile, “Sweet girl, you need to stop or I might trip.”

“We’ll be fine,” you brushed him off.

Your lips trailed soft butterfly kisses along his prickly jaw and down his neck. Your sweetness turned sinister. You placed a single open mouth kiss on the crook of his neck. He let out a soft pleased sigh. Your teeth then grazed over his skin. His grip on you tightened. You lightly bit him, feeling a shudder run through his body. Smirking, you sucked - viciously and without remorse - on a sensitive spot ensuring you left your mark on him.

His reaction was perfect. He groaned and stumbled backwards into the wall by his bedroom door. The thud resonated through the still home, so much so a few pictures wobbled on the wall threatening to fall. “Shit,” he hissed.

You continued your attack listening to his heated swears under his breath. Once you felt satisfied, you pulled away, eyeing your red spot with a triumphant grin. It will only darken with time, a lovely reminder. Looking into his eyes, they were blown wide with lust and desire which mirrored your own. Smirking, you teasingly nipped his bottom lip. He swore again. Using one hand, he brought your head closer, attacking your lips with new energy. He pried himself off the wall and rushed into his bedroom. He used his muscle memory stumbling and swaying into the room until his shins hit the edge of his bed. Carefully, he laid you down on his sheets.

So gentle, so delicate.

His lips skimmed down to your heaving chest, between your breasts and to your hips. His fingers followed after his lips, tracing down your sides. Your breath stuttered at his feathery touches. His breath fanned over your lower stomach, hitting the waistband of your pants. His eyes flickered up, peering through his eyelashes.

“Can I?” He whispered in such a loving tone.

You nodded, unable to muster up a single syllable.

He undid the buttons of your pants and tugged them down while you lifted your hips to help. He bit the inside of his cheek. So beautiful. His hands traveled up your legs, squishing your thighs. She’s really here. He then spread your legs a bit, and didn’t miss the dark wet patch on your underwear. His chest burned with desire knowing he was responsible. His finger hooked around the band of your underwear. If he could, he would have torn them off already.

“Can these go next,” he asked, continuing to ensure he had your consent with every step.

Your heart skipped. “Y-yeah.”

He pulled them off as calmly as possible, and tossed them aside. Your cunt was dripping. He swore his mouth started to water. Swallowing, he silently drank in your figure, still reeling you were here. He wanted to ravish you, he wanted to make love to you, he wanted to do it all.

However, for you, the silence pressed on for too long. His blank stare morphed into disinterest in your mind. Insecurities bubbled up as it dawned on you how you were now completely naked before him. Your hands covered your chest and you snapped your legs closed.

What am I -

Rosinante’s eyes widened at your sudden change. He immediately climbed onto the bed, over top of you, and removed your hands from your chest. “Please, don’t,” he breathed out. “I - I’m sorry … you’re just so beautiful.”

Your cheeks and chest flooded with heat. You quickly turned your head to the side, hiding.

He cupped your cheek, turning your head back to him. “You are. Please don’t hide from me.”

His soft expression and kind smile eased back the fears. You slowly nodded.

“Good. Here, it’s only fair.” He leaned back and removed his shirt, adding it to the pile on his floor.

Your breath hitched. Your eyes darted all over, taking him all in. So many scars. You propped yourself up on your elbow, reaching out. You carefully traced over each of them, outlining the rigids and harsh ragged shapes. Rosi watched you intensely. A shiver ran down his spine. You were so delicate, as if he were made of glass. Your face filled with some kind of concentration, one he didn’t fully understand.

You asked softly, “Can … can you flip over?”

Stunned a bit, yet Rosi complied. He rolled onto his back into the squeaky mattress. You swiftly straddled his hips. Before he could ask, you bent down kissing one scar by his ribs. His heart leapt up into his throat. You then methodically kissed every single scar - no matter the size nor how gnarly it appeared - all over his chest. You finished your endeavor by kissing the one near his heart, an almost fatal hit. His heart thrummed beneath your lips, and you felt the elated vibrations. You peered up to see his cheeks flushed a rosy red and his lips parted as he tried to calm his breathing. You had rendered this man - this near mammoth of a man - into an utter mess. He was putty under such touches, touches he had long deprived himself of.

You smiled, resting your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a beat which your heart harmonized with. “I’m sorry, did I -“

“Don’t.” He let out a shaky exhale. “Don’t apologize. I - I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Your hand followed the curve of his chest to a scar on his right shoulder. You, once again, traced the shape. Rosi shuddered. At his reaction, a thought suddenly dawned on you. “Rosi, are your scars sensitive?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, mumbling, “Just a bit.”

Noted.

You held back a devious smirk. Sitting up, you placed your hands on his chest. Your nails raked down.

Maybe I could have some fun -

Rosi’s hands suddenly gripped your hips. He yanked you all the way up his body. A sharp gasp left your lips. Your hands flung out and collided with the wall for support. Your eyes - wide and somewhat confused - dropped down. You now straddled over his face, your knees on either side. His hands wrapped around your thighs and squeezed, letting the fat pool between his fingers. Most importantly, his grip indicated one thing: he was unwilling to let you go.

“Fuck.” He groaned, looking up at your dripping cunt like it was a meal.

Your heart sped up, “Wait, Rosi - I -“

“Sweetheart, I dreamt of this so many times,” he whispered. His breath, each puff of air, sent jolts through your body. “Please, can I have this?”

No one had begged before.

Trying and failing to keep your voice steady, you stuttered out, “I, uh, y-yes - ah!”

Rosinante eagerly yanked you down, unable to wait another second. Humming, his lips wrapped around you. The tip of his tongue swept over your folds, collecting and tasting you. Sparks burst through you.

“Rosinante,” you moaned. How could one single motion left you so vocal?

He smirked at your reaction as he weaved a spell over you. He moaned as he started devouring you. His tongue teasingly traced your folds. You shuddered. He did it once, twice, then pushed his tongue inside of you. He curled his tongue, hitting your spongy walls. You whimpered. Your hands balled up into fists, clawing at the wall. His tongue - long and thick - moved with precision. His age and experience truly showed in his moment. He knew how to work it, how to render you in his beautiful mess.

He hummed. The wondrous vibrations made you moan loudly and unabashedly. A noise you never expected you to make. One of your hands instinctively shot down and latched onto his hair. Mindless on your growing pleasure, you tugged on his strands, making him groan. More vibrations, more dizzying sensations, more of your juices coated his lips and face.

Rosinante nearly rolled his eyes back. Fuck, this was better than his measly dreams. His cock twitched in his pants at each of your sounds. And gods if you tasted and felt this amazing just around his tongue, then how would it feel to be buried inside of you? Precum spilled in his pants at the mere thought.

Pleasure built deep in your stomach. As his tongue expertly moved and curled in and out of you, you lowered yourself more and greedily rocked your hips to chase after the pleasure. He moaned. His fingers dug harshly into your thighs, possibly leaving bruises.

“That’s it, sweetheart, ride my face,” he purred.

Shit.

Rosinante’s eyes darkened. Your walls fluttered around his tongue at his blunt words. He watched your head tip back as a sweet whimper hummed in the back of your throat.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured with a devious smirk.

His words added to the insatiable heat burning you from the inside out. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pornogrpahic moans daring to escape. He continued to watch, unwilling to tear his gaze away. He loved how your breasts bounced, tempting him to feast on him again, how your back curled so elegantly, how your thighs slowly squeezed around him minimizing his world so it was you and you alone, and how your hips stuttered losing concentration at his words, his pet names, and his merciless tongue.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” his voice was low and commanding, drawing up such a tone from his former marine days.

You shakily glanced down at him. Your eyes drooped with lust and desperation, your chest heaved gulping down air, and your mouth hung open as whimpers and moans poured out. To him, you were picture perfect, a sight to behold and cherish.

He turned his head, kissing your thigh. “Good, now can you lean forward for me?”

With a tiny nod, you tipped your hips forward.

”That’s it, good girl.”

Your whole body pulsed. Such praise, such simple words shouldn’t set your body ablaze, and yet you nearly crumble. You already wanted to hear that honey tone pour from his lips again.

His lips wrapped around your swollen clit, sucking on it. You inhaled sharply. His hand then caressed down between your thighs. It trailed down with such a light tough until one of his slender fingers dragged slowly through your soaked lips. You lurched at the feeling. He gingerly pushed his finger in. You shut your eyes tight and bit your lip, almost drawing blood. His finger moved painstakingly slow, both wanting to be careful yet also wanting to tease you closer to that edge.

“More,” you begged, already pushing your hips back. “Please.”

Rosinante happily and easily added a second finger. The wet sounds echoed in the room from him hungrily sucking and licking at your clit, to his fingers being drenched in your juices. It was all too much. You pressed your forehead into the wall, closing your eyes. It held all of your support. You were panting, nearly drooling as pleasure claimed your whole body.

Fuck, Rosinante could come at the sight of you like a horny teenager. His cock ached to be free, to be buried within your walls, to be stroked by your delicate fingers, to be wrapped around your tongue, or perhaps to be smushed between your breasts. He wanted it all. But, he also wanted this. He needed this just as much as you did. His pleasure can wait, he wanted to devote all his energy onto you. He hummed again.

Another moan fell off your lips.

Cracking open your eyes, you were greeted with Rosinante’s red glowing eyes beneath you. He then kissed your clit, softly as if giving one a kiss on the cheek, and cooed, “Be a good girl and come all over my face.”

“Fuck,” you swore. He chuckled, a rich laugh. He crooked his finger, hitting a certain spot. You gasped, seeing stars. “T-There, fuck, right there.”

Rosi immediately zoned onto that spot. His fingers bullied into you with new purpose. Each curl, scissoring, of his fingers snatched your breath away. His tongue and mouth, however, could not be forgotten either. He sucked and swirled his tongue, guiding you closer to the edge. You tightened your grip on his hair, nails scraping along his scalp. And he could only moan. Pleasure and pain tangled so well together.

You mewled, “Rosi, I - I about to come.”

“Give it to me,” he growled.

The pressure built and built, and you quickly abandoned all caution and care. You began to grind back on his fingers, practically humping his face. A fog was casted over your mind, only able to think of your pleasure. Rosinante moaned, fueling your end.

Yes, use me, he thought.

A few more pumps of his slender fingers, mixed with his constant attack on your clit, you cried out his name gushing all over his face. The edges of your vision blurred with stars. Rosinante swiftly pulled out his fingers and greedily drank you up. He groaned, enjoying every drop. He feasted until your legs were shaking, ready to topple over and you were whimpering and jerking from the intense overstimulation.

He thankfully - and finally - stopped. He lifted you up and off his face, laying you down on the bed. He then littered your heavy tired body with kisses as you came back to your senses. He kissed your cheek then forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, tossing him a lopsided smile. “I’m good.”

Great. Fantastic. Amazing.

He smiled, giving you a short kiss. He continued his conquest kissing down your neck and chest. You sighed dreamily, threading your fingers through his hair. Your desires, however, were being reignited by every kiss. You still craved more, you wanted him all.

“I want you,” you whispered softly.

He lifted his head with some hesitancy behind his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t been more sure in your life.

“Ok,” he smiled, giving you a quick peck on your lips.

Standing up, you finally could drink in the full sight of him. The years had been so kind to him. He was like a Greek god: golden hair kissed by Apollo and Helios, a rugged physique that battled Ares’s, a booming laughter rivaling Zeus’s own thunder, a voice so rich and luscious like ambrosia poured directly from Dionysus’s cup, and all of it wrapped together and blessed by Aphrodite’s touch.

He was beautiful, more than beautiful he was ethereal.

He tugged down his pants, along with his boxers. Your eyes trailed down to chest, to his stomach, to the thin patch of darker blonde strands to his hard cock - long and thick, matching his already intimidating height. His tip red and swollen as precum leaked out, a sign of your effect on him.

You swallowed nervously.

Would he fit?

Rosinante’s ego inflated at your stunned reaction. He kicked aside the clothing, unfortunately his clumsy curse returned momentarily. Getting tripped up, he toppled sideways, crashing to the ground. You immediately sprung up. Before you could think to ask if he was okay, he propped himself up. His cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. He huffed, resting his chin on the edge of the bed.

Smooth, he sarcastically thought to himself.

You bit your lip then bursted out into laughter. You know you shouldn’t, yet you shouldn’t have expected anything less. He perked up, and smiled at your infectious laugh. You crawled over to him, sitting back on your knees. You cupped his face, bending down kissing him softly. Pulling away, Rosinante looked at you as if you brought upon his salvation, as if you were an oasis in the desert of his life.

“Are you okay?” You asked, still concerned about him.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“Good.”

Still holding his face, you gently drew him with you, urging him back on the bed. He listened to your silent command. You fell backward, scooting up the bed while he slowly crawled over top of you.

“Are you sure?” He repeated.

You threw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him down. “Yes, I want you. Like I said, scars and all.”

His heart melted. He kissed your nose. His hand slid down your side, sending ripples of anticipation. He guided your leg over his hip. He gave your thigh a quick reassuring squeeze. He will happily take the lead in this dance, he will ensure you are cared for. There will be no misstep.

He lowered his hips, brushing the tip of his cock over your dripping folds. You shivered at the size and warmth of him. He teasingly rubbed through your folds and over your clit, enjoying how his precum mixed with your first orgasm. Your nails sunk into his skin. Crescent shapes adorned his body with more marks to come.

“We’ll take it slow, ok?” He whispered.

“Ok,” you mumbled, beginning to lose yourself all over again.

He reached down grabbing the base of his cock, and slowly pushed the head of it in. You bit the inside of your cheek. It stung. The stretch was unlike anything you had experienced or felt.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he spoke, reading your expression and feeling the tenseness of your body.

You panted, ”Keep going.”

You wanted this.

Listening, he pushed in further. A sharp hiss left your lips. You clawed at his back, red ribbons added to the jagged pale scars. Rosinante almost stopped, fearfully he was hurting you too much.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. The sting had begun to subside as pleasure whisked you away.

Rosinante again listened to you. He may lead this dance but he had a partner he must be attentive too. You whimpered, shutting your eyes and adjusting to his size. Your heel dug into the meat of his calf, pleading him to keep going. With one final push, Rosinante was completely in filling you to the brim. He panted heavily over top of you. He watched as your face contorted from minor pain to absolute pleasure. Opening your eyes, you were met with pure unfiltered love, a culmination of months upon months of locked feelings, of denial and heartache.

It was finally all unburden, and unchained.

Breathless, you both stared at each other unmoving. Neither of you could. You both desperately wanted to stay here, to preserve such a memory and feelings. He filled you, your senses utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of him. And your body welcomed him in return.

It was as if you were made for each other.

Rosinante hid his face in your shoulder, exhaling shakily. Shit, I feel like I could come right now.

“I’m going to move now,” he grunted into your neck.

“Please.”

Taking a deep breath, he slowly moved his hips. His thick cock dragged through your walls before thrusting back in.

You whimpered.

“I got you,” he whispered. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

“Just - just please don’t stop.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. His hips increased in speed, spurring stars to burst in the corners of your eyes. Your mouth hung open as a silent moan spilled out. His cock stretched and filled you leaving nothing but pleasure in its wake. You wrapped your other legs around his hip, clinging to him. You were immediately becoming drunk and desperate on such pleasures. And Rosinante wanted to give you everything, to have you consumed by pleasure. He curled over you, pressing his forehead against yours. Lifting your hips, he hit a new angle, deeper and far more intimate.

“F-Fuck, Rosi,” you moaned. You clawed harshly at his back. An apology sat on your tongue, but every thrust left you mewling. You could only babble his name or curses.

Rosinante glanced down, seeing your stomach bulge at the size of his cock. “S-Shit, sweetheart,” he moaned. “You’re taking me so well. Look.”

You peered down. The debauchery sight left you speechless. His hips slapped deliciously against yours. Your stomach bulged every time his cock disappeared back in. And when he pulled out, you saw how his cock was slick and coated with your mixed juices. Not to mention at this new angle, the tuft of his snail trail rubbed wondrously against your clit only furthering your pleasures.

Fuck.

Whimpering, your head fell back into the bed. You bucked your hips, matching his thrusts. Rosinante whimpered, almost unnoticeable. “Fuck, just like that.”

He grabbed your hands, prying them off his back and pinning them to the bed. His fingers interlocked with yours, and squeezed your hands. He captured your lips, kissing you sweetly and pouring all of his love into it. His mouth, his hands, were passionate, and yet his hips were so sinful. The trio constantly stole your breath, leaving you in such a messy state.

Breaking the kiss, he smiled down at you. Still boyish, despite the years on him. Hearts danced in his eyes, and you knew you were the same. Every movement, every thrust, every shared breath, every touch - no matter how minuscule - was written with love.

And he was beginning to love watching you squirm on his cock.

He bent his head, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Your eyes rolled back. The stretch of his cock, the grinding on your clit, the swirl of his tongue on your breast, each sensation brought you closer and closer to the edge. Each delicious friction melted your mind, and your body could only react. Your own well-timed thrusts started to waver as desperation sunk into your bones.

You whined faintly, “Rosi, so close.”

He popped off your breast. “I know, sweetheart, come on. Come around my cock.”

You shivered, lolling your head to the side.

“Be my good girl,” he purred into your ear, rolling his hips. “Come on, sweet girl, come on my cock.”

Your walls fluttered around him, warning him. He gritted his teeth, holding back his own pleasure. He needed to feel you come first. He snapped his hips with new fever, hitting the perfect spot. You gasped loudly. Blinding pleasure covered your senses. Rosinante saw your beautiful reaction and continued to hit the same spot over and over. His pace was unwavering, he needed to see and feel you come.

“Make a mess on me,” he moaned.

You tightened your grip on his hands, digging your nails into him. You squirmed and writhed on his cock. You whimpered as your orgasm approached quickly. Rosinante groaned in your ear, whispering such sinful things. You bucked your hips up just as he snapped his hips, and it all came crashing down.

Shutting your eyes tight, you walls clamped down as you cried out his name. He kissed you, swallowing up your moans and cries. He then kissed your cheek where a tear glided down, to your forehead, and finally nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “I got you, sweetheart.”

His hips continued to pump into you, letting you ride out your orgasm. It was a beautiful sight. Your body convulsed as pleasure consumed you and as each additional pump stole your breath. Your eyes fluttered open to see your god still hovering above you, giving you everything.

But, it was his turn now.

“Fill me,” you muttered weakly drunk on pleasure.

“W-What?” Rosinante’s eyes widened and his hips stuttered at your words.

Freeing your hands, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You dragged him down pecking his lips. “I want to feel you, Rosi,” you whispered.

His cock twitched inside of you.

“Please,” you begged softly. You arched your back, trying to take him deeper. Your hands glided down his back, pressing into his chest. Your hands roamed touching his scars, the ones you had memorized only moments ago. Your thumb grazed over his nipple, making him hiss. You nibbled on his ear, “Fill me, Rosi.”

His jaw clenched. He kissed you heatedly, pushing his tongue inside to re-explore your mouth. His large hands grabbed your hips, most likely bruising them in the process. But, you didn’t mind. He guided your hips, matching his new pace with more vigor and unrestraint. You moaned, drawing your nails down his chest.

A mere taste of this side of him was addicting. He could be loving, but he could be a monster. A monster you wished to learn in full some day.

Abandoning all his resolve, he pumped wildly into you. He couldn’t help it. Your words let a fire inside of him, and he had been holding back for so long. He muttered out an apology, afraid he might be hurting you. Yet, you took it all. You smiled up at him as he used you.

“Please, Rosi, I want to feel you,” you moaned.

He shuddered. Fuck, how could someone so sweet be so sinful? With a few more deep thrusts, he came, moaning out your name. He slowed down his pace until he buried himself deep within you, coating your walls.

Just like you asked.

Taking a second, you both stared at each other sweaty and out of breath. Rosinante carefully removed himself, and you squirmed at the abrupt emptiness. He rolled off of you, flopping onto the bed. But, he snatched you up, bringing you with him. You yelped, surprised by it. He settled you onto his chest, and your shock vanished. Sigh deeply, you nuzzled into his chest savoring this moment. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, listening to how his heartbeat slowly evened out. His fingers soon skimmed up and down along your spine.

It was peaceful, it was heavenly.

You each shared one thought: mine. Each of you unbeknownst to the other swore the same vow, to always make sure the other smiled and is to be loved for eternity. Perhaps, later down the road, such vows will be spoken aloud. But for now, you kept these secret promises to both of your chests.

Unfortunately, serenity was short lived for you. A thought, a more drastic one, occurred to you. Lifting your head, you nervously said, “Rosi? I - I think there’s still one thing we should at least talk about.”

He hummed, peering down at you.

“… like how are we going to tell the others? Especially Law?”

Rosinante flinched. He sighed heavily. His arms wrapped around you, firmly drawing your head back down. “We can worry about that later, I just want to stay right here a bit longer.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. You buried your head back into his chest whispering, “Ok.”

Your eyes spotted a scar near your face, specifically the one by his heart. You began to trace over it, memorized by the feeling and knowing you alone could do this.

“I like them,” you admitted quietly.

His heart skipped. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “It means you survived and you’re here.”

With me.

He gave you a gentle squeeze. His lips brushed over your hair, kissing the top of your head. “And I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

Closing your eyes, you smiled and kissed his scar. “Good.”

*****

“Law, please!”

Law huffed as Evelyn tugged on the back of his shirt. She had called him after his shift, asking him to come over. He wanted to go home, and into his bed, but she kept insisting. He agreed, however, as time dragged on doing little to nothing at her home, he decided to leave.

And for some reason, she decided to join him.

She begged the whole time to turn the car around, to go somewhere else, but he kept on driving home. He didn’t care, she could catch a ride back to her own home. Once parked, Law hopped out of his car, marching up the driveway with her bizarrely pleading.

“Look, I’m tired and …,” he paused, spotting a familiar car. One he didn’t see at her home, but oddly was parked here. “Why is she here?”

Eve flinched.

Law peered over his shoulder, staring down at her. But, she avoided his piercing gaze. He glared at her obvious guilty expression. She knew something. “What do you know?”

She blurted out, “Nothing!”

He tsked, “Lair.”

Law shook off her grasp then opened the front door. Stepping in, Eve quickly darted around trying to push on his chest but to no avail. Law walked further into the home. He didn’t see anyone, and nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Where …,” his voice trailed off when he stepped into the kitchen. His eyes instantly spotted something on the floor: a shirt and bra.

Eve whipped her head around. Her eyes widened at the pair of clothing, both shocked and happy for you.

Law’s face, however, scrunched up in disgust at the thought of what his dad had been doing. He huffed, clicking his tongue, “Idiots better not have done anything in the kitchen.”

Scanning the floor, he luckily couldn’t find any pants which brought some relief. Sighing, he spun around, heading back towards the front door.

Eve blinked, “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Do you want to stay and find them?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

She blushed, “Um, no … not really.”

“Figured, now let’s go.” He glanced back at her. “You can buy me dinner.”

She gasped, “I will not.”

“I’m driving, so either you stay here and find them or you pay.”

She pouted and grumbled, following after him. However, Evelyn sent you a kind thought as she left.

I’m happy for you.

[monarchberrysblog]

Alright

*clasps hand*

I love you so very much, and I’ll be watching you from your window. (Inside joke)

How about… cowboy!Miggy spectating a gal and her pals, she’s challenged to ride one of those rodeo bulls by her friends and fell like, three seconds in. Obvi she failed, so she has to go get another round of shots for her friends. So he took the opportunity to offer some lessons with the cowboy himself😇

EL TORO 🐂

✭ 18+ Cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader ✭

✭ summary: losing a bet with your best friends, you buy drinks after failing to stay on a mechanical bull for eight seconds, but before you buy another round of drinks, a local cowboy helps you…

✭ content warning: sexual innuendos, Miguel is a little unhinged, dry humping, grinding, cumplay (?), cum-eating (?), semi-exhibitionism, hook-up with a stranger, and alcohol is mentioned. VIEWER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

✭ word count: +1.8k words

✭ a/n: AUGHHHH cowboy! Miguel has me in a chokehold omfg. but here you go, pookie! thank you for your undying support and love! Your wish has been granted 💋 (if there are flaws, I apologize in advance 🩷)

MATURE CONTENT MDNI | MINORS WHO INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED

Orange opaque lights make up the dimly lit bar. Locals from around were either at a table, drinking away from those green beer bottles you grew familiar with ever since you were younger, or seeing your uncles consume those bottles at a baptism or a wedding banquet. Or you saw the occasional burnt middle-aged man sitting at the island counter, rambling to the bartender about his day, complaining about his cattle or the weather. But for you, you came to the bar unwillingly, as your best friends insisted that you liven up the environment.

But really, it was a pathetic excuse to get you out of your grandparent's bungalow home and to meet someone.

��º♢

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Xina urges, flashing her signature smug smile that always appears when she's up to something mischievous. It was always the same arrogant look she did whenever y'all were kids when she got extra chips or a cookie from her pantry closet. Hell, it was the same look your other friends gave you whenever your grandmother or grandfather offered them fresh fruits from their farm.

"No," you quickly retort, sipping your cocktail. "Please!" MJ pleads, grasping your wrists and seemingly ready to kneel. "PLEASE!" Xina soon exclaims, joining MJ to cause a scene with those around you.

"Xina, MJ…!"

"PLEASE!" They draw out the last syllable together, their voice taking on a childish tone reminiscent of when they were eight years old, fleeing from a honey bee or spider. "Okay! Okay..." You groan out, shaking your head in defeat.

"Yes!" Xina pumps her fist in victory before removing your fruity margarita from your hands and placing it on the table. "Now get on! And if you don't last eight seconds, you pay for our next round of drinks!" A low groan emerges from the back of your throat like alcohol stinging your esophagus, ready to escape. But your body, unfortunately, didn't want to do that for you so you could weasel out of the bet. You look back to see MJ at y'all's table, keeping an eye on the drinks while looking at Xina guide (dragging) you across the bar.

Your shoes squeak against the wooden floors as you get pushed to the mechanical bull area. "Just stay on there for eight seconds, and you don't have to pay for our round of shots." You and Xina passed through the semi-packed bar, occasionally brushing shoulders from a couple of guests in the bar. But one character caught your attention, nearly knocking you off your feet.

His russet brown eyes burned into your soul while his cowboy hat shielded the glisten in his eyes, giving him a dead look by any bystander who dared to make eye contact with him. His eyes match yours, lingering on your orbs. The prolonged millisecond of eye contact seized when he smirked, his eyes lingering on you and you only.

His hands, weathered and rugged, bore the marks of hard work - dry, with occasional scars and scratches, yet exuding strength. They were the hands of a hard-working man, capturing attention as much as his eyes did, capturing attention as much as his eyes did. His shirt was unbuttoned, clearly showing a bit of his chest and hair peppered. Oh, how it would feel to be held in those strong hands... Or how his hands would hold onto your hips while bouncing on his dick—

"C'mon! It's your turn to get on!" Xina urges, directing your attention away from the man and to your inevitable end of the night- falling off a mechanical bull within three seconds.

/

You sit at your table, hair somewhat touseled about while you order the next round of drinks for you and your rowdy group of friends. You looked at the half-assed served shot glass and glared at your best friends as they took their shots. With a sigh of defeat, you walk to the bar counter and take a seat on the wooden stool, covering your face and hiding away the embarrassment.

You settled onto the bar counter, absently running your finger along the smooth rim of your shot glass. A sense of intrusion picked at your gut as you felt someone trespassing on your personal space. Glancing to your left, you saw the familiar figure of the man from earlier, seated a few stools away. Your eyes dart back to the tiny glass in your hands, playing with it.

"You couldn't last eight seconds."

That sounded more evocative than it had to.

"Excuse me?"

"3.4 seconds." He adds, not acknowledging the rhetorical question you spat out. "You're those women having to give up straddling like how a car needs an oil change."

What the—

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"You lack balance, sweetheart. And movement." He lifts his shot glass, calling the bartender to refill his shot glass. "It’s straightforward."

"Oh yeah, since you seem to know everything about it, give me some constructive criticism then." You reiterate, knowing that this man was going to play the smartass card with you by sharing information that is useless or already known by the public.

"You’re not engaging your core, and you don't have any balance on your hips." He sighs before mumbling about city folk and getting off his seat. "C’mere." He waved his hand over, ushering you to get close. You didn't know if it was your being an actual dumbass, but you got off your seat and made your way over.

"M’kay," He sighs before getting off his seat and touching your hips. “It's all here, sweetheart. You have to move with the bull; it's called inertia," His hand rests on your hips and squeezes that specific area. "Always move in the opposite direction of the mechanical bull."

"If the bull moves forward, you move back. And if the bull moves back…?"

"I move forward?"

He nods before patting your tummy. "And engage your core a bit. You have abs under there, sweetheart."

His words of advice continue but they muffled out while taking note of his hand resting against your soft stomach, feeling the heat of his palm.

You take note of his words and stop. "Wait, how do you know how to do this?"

"Take it or leave it." He mumbles before he takes his shot and slams the shot glass down. "Actually," He clears his throat and sighs. "Tell them you want to redeem yourself, then tell your friend, the one who dared you to ride the bull, to buy the bill, and I owe you a drink if you make it past eight seconds."

"And if you don't, you owe me a drink."

He removes his hands from your soft stomach and sits back on the stool. "It’s your decision, sweetheart."

You think momentarily, considering the options he placed on the table. The idea of not having to pay a tab and getting a free drink sounded satisfying.

"Will you show me how?"

"Sure, why not?"

/

Sitting on his lap in the darkest, dingiest parts of the bar was not in the plans, but your pigheadedness said otherwise. You straddle down on his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Keep your balance, sweetheart." His right hand pats on your hip before bucking his hips against yours, earning a low groan from him.

"Engage your core and move in the opposite direction of me." His warm breath fans your face before he bucks his hips once again to your clothed sex. A soft mewl escapes your lips, feeling his clothed bulge against your clothed entrance.

"You can do it, c’mon…”

You pathetically moved against his aching bulge, pushing your moist gusset against his denim jeans. "There we go, move your hips to gain balance, move with me."

His dick twitched underneath you, pushing up to be free from its constraints. You slowly gyrated down, bucking your hips against his movement, creating a comfortable tempo.

A choked groan verberates your chest, sending the sensation to Miguel, earning a low moan from the man. "C'mon, keep it up." He jerks his bulge upwards, finally finding its way in between your clothed folds. You wailed, feeling his length now against your clothed clit, rubbing against the sensitive bud slowly and deliciously. You could sense the arousal trickling down to your soaked gusset and gathering the slick arousal in the cloth. "You can do it."

You patted his shoulder and took in deep breaths.

"Try again." His usual staid words slowly evolved into breathy whimpers. Miguel's words of affirmation slowly died, becoming breathy moans and grunts. The typical demands slowly turned into begging as you continued to push downwards, feeding the desires you two desperately wanted.

"Muneca..." He rasps out before you see his hands scramble down to his belt.

The sound of his belt clinking was enough of an indicator, but you knew what was next. The sound, let alone left you salivating with anticipation.

"Grind on the length."

Oh... Oh.

Glancing down, your eyes widen at the sight. Sure, he was pushing seven inches but the girth... With your left hand, you move the gusset of your underwear to the side and slowly guide your aching core down to his length, slowly enveloping his length into your soaked folds.

A low groan verberates your chest cavity, soaking the length of your slick, sticky arousal. The slippery sensation of your clit gliding down Miguel’s length, creating delicious friction.

"C’mon, move your hips."

Your body went on autopilot on that demand, relying on your slick arousal to move fluidly on his length. "You're a fast learner, aren't you?" He groans out quietly, still holding onto your hips.

Soft pants and groans filled the small space and evolved into loud guttural groans from both of y'all.

"Sweetheart, slow down a bit." His breathy request fell on deaf ears before you did as he demanded. "You're humping me like I'm your pillow." He groans out before he adjusts you off his length, feeling the slick linger onto his skin.

He takes his pointer and middle finger, gathers the slick off his length, and places said fingers at the bottom plush of your lips, lightly tapping them, almost asking for permission. "Seems like you understand what I say," He pats your rear lovingly with his free hand before you suckle on his fingers, tasting the mess you left behind. He hums while you clean the pads of his fingers clean.

"Now, ride the bull for me." He demands.

/

The walk back to the lively scenery returned you to your senses as you prepared to confront your little group of friends. The conversation jumped about like crickets hopping around a long grassy field. It felt like there was no point in being driven before you challenged them against their better judgment and bet. Xina's lips pursed straight, and she nodded to her other girlfriends. The group looked at each other momentarily and caved in, just to see themselves embarrass themselves for the second time that night.

But it wasn't going to happen again...

Straddling down on the pseudo-bull, you looked out to the semi-lively bar, seeing your friends watching from afar and your 'mentor' looking at you while taking a shot. With a raise of his brow and tipping his cowboy hat, a surge of content rested in your belly.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Sweet Tooth (poly Joe Goldberg x gn reader x Love Quinn)

Summary: you're a big fan of the bakery, but Joe and Love are after something sweeter- you

Warnings: obsessive behavior from Love and Joe but that's about it

A/N: my mom made me a carrot cake recently and it inspired me to write this

Everyday you entered A Fresh Tart right after lunch, needing a little something to satiate your sweet tooth before heading back to work. Sometimes it was a cake, sometimes it was a cookie, sometimes a pie, but it was always delicious.

Love quickly caught on to your routine, always making sure she was free to assist you whenever you came in. If another customer needed help, they were just going to have to wait, because you were much more important.

The bell chimed above the door to signal that you'd arrived, prompting her to smooth out the front of her apron before putting on a bright smile. "Hey! I was wondering when you were going to come in."

"I had a meeting that ran a little late, so my lunch hour got pushed back some," you replied with a smile that mirrored hers. The unfortunate bags under your eyes didn't escape her, a sure sign that you were overworking yourself, but the faint dimples that formed on your cheeks quickly diverted her attention. How cute.

"Well, you're here now. So, what can I get for you?"

While you mulled over what kind of confection you wanted for the day, Joe peeked his head out from the back. So that's the person Love always raved about coming in just after noon. You were cute, he couldn't deny that.

"If you're having some trouble making a decision, why don't you try both and see which one you like better?" He heard his wife offer when you clearly became stuck on choosing between two different sweet treats.

"Oh, I can't do that," you began to protest before Love waved her hand dismissively at your words.

"Nonsense! It's my bakery, and I say you can have a sample if you wish," she insisted while cutting a small sliver of cake from the one in the glass display case before grabbing the second pastry you'd been eyeing, placing them both in a paper to go box. "Try both, and tomorrow you when you come in you can tell me which one you liked better."

"That's awfully kind of you. Are you sure I don't owe you anything?" You asked as she slid the box across the counter, already starting to pull out your wallet.

"Of course not! It's on the house."

Despite her words of reassurance and warm smile, you still felt as though she deserved something in return, so you took out a five dollar bill and stuck it in the tip jar. "I'll be back tomorrow at my usual time."

Her eyes twinkled with admiration at the small act of kindness. You were so much sweeter than any of the things she baked, that much was certain. "See you then."

Joe came out from the back as she was watching you leave, slightly amused at the exchange that just happened. Before he could speak, however, she beat him to it.

"I want them."

It wasn't a suggestion or a request, it was a demand, one that wasn't left open for any arguments. Love wanted you, and what she wanted she got. All she needed to do was get him on board, which shouldn't be too hard given just how irresistible you were.

The next day when you came in, Love wasn't there, having taken Henry to a doctor's appointment for a check-up, which meant the she'd left Joe in charge.

"Oh, hey," you greeted in a friendly manner despite never having met him before. "You must be Joe, right? Love told me that she ran the place with her husband."

Immediately he knew why she wanted you so much. Everything about you just screamed perfect, there was no doubt about that. "Uh, yeah, hi. She told me you were having some sort of difficulty choosing between two items yesterday," he casually mentioned, wanting you to think their marriage was much smoother than it really was. They couldn't lure you in successfully if all you saw were their problems.

"I did, you're right," you replied with a soft laugh, one that made his heart leap forward in his chest. God, no wonder Love always dropped everything just so she could see you whenever you came in. He suspected the only reason she'd offered to take Henry today was so he could officially meet you and become just as obsessed with you as she was.

"And were you able to make a decision?" He was curious about you already, curious about your personal taste, your likes and dislikes. He needed to know it all.

"Well, they were both amazing as usual, but I think I'm going to have to go with the cake. Everything about it was delicious, especially the icing," you fondly reminisced, almost beginning to salivate at the thought alone.

"Sure thing," he said while grabbing a knife to cut you a slice, unable to stop himself from thinking about just how sweet your lips must taste after every trip you made to the bakery. He'd have to try a piece of the cake himself a little later so he could imagine it properly.

Your eyes were wide with giddy delight as you observed his every move, clearly excited to be able to eat the cake when you got the chance. You were just about to pull out your wallet when he held up his hand to stop you. "Don't worry about it. Love told me to tell you it's on the house."

"You know, one of these days you're really going to have to let me repay you somehow," you commented while dropping aother five dollar bill into the tip jar, just like you did last time.

Joe was already thinking of ways for you to repay the both of them, but they were far too lewd for him to say out loud. "You have a nice day," was his response instead, giving you a small wave as you left.

Damn it, he was hooked. There was no way he could refuse Love's order, because now he wanted the exact same thing she did: you.

And they were going to have you, one way or the other, no matter what it took.

End notes: I loved writing this and I'd totally be up to making a part two if anyone wanted it <3

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

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[snowfieldstories]

In Life and Death [Chapter -1]

Kim Dokja x Reader (original female character)

In Life and Death Masterlist

A/N: Welcome back! I've tweaked the original details of the 95th main scenario to fit my romance needs. Apologies if that bothers you.

UPDATE!! This chapter was too long so I cut the first scene and added it to the previous chapter. I recommend going back and reading it because it has important information!

Warnings: canon-typical violence, some language. and smut, kind of. heavily, heavily implied smut

Summary:

In which a reader finds herself tossed into the pages of her favorite web novel after her untimely death. A novel within a novel within reality. It's a reader's dream, right? Well, this reader vows to bring the right ending to the one and only, Kim Dokja. She will give him the happiest of endings. Or she will die trying.

⚠️MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV WEB NOVEL AND MANHWA!!!!⚠️

Episode I. Chapter -1: Beginnings

In fact, I did lie when I said I wouldn't interfere.

It wasn't registered as a lie, since I hadn't remembered it myself. There was someone I wanted to save. Someone I could save, for the first time.

"Choi Yeona! Where are you, you omniscient pig?"

Jung Heewon sped around the corner so quickly that I had nowhere to hide. I put up my hands in weak defense.

"Heewon." I smiled.

"Don't 'Heewon' me," she growled. "I know it was you."

"I'm not sure what you mean." Heewon advanced on me, so I changed tactics. "Okay maybe it was me. But! But I got you something better."

"Better than my cookies?" She looked ready to throttle me. A bit deserved, I suppose.

I picked up the plastic sack that had fallen when she arrived and placed two items in her hands. A large pack of chocolate cookies and a slightly battered can.

"A bigger size to replace what I may or may not have eaten." She shot me a dirty look. "And canned strawberry cake."

Heewon inspected the can. "I didn't know there was such a thing as canned cake."

"It's all yours. Swear on my life."

"How did you find these, anyway?" she asked.

"I was wandering the streets, feeling the crushing guilt of eating the last of my dearest friend's sweets—" Heewon snorted at that "—so I clasped my hands together and prayed, begged, pleaded to find anything that would make things right. Then I opened my eyes and found a convenience store with an unbroken cargo box."

There was a silence before the roar of laughter. Heewon broke into the fresh pack of cookies and offered me one.

"Sometimes, I can't tell if you're all-knowing or the luckiest woman alive," she said.

"You should hide your things better. The back of a closet, really? Cliché," I clacked my tongue, evading her previous statement.

"...Yeah, I hate that you know everything."

I squished her cheeks briefly. "I love you very much, too."

"Hmph."

She let the whole thing slide more easily than I had expected. And Jung Heewon could hold a serious grudge (unfortunately, I knew from personal experience). But Heewon, like Sooyoung, Hyunsung, and the others, must have sensed my agitation of late. The other day, Namwoon dragged in what resembled a mutated deer, like a puppy eager to show its master the bird it caught. "See, angel noona, look at this, we can eat venison tonight! Maybe you can get the monster to grill it."

I knew the group members were used to my calm ("Freaky omniscience, go!" as Jihye would stage whisper before a fight) so my turbulent energy must be putting them well on edge.

The 95th main scenario was upon us. I was growing more antsy by the day as a certain event approached.

"Did Sooyoung leave already?" I asked lightly.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I think she took off last night." Heewon fidgeted with a knife on the edge of the can. "Jihye said that monster-guy is nearby, though, so you better hang around. No one else can get through to him if he attacks us."

I nodded. It was near time, anyways.

“Tomorrow I’ll scout the south side. Can you take the west?" I asked. Recently, Joonghyuk's activity had veered south, and I preferred to station myself in between him and the base. For their sake and his own.

Heewon agreed and after settling on a few more details of the rotation, I left her to tackle the cake can.

The next afternoon, I was dodging a stampede of elephant-like monsters among the Seoul buildings.

[The exclusive skill, 'Sacred Light' has been activated!]

I swung a rope of light and caught the ankle of another incarnation, sweeping him out of the way before he was crushed underfoot. "Thanks," he gasped, but I was already moving on to the next.

My golden lasso was inspired by Sangah's Olympic strings of the next turn. I was a bit ashamed of copying her (the anticipation of shame, rather, for when I met her again). But my 'Sacred Light' was good for more than just rope. I could wield a number of different weapons with it, and tricky past scenarios had led me to discovering more practical uses.

An elephant crashed into the side of a tower, sending a shower of concrete chunks my way. I tossed up a light barrier and ran. A shadow grew on me, and I had a fraction of a second to dive to the side before my shield—and body—shattered.

I sat up slowly, wheezing, as the dust cleared. In my place was a massive slab of concrete. Surviving that...could it count as luck?

"Mother, what's my luck meter?" I rasped.

[The constellation 'Mother of Divine Desire' opens your checking account.]

[Incarnation 'Choi Yeona's' balance: 1476/2500 luck]

[Recent activity: Concrete slab ... +80 luck. Expand to continue account history?]

I closed out the windows with a weary nod. Now that I had grasped the concept of my exclusive skill, 'Bank of Lady Fortune,' my sponsor never bothered to send update notices unless asked.

I brushed my clothes and continued on my route. The last of the elephants had moved on and the screams of incarnations began to weaken. I sent a message through the comms link for Lee Seolhwa's medical response team to make a sweep of this quadrant.

The streets were quiet. Unnervingly so. There were traces of a fight but I had yet to see any bodies, only scorch marks on buildings and slashes of power and sword. Up ahead was a clearing.

"Son of a bitch! You have to let me talk to you!"

I hurried to find a battlefield; bloodied constellation bodies littered the ground. The cry came from the two lone figures who stood above them all.

Yoo Joonghyuk held a neck with two fingers while his other fist sucker punched the gut of a man in white.

My heart tripped on itself, and I whispered, "Kim Dokja."

There was a flurry of black and white as the two opponents clashed. For a moment, they paused long enough that I could see clearly the long, white coat-covered back facing me. Their swords raised to strike.

I shouted as loud as I could, "Joonghyuk! He is not your enemy."

He hesitated.

His reactions were irregular of late, now more than ever as his mind sunk deeper into a regression depression. It was fortunate he paused, because Dokja turned at the sound of my voice. And froze.

But now was not the time. I pointed at the advancing man. "Joonghyuk!"

They continued to fight but Dokja began speaking; Joonghyuk's movements were becoming sluggish. It must have been their conversation from the book. Dokja would soon learn who his target was for Secretive Plotter's sub-scenario. I didn't move closer, in part because I was in awe of the strength of their abilities, and partly because I knew this wasn't my fight.

There was something I was forgetting about this moment, but I'd have to reread it later. The battle had stalled. Dokja reached for Joonghyuk's shoulder and spoke to him with a serious expression. I was too far away to hear.

At last, Joonghyuk's sword clattered on the ground and Dokja turned to me.

I was afraid, so afraid, to read into his expression. I feared I would find confusion at my presence, irritation that I'd endangered his fight. Or, worse, indifference. I took in a sharp breath and waved. "Hi."

Admittedly, there were times when I was an idiot. Hi? Hi??

While I cringed at myself, I failed to notice the blur of white that sped forth until it was practically on top of me. Two arms wrapped around my frame and a head settled in the crook of my neck. A hot breath fanned my skin, and lips that brushed—"Yeona."

Kim Dokja smelled of the crack of lightning and something fresh. Who the hell smells fresh in the middle of an apocalypse? I thought. I drew back a fraction, just enough to see his face. Relief. Wonder. Happiness. Dokja was happy to see me.

"So casual? We must be close," I teased. My heart thumped fiercely at the proximity. He could probably feel it.

"Incredibly."

I could hardly tear my gaze away. "Kim Dokja."

It was almost unbelievable that he was in my arms right now. After so, so long, he was here, warm and real. Alive. And he knew me—no, more than that, he seemed to care for me.

"Then, I must be alive in your world-turn?" I spoke.

Dokja's smile is ever so soft. "Very much so."

"I'm glad to know for certain that I regress properly," I said. "It makes the wait more than worth it."

His hands cupped my cheeks. "You really waited? After all this time?"

My heart was about to spit up something incredibly nerdy and sappy, along the lines of "always" or "for you," but my brain was quicker. "Someone had to take care of this mess for when you arrived."

Dokja's head tilted forwards as he laughed. It sounded crazy to say that his eyes sparkled but, oh, did they. Stars upon stars filled his gaze, like the universe had decided to make a nest there. It wasn't entirely human; but for a constellation, it was only right to hold this beauty.

I carded my fingers through his wind-ragged hair. On accident, my nails scratched light against his scalp and Dokja's starry eyes came into sharp focus.

"Forgive me," Dokja murmured.

And then his lips were on mine.

Hands caressed my jaw and the back of my neck as he kissed me deeply. I tugged on the locks of hair between my fingers, and the sound that left his body had my mouth opening in a gasp. I felt the first touch of something hot and wet, when he broke away suddenly.

Oh my.

I had a mind to ask what the ever-loving fuck (when I could find my mind, of course. It ran off the moment I was kissed stupid) but Dokja spun around. His stance blocked me. "Yoo Joonghyuk."

Ah, right. They weren't alone.

"He's a big boy. I'm sure he can handle seeing a bit of kissing," I said, sullen.

Dokja ignored me and went to the broken regressor. I followed. "Yoo Joonghyuk." No response. "It's like in Ways of Survival," I heard him say to himself.

"Um." I was sorry to burst his bubble. "Not exactly. The 1863rd turn as you know it was altered. And not because of me."

Footsteps hurried towards us. Heewon, a sword in each hand aimed at Dokja and Joonghyuk respectively, looked to me in question.

"Okay...that one was because of me."

"Yeona, who is this?" said Heewon. She eyed Dokja's coat suspiciously.

"He's a friend." My lips still burned. "From a different world regression. We need to speak to Sooyoung when she returns."

"Han Sooyoung?" said Dokja with an understanding dawning. The pieces in his mind were fitting together, and he had the good sense not to voice them aloud.

Heewon paused before lowering the sword pointed at Dokja. Her eyes darted between us. At his protective hand held out in front of me. "I see."

I did not like the grin that took over her face. Her thoughts practically screamed at me. I was only grateful to have another person with the sense not to share those thoughts aloud.

Joonghyuk slumped over as though he might fall at any second.

"Heewon," I snapped and ran to help steady him with a supporting arm. "He won't hurt anyone right now."

She slowly sheathed the other sword. There was a thunderous sound in the distance; they needed to leave before the elephants returned. I urged Joonghyuk forwards with a glance at them. "Let's head back. You two clear a path and we'll follow."

Dokja moved and winced. I called him over, finally noticing the stab wound on his side.

[The exclusive skill, 'Sacred Light' has been activated!]

My glowing hand hovered over the wound. "It isn't healed but the pain should lessen."

It also sped up the recovery time. He would still need the infirmary for stitches. I used the skill on Joonghyuk as well and caught Dokja lingering even as I focused on "healing." He had shuffled back to Heewon by the time I finished up. I offered the hand to her.

"I'm good." She shook her head.

It didn't take more than an hour to return. Every so often, Joonghyuk would stumble from a lack of awareness and Dokja would look back, sword tight in his grip. I used a few golden arrows of light to pick off the beasts that slipped past.

When the stronghold was within sight, I peeked at Dokja's reaction. He seemed spellbound, like a kid discovering that candy stores were real for the first time.

We headed in. I led Joonghyuk up the main staircase while Dokja paused by the infirmary. Lee Seolhwa emerged with a stretcher, and they exchanged words, but I continued up. There was a well-hidden storeroom off to the side, unexpectedly cosy with a couch, table and chairs, and several odd lamps perched precariously on crates of broken star relics. I set Joonghyuk down on the couch. Only my close companions of the original novel knew of this place. No one would bother us here.

The door opened and Dokja entered. Heewon poked in her head from behind, waggled her eyebrows at me, then she slammed it shut. Annoying. 

I used 'Sacred Light' to trace a golden ring on the crown of Joonghyuk's head. It was how I signaled to my companions that his presence meant no harm. After, I kept my hand there, smoothing down the dark curls that had knotted during the fight.

"Joonghyuk, stay here, alright? Don't hurt anyone. And rest."

The hand that caressed Joonghyuk's head was snatched off and I turned to find Dokja much closer than before. There was a wild edge to his expression. He leaned in, nose brushing mine, and our breaths mixed.

"Yeona, I want—" He sounded almost desperate. Before rationality left me again, I shoved him away.

"Kim Dokja." Dokja, wide-eyed and uncertain, was at a loss for words. My laugh sounded breathless to my own ears. "You really are the devil, Demon King of Salvation."

With one last check on Joonghyuk, I took Dokja's hand, fingers intertwined, and led him out the hall and up staircases. Briefly, we passed a startled Kim Namwoon. "Angel-noona?" he called out to our retreating backs. We rounded the last corner where my room was in sight.

Dokja stopped in his tracks. "Shit."

I watched, concerned, as Dokja plucked a red cosmo and white lily from his coat pocket and set them carefully on a high windowsill. My body went hot and cold all at once. "Um, is that...?"

[The constellation 'Lily Blooming in Aquarius' is looking at you.] [The constellation 'Commander of the Red Cosmos' is looking at you.]

"Yes," he said with a grimace.

[What the ■ck. You could have remembered we were here a lot sooner, Demon King of Salvation. Or perhaps Demon King of Salacity is more appropriate.]

The Archangel Gabriel's true voice was scalding.

[I guess we should be ever so grateful not to bear witness any further. Truly an appalling display. Young ■ing constellations and incarnations these days, really.]

The Archangel Jophiel was blessedly quiet.

[I shouldn't be surprised, child of Divine Desire. You, too, live up to your sinful name—!]

Dokja whisked me down the hall before any more of Gabriel's rambling could continue. "Sorry about that."

My cheeks burned. "It's fine. I wasn't expecting to get scolded by an archangel today."

"I forgot they were in there."

I ushered him inside my room, thankful to have not left any piles of clothes or weapons on the floor. When the door closed, I found that Dokja had hardly taken more than a few steps into the room. Neither of us spoke for a moment. We merely looked at each other.

"If you think about it, they could have spoken up sooner. Maybe," I said, slowly approaching him, "they wanted to see something. Maybe they were hoping to."

I was a hand's breadth away from Dokja. His thumb brushed the scar across my forehead.

I leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the collarbone exposed from his shirt. He stilled. I took my time, trailing kisses up his neck.

"Is this really okay?" he said. There was that uncertainty again. Even as his hands slipped under my top to grip my waist. Even as he shuddered and sighed at my lips on his pulse. How could a man be so needy, yet cautious, all at once?

"Dokja." I used the collar of his shirt to bring his face to mine directly. "Please, just shut your mouth."

Then I did it for him with my own.

Unlike the last one, these kisses started out sweet and slow. We kissed as long-separated lovers do. Which, perhaps in a fantastical, twisted way, we are.

"The channel," he said in between kisses that grew longer, harder. "Should we ask them...shut it off?"

I pulled back to take in a few gulps of air. "You and I are both leaving this world soon. Let them watch."

It was like shattering a dam. Dokja descended in what could only be described as hunger. Every rough touch, a clash of tongues, skin bitten and bruised, every whimper from the man below me, told this story.

Somehow we ended up on the bed, and the clothes on the floor, and I couldn't really say beyond that because each of my senses were filled with Kim Dokja.

At last, he pressed in as close as two can be and, in that moment, I foolishly begged anyone listening to my thoughts that my greatest desire would come true.

I was amazed at how natural things felt with Kim Dokja, because I hadn't ever actually spent real time with him. Much of my time in this 1863rd turn was spent poring over Omniscient Reader so that I had a secure knowledge of the future and its inhabitants. Rereading it so often helped me feel closer to Dokja; I read the novel like it was a memoir, and it I didn't think it was delusional to call it that because the book's narrative had become truth. Dokja mostly treated Ways of Survival as fiction, but for me it was fact. I could no longer think of these people as characters after years spent in this world.

Dokja's fingers twisted lazily in my hair. There was a pleasant ache in my body. No, certainly not characters.

"You know, your eyes truly sparkle. Probably because you're a constellation now," I said, tracing the shape of astronomic constellations I could remember on the damp skin of Dokja's chest.

I felt the rumble as he laughed. "So you've said."

"I really am the same person in the next round, aren't I?" It was meant to be in jest, but he tensed beneath me.

Dokja was quiet. "Seeing you here, as you are before you reach the next turn, is—" He swallowed, and a finger stroked my cheek. "I cause you so much pain, Yeona."

"We probably cause each other quite a bit of pain," I said simply while tilting to face him better.

Dokja shook his head, lost in thought. "I'm much too selfish."

I pulled him in for a deep, long kiss. "Don't forget sacrificial," I said with a gentle smile.

There were several loud knocks on the door. It was a welcome intrusion, because Dokja's expression was making me uneasy.

"Yes?"

"Unnie! Don't worry I'm not gonna—oh, God—I'm not gonna come in. Because that would be horribly awkward. And disturbing. But Sooyoung is back, and you know how she is, she'll probably get impatient and come to you—"

"Got it," I said loudly. I didn't question how she knew; Heewon had been a little too excited earlier. I thought we might have more time, given Dokja had arrived at the stronghold sooner than was written. But not everything could happen perfectly from the novel.

I slipped from the sheets and picked up a bundle of clothes. At the sight of Dokja's smirk, I hurled the clothes at his face. "Get dressed."

He held up pants and his coat. "You want me to go out in only these? Well, I don't mind being shirtless," he said.

"Don't be a princess." I picked up his black button down and slipped my arms through it. "If you do, I could always leave in just this."

Dokja sat up, rigid, and tugged me in by the waist. "No."

"It's only fair." I patted his cheek as he sulked like a child.

The "child" in question wrapped his arms around me and stuck his face in my stomach. There was a muffled, "you win."

Pleased, I lifted his face up and pecked his lips.

In no time, we were (appropriately) dressed and stepping out. I was surprised to find Jihye still waiting.

”This ahjussi…?”

Jihye gave Dokja the sort of once-over only a haughty teenager could give. Result: unimpressed. She glanced at me and balked. I tried smoothing down my hair more. There was no mirror in my room.

"You know, unnie, I really thought it would be you and your tamed monster. But I'm happy for you." Then she flounced away.

Dokja's grip was tight in my hand. I turned to him, horrified. "No. No."

His frown only deepened. "You are rather gentle with him. And I know I don't exist here, so it makes sense...I mean, there's no reason you wouldn't...I shouldn't have assumed."

"We have never," I said with vehemence, "ever, been like that. I care for him, of course, but in this turn he's lost everyone. There's no one else left to care for him but me. That doesn't mean it's romantic."

You fool, I wouldn't have just slept with you if that were the case. I pulled him into an embrace and felt his head drop down on mine.

His sigh tickled my hair; his words, warm on my ear, said, "Good. Whether it's this life or the next, I have no intention of sharing you with that bastard."

I scoffed. "Your closest companion, you mean."

"Whatever," he muttered. We headed for Sooyoung's office.

'I know I don't exist here.' I wasn't sure if I should tell him that he once did.

Honestly, I couldn't even understand how it was possible. Kim Dokja wasn't supposed to exist in any other worldline—I don't see how my transmigration could have affected that. My suspicion was rooted in the memories I recovered of my month at Minosoft. We interacted often. But never once did Dokja utter the words "Ways of Survival" or "web novels." I never even caught him reading on his phone. I suspected he wasn't really Kim Dokja, or, at least, the Kim Dokja as he is known in Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.

I still loved him regardless. (I've since come to realize that I would love Kim Dokja in any world and universe, in any existence.)

I knocked on the office door and heard a shout to enter. The door shut behind us and Sooyoung looked up. Her mouth dropped open. "Holy shit."

My brows furrowed, but I gestured beside me. "This is Kim Dokja."

"So, this is who you've been waiting for." Sooyoung circled him. She stopped with a flat expression. "I don't see it."

I held back a groan. "I don't remember asking for you or Jihye's opinion on the matter."

"Jihye has taste," said Sooyoung while picking at her fingernails.

"If you're finished discussing my looks," said Dokja. "We have more urgent matters."

Sooyoung studied the white coat and Unbroken Faith sword that mirrored her own. She picked up her sword and approached Dokja again. "Yes, it seems we do."

He was wary and I felt the first crackles of status leak from him. I placed a hand on his arm. "Don't bother. This is a Non-aggression Zone."

"Exactly. Choi Yeona, you may go," said Sooyoung. Dokja frowned and opened his mouth.

"No, she's right," I said, squeezing his arm. "There's somewhere I need to be. By the way, Sooyoung, remember what we discussed."

Sooyoung pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Fine. Now go on."

I made for the exit when I heard a jingle.

"Wait, Yeona." Sooyoung tossed me a set of keys. "Go to my room and get yourself a turtleneck. Please."

It took a moment for her words to register. I slapped a palm against my neck in alarm. By the look on Sooyoung's face, it wasn't near enough to cover whatever marks were left there.

Dokja carefully avoided my nasty glare. Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

"You—!" This man reeked of satisfaction. I hurled mental curses and threats his way as I stalked out of the room.

In no time, I was changing into a white turtleneck from Sooyoung's closet. I didn't own any, but hers was soft and fit me like a warm hug. I liked it. In fact, I had never seen her wear it before. I wondered if I could keep it.

She kept a mirror at her desk, and when I had caught my reflection, I groaned. Mottled red and purple marks painted either side of my neck and tender, raised bites littered my collarbones. Even now with the high neck to cover them, one little red patch peeked out.

'Sacred Light' should fade them quickly. No chance was I letting anyone from medical see them, even Lee Seolhwa.

I took the elevator back down to the main floor and sought out the hidden storeroom. Joonghyuk still sat in silence. But rather than looking as if he were drowning in his own mind, Joonghyuk had an alert, yet resigned, expression. The halo's glow was the only light, as the sun had nearly faded. I flipped on a few lamps.

"I'll bring you some food. You're probably starved, right? Ah, or you could join us in the dining hall..."

"No."

I nodded, having expected it. "I can find you a spare room so you can sleep here tonight."

"This one is fine."

Joonghyuk finally met my gaze. I knew, without a word from him, that he was grateful. I smiled. "I'll be back."

I gathered the food, water, a few extra chocolates, and some large blankets in a bag. I also slipped in a small note. After dropping them off, I let him be. I was hungry myself and he was not in the headspace for company, anyways.

Dokja would soon join us for dinner; Sooyoung only ever ate in her office. I raised my hand in greeting when I spotted my companions at our usual table.

My mind lingered on the image of the lone regressor eating in a lamplit storage room.

That night, Dokja climbed into bed next to me. I toyed with the side buttons on my phone. "I've been writing."

"To gain the 'Avatar' skill?"

"Oh," I said with a frown. "No, but that's a good idea. I've been writing my story of surviving in this world. I want to write our story of the next turn, too."

Dokja looked serene as he tucked a lock of my hair behind one ear. "I'd like to read them both."

"I'm not really a skilled writer." I tried not to let my embarrassment show. "And the story of this turn is more of a journal, of sorts, anyhow. The next turn is the real story."

His eyebrows shot up. "Is it now?"

"It's of us. Everyone loves a great love story."

He pressed his lips to my temple. "That story is going right up there next to Ways of Survival."

I gave him a playful shove. "Liar."

Dojka merely smiled and lifted my hand to kiss my fingertips. "When will you regress?"

I hesitated. I had a way, but I wasn't sure if it was the best option. More than that, I was conflicted about leaving everyone behind. I loved my companions in the 1863rd dearly; we had fought and bled and lived side by side through so much now. I wasn't ready to leave them yet.

Plus, there was that one teensy little problem I had.

"I'm not sure," I said at last. He nodded like it was expected. And, well, for him—it probably was.

I set my phone aside and nestled against Dokja. He clicked off the lamp and tugged me closer. I thought of tomorrow and the trials we would have to face in the coming days. My body twisted until I faced him.

The moonlight cast shadows across his face. I kissed him, and said, "I wish you could stay." Of course, Kim Dokja, you could never remain here. I knew this.

In response, he pulled me back in. He kissed me like he had done it a thousand times before. "Know that I love you, Yeona," he murmured against my lips.

Though I was sure of my feelings, as sure as the sky housed the stars and the moon rose at dusk, I didn't say it back. I didn't need to. For now, our love was dissonant, an illogical overlapping of time and worldlines. 

I settled back in my spot. His last words echoed throughout my mind. In a sudden sickness, I had the terrible sense that something was different between us in the next turn. I pressed my forehead against his chest to will the feeling away.

But my dreams were restless.

Next part ->

A/N: What do you get when you have a pining and love-starved Choi Yeona + a selfish and guilty-in-love Kim Dokja? The escapades of Chapter -1!

This was getting way too long so the rest will be grouped in with Chapter 0 [Interlude].

[bunicate]

i neeeeedddd more wrio <///3 i don’t wanna wait so so long for him to come out <///3 and i wanna read more filthy filthy smuts and suuuper long angsty smutty fics :((( i need him in a way that would get me lobotomized in the 1900’s </3

dnt u hate how genshin is just stringing us along and taking 4ever to give us more wrio stuff ! ! I want him in a very gross way nd I dunno if this little fic is at all filthy, but i wrote smthn while I was having my breakfast earlier ^_^ I also probably misspelled his name so many times bc my grammar check wasn’t working nd i got lazy ! but just know nonnie, ur icky thoughts are welcomed here !

pairing ꒱ྀི wriothesley x fem reader — warnings ꒱ he calls you little girl once ! ! + slight exhibitionism + finger sucking + size kink + blowjob mention / wc ꒱ 1.3k / 18+

you’d like to say that you were good at being discreet. it’s not that you’re intentionally trying to be, but when faced with several trials and tribulations, you believed the gods themselves were testing you.

after all this time, you thought you were inured to wriothesley’s effortless charm. it bothers you that he doesn’t even try— that your boyfriend with broad shoulders, a big chest, and big hands could stand there, and you were already thinking of all the sloppy, messy ways you could end your night.

you spend far too much time staring at veiny thick fingers that dwarf your tinier ones. especially when he holds your pink phone, hello kitty, and heart-shaped charms and all, and his big thumbs end up pressing a button he never meant to. how such a simple and mindless mistake makes you wonder about putting his big fingers somewhere else.

It was a newfound desperation you didn’t know you had in you and it just didn’t stop there. it’s the casual dominance in his behavior that makes butterflies erupt, fluttering their delicate wings in your belly.

when the brown sugar you needed to make a fresh batch of cookies rested on the tippiest top of the shelf you were irked to say the least.

it sat there mocking you because it knows you can’t reach it, and it’s none other than wrio himself who barely extends his hand above his head that brings it down with ease.

and then you see it.

it’s only a slither of skin, only a thick patch of untamed hair leading to his groin.

that’s all it is and that’s all you saw and yet you feel . . . bothered

“i didn’t need your help,” you mutter while pouring the contents into a pink porcelain bowl, careful not to make a mess.

you got snappy because of all things, it’s his height and taut stomach that make you flustered. you cut your eyes and upturn your nose busying yourself with the mixing and measuring, but wriothesley is no fool. your attempt to appear unfazed — not aroused was meaningless. he didn’t bother to question the veracity of you words when the soft cotton flush of embarrassment coats your cheeks like a paintbrush and he was the painter.

he excites you.

you know it and he knows it.

“sure you don’t.”

he’s smug and you don’t like it. you hate it, even. why is he always quick and sharp-tongued, and so astute?

it was one of your earlier dates together. things were still new and you wanted to make a bit more effort and maybe you went slightly overboard. you cursed yourself for wearing heels that day. they were a tad bit too high— but they were pink, and glittery, and a butterfly charm dangled by the strap of your ankle.

you couldn’t not wear them, your outfit depended on them. they just had the unfortunate luck of succumbing to the little pebble that laid in the middle of the sidewalk.

before you could even register your heart-dropping, warm, big, bulging arms enclose your waist, keeping you from colliding with the ground. when you instinctively reach out to grip them you felt the muscle beneath your fingers. you were sure your silk panties were ruined .

and to your dismay, the twitch of your legs trying to smother that burning heat between your thighs didn’t go unnoticed.

so observant wriothesley is, and you hate how easily he could read you, but the desire was mutual.

he constantly had to fight every signal in his body that yearned for you — that yearned to separate those plump thighs and perfectly ruin, and stretch that seeping little hole with his fingers. the thought plagues his mind the entire time.

you both go out for another outing and it was just meant to be an innocent dinner, but god — would you stop looking at him like that?

just stop pouting, stop doing that little furrow with your eyebrows, and stop putting on that sparkly lipgloss.

it’s moments like this where he’s thankful for his status. he’s quiet, and big enough to deter people from peering over his shoulder. a booth far away enough in a corner, makes it easier for the duke to get away with acting out in public— stuffing your mouth with his fingers.

even when sitting he towers over you. the dip of your clavicle kisses by the ends of your hair. so put together even in the process of ruin.

two of his wriothesley’s daft and ring-clad fingers stroke your tongue, spit coating the appendages. he could’ve busied them separating your puffy lower lips, but why would he when he can make you gag instead?

soft moans escape in the form of gurgled cries, you suck his fingers like a lollipop that was just too big for your tiny mouth. he’s rubs the insides of the orifice as if it were your pussy, with expert strokes that send your eyes reeling backward.

you pucker around them, lips tight, and you just croon like a good puppy.

“you like it when I stretch your little mouth? yeah, you do.” as if the arch in your back and the clench of your legs weren’t enough it would be your eyes blinking up at him submissively.

“you can open up a little wider— just like that, baby.”

and he’s knuckle deep by now and maybe he should stop, and not encourage you to be so obscene but he wasn’t thinking straight. it’s been a long enough week, [its tuesday ] but wriothesley works hard and some trouble once in a while can’t be that bad. neuvillette shouldn’t mind. he’s sure if he could see you now he’d be at your mercy. drooling around his rings, tits pushed up and makeup smeared— could anyone actually resist you?

“that’s my good girl, perfect little throat.” and he can’t wait to fuck it. If your mouth looked so delicate stretched around his burly fingers, what would it look like around his much bigger cock. that excites him — to think about the tip of his length poking the side of your cheek and thickening in the expanse of your throat. to be gifted with your drunken expression because he’s just too big and your brain can’t compute.

“you can pretend it doesn’t bother you, but I know you like when it when I get rough with little girls like you,” he drawls, in a deep and husky tone, low enough to fall on your ears alone.

there’s a fire that it ignites within and he controls the flame. you want to tell him no, to defy him, but it would be so unconvincing. you’re nearly falling apart, bursting at the seams with wanton hunger and thirst and it’s written all over your face.

it gives wriothesley a rush the more he fixates on your mouth. he talks big, knowing you're teetering on the edge of a mind break. he whispers how filthy you are for letting him fuck your mouth with his fingers. he teases you breathlessly that spit looks better on your lips then the lipgloss and that you can’t seem to stop re-applying.

things were fairly new, only soft gropes, intense kisses, and humping between leather and lacy frills were exchanged . this was the most erotic he’s seen you as of yet and its the closest you both have ever been. it made him eager for so much more.

“ you like how big I am thats why you’re letting me stuff your mouth."

and he dreams bout filling it some more— to the brink with his milky white, breeding your throat like it was your cunt until rivulets spill from the sides. Its right then and there that he wishes for no one else to be in the room so he can finally have you . he’s broken you down, and all you can do is listen.

"when i take you home, you'll be a sweet girl for me, right? no back talk and no more attitude ?”

you nod and even with a mouthful, you obediently open to speak.

“y-yes sir.”

such dangerous words.

[mokie-bleh]

A: Oh, I have an idea for Shadow Milk cookie and y/n

I give Shadow Milk Cookie HYPNOTISM.

(please 🙂).

He’s too powerful at this point and hypnotism is definitely a power he would have.

Let's make this a fic

part 2 is here!!

You, Gingerbrave and his friends with Pure Vanilla were on a mission to find White Lily Cookie. Your time in Beast Yeast was overwhelming but you managed. You all did find White Lily and woke her up, but unfortunately “that didn’t magically solve all our problems” according to Wizard Cookie because now there was a big crack right in the middle of the Silver Tree.

There were now blue glowing eyes and two large hands spilling out of the tree from the rift. “Ooooooh! I see that those pesky little vine shackles that have held us captive for oh so, so, SO long…. Are gone!” The voice from the tree laughed that sent shivers down everyone's spine “whoa. That was deeply unpleasant…”

The knights of the tree started to desperately fight against it  in hopes that this awful predicament can be resolved before things get terribly out of hand.

You and the other decided to help and fight against it as well. After some time the large hands retreated back into the tree and everyone sighed in relief. That however was very short lived when the rift in the tree got even bigger than it did before. 

“OOOOHHHHHhhh doesn’t this fresh air just feel, DIVINE!”

A huge figure popped out of the tree and loomed over everyone. You couldn’t believe it, no one did. “Oh, I see I have quite the audience here!” This wasn’t supposed to happen at all. “I'm SO TERRIBLY sorry to have kept you waiting!” He stared down at all of you “But now the wait is over…your favorite trickster is here!” It was him, you couldn’t believe it was him. How doomed were all of you gonna be? “Shadow Milk Cookie!”

He grinned and examined everyone below him. You all just stood there in shock of what was happening. His eyes then landed on you and you swear that his smile got even wider. “Oh what do we have here?” Uh oh. He grabbed you by the back of your shirt and lifted you up to his face. Your friends were calling for you but you could barely hear them because of how high up you were.

“LET ME GO! PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!” you shouted at him and started punching the air in an attempt to get him to drop you “Hehe you’re a feisty one aren't you?” He tilted his head at you with the same wide smile on his face. He then placed you on his hand and used his other hand he was previously holding you with to tilt your head up at him.  

“What’s a cute lil cookie like yourself doing in a place like this hm? I must say you caught my eyes. How about you join me in my plan on world domination?” You stare at him in disbelief. Why in the world would someone like him say something like that about you. He’s obviously lying; he is literally the embodiment of deceit. You continue looking at him not noticing the swirls in his eyes.

Why couldn’t you look away?

Were you really considering his offer? What he’s saying couldn’t be true….but what if it was true? I mean you had a boring life already, maybe you could spice it up a bit. Wait but you can’t betray your friends like that! But in the end would it even matter? Maybe you should just accept his offer-

Before you could finish your thought something had hit Shadow Milk Cookie in the head and he dropped you. You fell into Mercury Knight Cookies arms and he flew you back down to the ground with the rest. You shook your head realizing that those weren't your thoughts at all and he almost tricked you! “Thank you.” You told him “Of course, but no time to talk, we gotta get out of here!” He grabbed your hand and you all ran off.

“UGH you flying little PEST!!”

....to be continue?

[tales-of-wocdes]

Twins find mc hiding inside a cupboard.

Mc: i saw a dream where the bad people found me and took me back to the dark place.

Later all the custodians and protectors try to coax all the kids out of the cupboard because now all of them got scared

"Kids, come out. See, both Sandor and me are here. No one is taking you away." Lexia said, gesturing to the second protector hovering nearby.

"No." Came the snappish answer from Azha. "It's scary."

"Even with us all here?" Alessa asked gently, kneeling next to the cupboard. "You know, Lexia and Sandor are really strong, even if it does not always show."

Atru's blank face peered out of the cupboard, perhaps estimating how true those words were, before a hand pulled him back in.

Havard stepped forwards next, and knelt. "Come out. Please. The orphanage has sturdy walls and more Protectors guarding them. We are in Firgrat. It would be very hard for anyone to get to you here."

This time MC peeked out. The child said nothing, staring at Havard silently. Then slowly withdrawing back in, eyes almost accusingly flashing. "Very hard, not impossible." MC never said the words but clearly thought them.

Of course, the cupboard probably would not stop anyone capable of breaking into the orphanage, but the children probably did not consider that.

The four adults present glanced at each other... The door opened.

"What is all this ruckus about?" Custodian Ethel had arrived.

Havard explained the situation to the older woman, while Lexia tried luring the kids out with a cookie.

To everyone's surprise. It did not work. Though three hands reached for the cookie, the children did not come out.

"Give! We need provisions." Azha stated.

"I'll give you the cookie, if you come out." Lexia said, smiling wickedly. "Come on." She waved the cookie. "It's fresh."

The hands kept grasping, but Lexia held the cookie out of reach.

"You'r mean! We are never coming out!" Azha shouted, as it became obvious they could not reach the cookie.

Unfortunately for the children, Ethel was now all caught up. She marched to stand in front of the cupboard.

"All of you, out. Now." She said, voice firm.

Nothing happened.

"I will count to ten." Ethel warned, voice stern.

The twins broke first on four. They crawled out, looking afraid and scared. Well Azha did, Atru remained blank faced, but was clutching Azha's hand. Their fears were eased as Alessa hugged them, whispering something soothing.

MC was a tougher, peeking out once or twice. Or possibly they did not know how to count to ten yet.

"Nine. Last chance." Ethel said, and MC peeked out again, eyes meeting Ethel's.

A short staring match ensued.

MC lost, and soon crawled out, stood up and squirmed a bit under Ethel's gaze that was still on them.

The older woman patted MC on the head. "There is no need to hide, child. You are in a room full of people who will stand between you and whoever tries to take you." She said, and glanced at Havard and Lexia.

Havard was there in an instant. "MC, please tell us if you get scared. I promise, no one is taking you away." He said, kneeling in front of MC.

Lexia soon followed. "Yeah, we swore. Remember?" She asked, smiling.

Eventually MC nodded, after a lot of staring.

----------------------

I am sure Havard could get MC out... but my brain just went to that one scene in Dragon Age Origins in Redcliffe village where you get asked to look for a kid and he hides in the closet, and Wynne just tells them to get out.

[brittle-biscuits]

[bags walks in the the lounge looking to read his book but unfortunately there is a fight happening courtesy of connie and vee]

Vee: HE'LL ENJOY MY GIFT!

Connie: NO MINE I'VE KNOWN HIM LONGER!

Vee: WELL I MADE HIM LAUGH MORE!

Connie: WELL I MAKE SURE HE SLEEPS EVERYNIGHT!

[bags isn't gonna have some alone time in a while so he'd rather leave and see what stuff dandy is gonna scam with this time]

dandy: wanna buy a watch?

bags: no.

Vee (in another room): YOU CAN HAVE MY LOVE FOR FREE

Connie (in another room): NO YOU CAN HAVE MINE

bags: oh boy

Y/N: “Well, what else do you got?”

Dandy: “I do have these gumballs as another option.”

You pinched your nose(?) in irritation in your head. Of course he decided to give you nothing this around, last time he had an all-star selection when you just needed a gift for Glisten. Dandy was kinda a wildcard when it came to his items.

You scan your eyes to the last item he had and needed to hold a gasp. A smoke bomb, that was perfect!

Y/N: “I’ll take that.”

Dandy: “Hmm, I’ll let it go for…full price.”

Y/N: “Surely you can let it go for a pal.”

Dandy: “Take me out later and then we’ll talk.”

Y/N: “Fine.”

You handed over the tapes you were meant to be saving for a rainy day and were heading on out, only to right RIGHT INTO Vee and Connie.

The two were breathing heavy as they held their respective gifts, having clearly just gave each other a clear thrashing if the bruises and ruffled hair on Connie’s side was anything.

Vee: “We..had..settled..our differences.”

Connie: “Yeah, we just..kinda..hope you like..what we have for you.”

Y/N: “Oh wow, er..thanks, you two. A Veemote and Ghost Snakes..in a Can! That’s really thought of you. Um..here, my gifts to you.”

And you just hand them some bandages.

Vee: “Thank…you..”

Vee falls over, passed out.

Connie: “Boo..tactcular…”

Connie fell over and passed out too.

Well, what were you going to do with this smoke bomb now-

Sprout: “Oh, Y/N! Where are you!”

Cosmo: “I’ve made a fresh batch of cookies, I promise I didn’t use too much sugar this time!”

Nevermind, you just found its use.

[redcoralpot]

Smudged - Rodrick Heffley x FTM! Reader

Summary: Rodrick had been chasing after Heather for a year, now, even after ruining her birthday party. Chicks dig bad boys, right? However, one day, he stumbles upon a family member that even he didn't know she had, one that awakens a part of him that he didn't know existed.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3.3K

Notes: I had to fight Google Docs to finish this. AHHHHHHHHHH

-

The sun beat down on your arms, with rough concrete scratching your palms. Your ankles were dipped into the pool, a cool feeling enveloping them, and you used this to your advantage. A pink pool doughnut floated past, manipulated by the soft waves coming from other visitors, and you reached a foot out of the water with a splash! 

“What the hell!” Heather shrieked, attempting to paddle away from you. “Don’t get your toe-water on me, freak!”

“Like I care,” you snickered, raising your foot to do it again.

“You’re going to start caring when I dump your eyeliner in the toilet!”

A pout tugged on your lips, “Hey, now, that’s going a little far, don’t you think?”

“Like I care,” she sneered, rolling her eyes.

 The threat worked well enough, and you lowered your weapon, letting a hiss of air move a wisp out of your eyes. At least she wasn’t going to hide your pins inside the cookie jar… again. 

You spread a sheen of water across your biceps, attempting to quell the heat that built up from the minutes spent sitting on the edge. It only provided a sense of relief for a moment before a shadow loomed over your little spot, the temperature dropping with the rays missing. A groan built up in your throat; he was here.

Rodrick Heffley. The infamous man himself; the lead singer and drummer of the one band that ruined a girl’s birthday party for the sake of courting her, a serenade full of copyright instead of romance. That girl happened to be the most popular in the school, the one that every guy was tripping over himself over. The one who, rather unfortunately, happened to be your sister. 

Your neck twisted upwards, just to look at him, “What?”

“Didn’t know Heather had a brother,” he said, with a smug smile on his face.

“Huh.” You grinned, “I assumed you saw me at her party.”

The smile dropped, and was replaced with a sheepish look,  “Uh, yeah, I was busy.”

“That’s a gentle way to put it.”

He cleared his throat, struggling to not take the bait, “But, hey, what grade are you in? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Same grade, different schools. We’re twins.”

“Oh, damn, really? I couldn’t tell, you two don’t look the same, at all!”

You were used to getting that comment from older generations, who hadn’t been to school in the last half-a-century, but from a late teen? Health and biology should be fresh in everyone’s minds, they all took it two years ago. Though, who were you kidding, this was Rodrick you were talking about. He probably tricked his parents into doing all the homework for him, or worse, bullied his little brother into it. 

“Yeah, really. We’re fraternal twins, not identical.” You rolled your eyes.

There was no light bulb shining in his eyes, no signs that he even registered what you said, “Wait, what?”

“Two sperm, two eggs. Boom.”

“Still, it’s kinda sick that you two are complete,” he paused, “opposites.”

“Are you and Greg–”

“Me and that little nerd are not the same.”

“Then it’s the same concept.”

Rodrick kicked his sandals off before flopping on the edge beside you, cursing silently to himself when the rough ground scraped his hand. You gratefully took the chance to slide your own around your neck, cracking it out of its uncomfortable position. When you looked up again, he was watching you, his lips parted ever so slightly. He visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple betraying him.

“Where do’ya get your eyeliner from?”

“The pharmacy, duh. I won’t spend a lot on expensive eyeliner if I’m just going to smudge it in the end. By then, it all looks the same, why?”

“Just looking for some good brands to keep up my amazing makeup skills, that’s all.”

“So you don’t have to keep borrowing your mom’s?”

He squinted his eyes, peering at you, “How the hell do you know that?”

“Being Heather’s brother pays off sometimes; I hear all her calls.”

“She… talks about me?” You could hear the excitement, the hope growing in his voice. 

It took only a needle to pop it, “Yeah, shit-talks. She doesn't want you, man.”

“Nah, all chicks dig bad boys! They can’t act cool about it forever.”

“You’re more of a wannabe than a bad boy. Listen, if you’re hoping to get with Heather through me, you’re out of luck.”

He backed up, eyes wide, “Woah, woah, I never said that. It’d be a cool plus, sure, but I just wanted to talk to a cool dude.”

“Sure. Well, if you ever need some more eyeliner brands, I’m your man. Can’t promise that they won’t all be dumped in the toilet by tonight, though.”

“Why would they be–”

“Hey, newsflash,” A high voice called out from across the pool, doughnut in tow, “we promised to be back at home by five!”

“Oh, Heather, I have a show coming up; I could get you and the chicks some free tickets to it.” Rodrick hopped on one foot while struggling to get his sandals back on, that smirk creeping back onto his face.

You shook your head and decided to take your feet out of the pool, padding to your lounge chair. Drying them off on your towel, you roughhoused your socks and shoes on, worn to shreds after inspiration from Joey Ramone. Your father had been lucky enough to score tickets to one of his shows back in the late 80’s, and he recalls it as one of the best nights of his life. Not simply because he got to go to a concert, no, his buddy even had to convince him to go in the first place. It was one of his favorite recollections to tell to his two, and then three, children as they grew up.

Rodrick was promptly ignored by Heather as she walked over to you, and his eyes followed her as she dumped her float and bag into your arms. Only the tips of her hair were wet, and like you, had a dry pair of clothes on already. You had to wrestle with the weight until you had a clear view of the ground in front of your shoes.

After you passed the boy on your way to the exit, you called back, “Good luck with the show, Heffley!”

The walk back to the car was a short, but humid one; even from the distance you could see a slip of folded paper stuck in between your left windshield wiper, pale against the dark interior of the car. You managed to set your sister’s bag on the hood, and with light fingers, you plucked the note out of its hiding place, unfolding it.

“Looks like we had a visitor;” You couldn’t help but chuckle while reading it, “Löded Diper.”

Heather fumed, “Are you kidding me?”

“You don’t need to go, yeah?” You shrugged, ducking into the driver’s seat.

“It’s annoying!”

“I can’t exactly say it’s harmless after the party fiasco, but just know I’ll chase him off if he tries anything like that again.”

“Ugh.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

You smiled, tucking the invitation deep into your pocket.

-

Dawdling with Heather’s time in the pool had earned you two missing sticks of makeup, and it was not hard to guess where they had gone the next time you took a piss. You forced yourself not to lash out at your sister, as surely that would make it worse, and just gritted your teeth as you flung the ruined containers into the trash. It truly made you wonder just how Rodrick had come to fall head over heels– literally, in some sense– for the girl. Hell, she treated him worse than you, from the things Holly had whispered to you at the dinner table.

The sun was just starting to set in the sky, light blue bleeding into orange as the pharmacy blocked the sun. You kicked a rock into the entrance, and the small clack caused the doors to slide open in front of you. It was a little late for the nightly rush; the very last of the families were finishing up their shopping, their kids squealing at the gum displayed by the cashier. He was a lean, stiff-looking guy, with sunken eyebags and a dim grin on his face. 

You whistled a tune under your breath, convincing him to turn to look at you, “You’re not paid enough for this, dude.”

“You think?” His smile dropped, and he rolled his eyes, “Why the hell are you here, anyway?”

“Holly isn’t sick, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“And?”

“But someone was sick enough to sabotage my makeup,” you said, flicking his silver name tag. Daniel.

Daniel slapped your hand away, gesturing to your bare eyes, “That part was obvious. Another guy with raccoon eyes slid in here only a few minutes earlier, looking for the same brand you always get, so I kind of assumed he was here to replenish your stash.”

“What? I’m here alone.”

“Really?” He came in close. “You’re sure you aren’t on a–”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You pushed his face back, your pointer finger squishing his nose.

A couple wandered up to the counter, baby in arms, snot running down its red chin. Their basket was full to the brim, and although Daniel’s winner grin instantly grew, you knew he just wanted to clock out. Snickering, you stuck your hands into your pockets, your wrists scratching against your studded belt as you disappeared into an aisle. The makeup section was located near the back of the pharmacy, filled with flickering lights and shelves full of a few select, cheap brands or clumps of dust. Typically, the only customers that wandered that far back were pre-teens or cigarette mothers; the kind of people who don’t give a shit about what they’re buying as long as it’s cheap.

However, as you sauntered over to the first row of shelves, a head full of brown, lazily styled hair greeted you instead. Not the odor of burnt tobacco, though it still stuck to the white walls in yellowish-gray globs, but the scent of the cheap cologne that followed you around the pool. Rodrick was hanging over quite a specific section, chewing his bottom lip. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as you looked on behind him in amusement. 

Leaning against the wall, you chuckled, “Took my advice, huh, Heffley?”

Rodrick jumped, and hissed under his breath. His posture shot up, his head turning to look at you; a pathetic attempt at saving face, really. No words were said for a long minute, only interrupted by the gargling screeches of a baby. What had Daniel done?

“I thought drug stores selling makeup was a lie, so I had to fact check!” He said, 

holding up his hands.

“You think I’d lie to you?”

“Hey, my mom taught me stranger danger.”

“Since when do you listen to your mom?” You reached past him, snatching up a container, “You obviously have no idea what to look for.”

Rodrick shuffled out of your way, and huffed at your comment. “I totally do!”

“Okay, then, pencil, felt, or liquid? Which do you prefer?”

“I think felt’s the best.”

At that confident response, you stepped closer, getting in his face. He didn’t have too much makeup on, actually; just messily applied eyeliner and a too-light eyebrow pencil. A light pink dusted his cheeks, now that you were able to get a good look at them– his eyes widened, preventing you from doing the same for his eyes. You bit your cheek, your own eyebrows furrowing.

“Relax, dude, I’m trying to look,” you snapped, and used his chin to force him to face upwards.

Even as his shoulders relaxed and his eyelids drooped, he mumbled, “You’re taller than I remember.”

You released his face. Without someone to lean on, Rodrick stumbled, his breathing heavy, despite him never doing anything but laze around. Stepping back, you gave him a knowing grin, pleased at your find. He didn’t seem to process it, lifting a hand to feel up his own jaw. It clicked shut with a snap.

“Liar, you’re wearing pencil eyeliner,” you snickered.

“How the hell could you tell?”

You reached for another container, “Unless you have shit coordination, it’s less precise than liquid is. Creamier, too.”

“That’s sick, man.”

Tapping the pencil into his hand, you kicked his foot, urging him to take it, “I recommend this brand if you’re a fan of that. It’s cheap, so you can stop using up all of your mom’s.”

“Ow!”

He pulled his foot up with one, gripping the eyeliner with the other. Hopping back, he seemed like a really pissed, wounded puppy as he glared at your boots, “Why’d you kick me with those monsters?”

“Monsters? These are Doc Martens, ‘1460’. How do you expect to impress Heather if you can’t even handle a tap to the heel?”

“Excuse me, I let it get run over by a car for her! Barely reacted.”

“So I heard.” You shook your head.

A voice shouted from the intercom, “Are you two done back there? The store’s closing in five, you’re the only ones left, and I’ll lock you in here if you make me work a minute overtime!”

The two of you rushed to the front, pushing and shoving each other into the aisles in order to get to the counter first. Rodrick, out of shape, lost after he landed back-first into packages of gauze. Daniel, the man himself, was even more unimpressed at the scene than he sounded over the intercom, and looked in back and forth between you. He cracked his knuckles, getting to work on scanning the two tiny pencils; he did not even bother to put them in a plastic bag. He scratched his chin, squinting at the screen.

“That’ll be $2.48.”

You pulled out a five dollar bill out of your wallet, “I’ll pay.”

“Shit, I’m okay with that.” Rodrick shrugged.

Daniel stared him down as he snatched the bill out of your hand, “Aren’t you Rodrick Heffley? Greg’s older brother?”

“Duh, the one and only!” Rodrick said, and Daniel turned to you.

“Since when were you buddy-buddy with him? Heather hates his guts.”

“We aren’t buddy-buddy,” you scoffed, and an affronted noise came from beside you. “I only officially met him yesterday, when he was harassing her again. Pretty sure he only talked to me to find out more about Heather.”

The register finished its business with a ding. The cashier handed you your change, taking the opportunity to slide his uniform vest off of his body. You pocketed it along with your stick of eyeliner, almost throwing Rodrick’s at him. Meanwhile, Daniel had disappeared behind a door locked to customers, a clear message to get out of the store while he still allowed it. Your shoes hit the tiled floor with heavy thumps; Rodrick’s steps were silent compared to yours. Your own footsteps quieted as soon as you exited the store, muted by the asphalt ground of the parking lot. 

Rodrick had pulled in with his van, clearly not the smartest move if he had wanted to be inconspicuous. It had a cheap, white paint job that was stained with words spray painted in black, uncentered and tilted. Your car, on the other hand, was a tiny thing that belonged to your mother, who would absolutely murder you if you even got a dent in it from a passing stick. The sun had long dipped under the horizon, causing the deep red color to read as crimson. However, before you could get in, one hand on the door, Rodrick called out to you.

“Thanks for… stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “That’s the first time I think anybody has ever witnessed you say thanks.”

You slammed your car door shut with you inside, watching Rodrick scramble for safety inside his van. The car’s windshield was dark with the fresh evening sky, and you could finally relax in privacy. Turning the key to start the engine, you then flicked on the radio, one arm occupied by resting near the window. An unfamiliar tune, a new release, started playing, as you backed out of your spot; speeding off. If someone asked you about it later, you would have sworn that you saw the boy staring at your fleeting vehicle. 

Truth be told, your family lived in a rich neighborhood that was too well put together for something so close to a highway. Your house wasn’t the biggest in the residency, but it was decent enough to see the golden lights shining through the treetops. Living near a long line of stores was an advantage, you supposed, if a zombie apocalypse happened; but that wouldn’t. At least while you were still alive or young enough to fight some off. Otherwise, it was noisy, and you had to drown out the sounds of motorcycles, cars, and fights breaking out to focus on anything after school.

Your driveway was smooth; any rocks had been smoothed out by the machines rolling over them daily. A few flower bushes lined it��� your mother had been insistent about it– and their thorns occasionally caught on your pants when you walked past. Everyone seemed to still be awake as you slipped through the door, keys jingling, since Holly jumped down the stairs to greet you.

She whispered, “Where’d you go?”

“The pharmacy, why are we whispering?” You grinned, matching her energy.

“I didn’t know if mom and dad knew,” she responded, louder, “You got grounded for a month last time you snuck out.”

“Okay, okay, shh, back to whispering.”

You climbed up the stairs, not bothering to let Heather know you had returned. Her voice carried throughout the walls, as she was complaining on call about projects, about boys, about Rodrick. Every time she talked with her friends, she complained about the ‘tough guy’ who deluded himself into thinking she was secretly into him, every time he acted up. All the girls seemed to have formed a hate club for the drummer, and if Holly had anything to say about it, it was that some of the teachers joined it as well.

As soon as you shut your bedroom door, you bent down to untie your Doc’s purple ties, tugging the boots off and throwing them in your closet. You slipped your pants off, then your boxers, leaving only your secondary underwear to hold your pad inside. Before you could throw both garments in your hamper, you paused, feeling a crinkle underneath your hand. You reached down into the pocket, pulling out a wrinkled, ripped piece of paper. Thoughtfully, you smoothed it out, pinning it on your cork board as you tossed your clothes into the pile.

Two free tickets to their upcoming show, meant for Heather. It would take a lot in order to drag Daniel to the event with you, as a plus one, but you were sure you were capable. As you settled into bed, you thought back to all the things your twin had said about the band, and the party. That celebration had been the only time you had heard their music, and it wasn’t even their song, more so a cover.

You gently placed the pencil on your bedside, only able to see the outline of it in the moonlight. If he was only being nice to you for Heather’s approval, why had he taken your advice? That mystery should bother you, should keep you up, like it did last night. But truly?

You could not find it in yourself to care.

-

[bloodyinkandquill]

Slingshot x Reader

fun fact when i play phighting i only ever play slingshot, specifically cozy shot ive never learned how to play any other phighters so i am only sling, oh onetime on conquer i got 308 points, everyone in the server was dumb founded that i managed to be on point that long, anyways have sling dating hcs!

- You’ll be so honest, you are dating the demonification (personification) of a cat, who can also bake

- Slingshot is an amazing partner, so many things about him contribute to that fact, he bakes as a hobby and profession meaning he always has fresh pastries for you? And he can change recipes to be allergy conscious if need be, with the baking he smells divine due to working with sugar and and fruit all day, if you ever steal any piece of clothing he owns that thing smells like Thieves Rest

- He is a huge cuddle bug, if you aren’t a very touchy person he respects that but if you allow whenever he’s not at work he is clung onto your side like a gods damn koala, he also genuinely purrs (hybrid head canons my beloved), you’re not convinced he isn’t a cat in a demon costume, but if he is then that is the cuddliest cat in the whole Inphinity

- His hair isn’t long per say but it is long enough that he puts it up while working, if you have any experience doing any form of updo he lets you braid or even just put his hair into a ponytail for him, he has a collection of hair ties that go with his uniform apron but that he switches out based on certain factors, it really depends

- When he first introduced you to Shuriken and Vinestaff he warned you and was right as the first thing they did was give you a shovel talk*, you tried to take it seriously but they bickered about it like six times and it was a little hard to focus on their words when they had a classic sibling slap fight in the middle of it, but they did approve of you and eventually got used to seeing you at their apartment, since they’re both very family oriented you were almost an honorary family member, technically your lover was also an honorary family member but he was just considered actual family by the siblings

- You better be ready to be shown Slingshot’s entire collection of fancy expensive shoes (i am not a sneaker head forgive any inaccuracies in this) you also better be ready to take better care of your own shoes, cleaning them regularly, wearing specific ones only for certain terrain, and gods forbid you crease them, he will get a random sense of dread, and when he finds out, woo boy, you’re in trouble

- Unfortunately he does have one drawback, being a baker his hours are horrendous, working late to prep pastries for the next day, and then waking up at the butt crack of dawn to also prep pasties, sure he doesn’t work everyday but seeing as between the three workers he’s the one who handles the baking when he does work it’s a lot of work

- His love language is gift giving, specially baked goods, honestly that shouldn’t be a surprise, he makes someone’s favorite pastries or just what they requested or he’ll even what he thinks they’ll like and gift it to them, you receive so many cookies and brownies, though you can’t complain really as free food is free food, especially when it’s made by your lover

- His dates are usually more low key or low energy, since his job is rather busy and has the aforementioned atrocious hours he prefers more calm dates, a lazy day being couch potatos or ordering take out and doing a puzzle, he prefers those dates to be at your place since his roommates are… loud to say the least

- Slingshot’s not as into big long kisses he prefers little kisses, short little mwahs on the lips or nose is his favorite, if you want to he can do more passionate kisses but he prefers short and sweet ones, since he isn’t as kissy he shows his affection with head bonks and rubbing your hand when he’s holding it

i’m debating being a baker, my main hobby is baking it helps me destress and i do it at least once a week but i dunno, my chronic pain may object to that, anyways hope these were good!

*the act of the family member(s) or close friend(s) of a partner giving a threat to the significant other warning to not hurt them, can be comedic or serious

[mins-fins]

ANGEL EYES. — [L.MH] [PT. 1]

❝ sometimes, it feels as if mark lee is your guardian angel ❞

SYNOPSIS: innocent cherub eyes, gently soft hands, a heart of gold, mark lee is the golden boy whose experienced as much love as he gives back. his grades are high, his smile is wide, and his laughter is sweet. the only reason mark lee gets embroiled in a world of trouble is because of his pairing with the 'messed up foster kid' in a school project. it would be stupid to ever let himself get involved, but mark does anyway.

PAIRING: mark lee x male!reader

GENRE: mid–2000s au, high school au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humor(?), slow burn, one sided pining to mutual pining, sadness as a romantic segway, relationship study, reader is a foster kid, mark pov, happy ending.. (i suppose)

WARNINGS: swearing, explicit language, violence, drug abuse, child abuse & neglect, family issues, mentions of death, smoking, homophobia, reader simply has the worst time and mark sobs about his circumstances, an awful amount of love that isn't realized to be love

WORD COUNT: 20.8k

NOTES: hey, hi, hello, its me isa mins-fins back with another BANGER 😍‼️ make sure to hit that subscribe button for more epic fanfiction 😋💥 okay but seriously, i've been writing this for almost TWO MONTHS (began in aug, first part wrapped up in nov) and its been a journey holy shit 😭😭 i dont remember why i randomly started this draft but i did and now its become this monstrosity, almost 21k words and were only halfway there, sorry, there's unfortunately more suffering awaiting, but dont worry, happy ending!! of course, user junjiie, i love you 💗, thank you for again listening to my unhinged rants about this thing and consuming all of the spoilers, you deserve love, and an endless supply of mark photocards 😊😊 as for everybody else who reads my stuff, thank you for sticking around despite the fact that i disappeared for about three weeks, please enjoy this mess 🤗

PREVIEW | NEXT

BEFORE IT WAS IN THE CRISP AUTUMN ATMOSPHERE, mark lee had met you at the local police station. it was only a few months prior, august of 2004 brought the prospect of donghyuck doing everything to try and get arrested, prospects that mark could only respond with under the breath swears. he loves donghyuck, he really does, but driving shouldn't have been his first choice. in all of the friendships mark has had with other people in his life, donghyuck has always brought a wave of chaos along with him, the exact opposite of who mark's mom would advise him to stay away from, but she'd always had a soft spot for him, mark can't exactly blame her.

fresh off turning seventeen and utterly clueless as to what the future would bring, mark only found himself at the police station for one reason. donghyuck had driven without a license. yep, sixteen years old and he assumed doing an illegal u-turn was the way to end his summer.

mark has always been a stand up kid. the kind who handed out his mom's cookies to the neighbors. the kind who called for stray cats in alleyways. the kind who was simply an innocent bystander to all the bullshit his friends would pull.

so when donghyuck called him from a jail phone, voice heightened in indignation as he begged for mark to come make a case for him, the older really had no choice but to do so. mark had never been to a police station before, afraid of catching sight of real criminals in the flesh by just walking past the building. he had watched too many scary stories, had terrible ideas of human beings planted in his head.

and even as a seventeen year old who had experienced life enough that such things shouldn't have terrified him anymore, there was still a small pit in his stomach as he rounded the corner in direction of the building.

"and how exactly am i supposed to bail you out?" an eyebrow raise accompanied mark's inquiry, and donghyuck scoffed as he shook his cuffed hands.

"you don't have to bail me out, my dad knows the sheriff, i'm just getting off with a warning" he whispered, sweat on his brow as he shared that familiar 'no shit' look with mark (an ironic expression really, he's the only one between the two of them that's been in cuffs).

mark snickered. "you talk so much when you're the one handcuffed".

"watch your mouth, you need me".

just as donghyuck was about to let out a swear in addition to his snappy response, said sheriff walked into the room, tight lipped smile painting his face. "don't try that again donghyuck, or next time you'll end up in a cell".

in a instant, donghyuck's blood ran cold, mark almost laughed at the sight, but he remained still, watching. the older man glanced up, catching mark's anxiety ridden eyes. "and you are?"

"this is mark, my best friend" donghyuck was quick to quip, a hand placed onto his shoulder.

mark's stomach dropped to his feet, it isn't as if he did anything wrong, it was simply on par for him to be severely anxious around law enforcement in general, he was just afraid he'd somehow get arrested for nothing at all.

"ohhh i remember you, i used to assume you two were brothers".

mark let out a breathy (and clearly faked) chuckle, trying to bury his anxiety. he could never explain it, even if you gave him all the words to, it's not like he's a bad kid, he just finds himself tensing often. "no, just friends.."

"it's good to have someone so close as support" he narrowed his eyes at donghyuck, who stifled his scoff at the clear sarcasm lacing his tone. he then scrunched his nose, watching as donghyuck placed a performative smile on his lips. "now you, sir, we need to have a talk".

donghyuck frowned, whining out complaints as he's dragged away by the sheriff. "can you wait, mark?"

mark blinked, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. he nodded, out of words. the two bantered back and forth like friends, something mark could only stare idly at. he made his way over to the seats beside the door, where, nestled in the corner of one of them, was you.

you were scribbling something into your notebook, unaware of the eyes on you. mark sat two chairs away from you, tapping his feet onto the floor as he heard the faint sounds of scoldings. safe driving, don't get into a car without a license, your future won't be any better if you continue this shit.

swearing at a child, mark found that rich. he glances beside him again, now watching you intently. you were engrossed in the manner your pen scratched against your paper, mark had figured out through endless staring that you hadn't been writing, but drawing.

you avoided his eyes for a while, ignorant to the eyes gazing you up and down. you then glanced in mark's direction, almost startling him out of his seat with the sudden stare. you blinked, puzzled out of your mind. "is there something on my face?"

mark tensed in his seat, feeling his stomach swirl, was he staring so much that you felt offended? he felt guilty immediately, his lips parting immediately and releasing a silent breath. "no.. no i'm sorry, i didn't mean to".

you shrugged your shoulders, one click to your pen. mark recognized you, but he simply couldn't conjure up an explanation as to why you were sitting in a police station at this time, drawing whatever into your notebook. "so why are you staring then?"

"i'm trying to figure out why you're here" mark muttered, fingers fiddling with his necklace as he tried to get his tone straight in fear of again offending you. "i'm sure you aren't committing crimes".

"i can say the same for you, mr golden boy".

mark's lips turned up slightly, his hands twitching from where they rested on his lips. "i got kicked out.. always come here to let dad and mom cool off for a few hours".

the words earned an eyebrow raise from mark, that was strange to hear, especially from another person in regards to their own parents. mark had never really experienced such a thing, the way you described it made his nose scrunch. "what?"

before you could respond to that one, a police officer entered the room, one you seemed to recognize by the way your eyes lit up. "come on l/n, time to go".

a frown settled onto your lips. "do i really have to go now? you know how my parents are.."

"i can't keep you here, it would technically be illegal".

"it's not like they'll care anyway.." you mumbled, slamming your notebook shut with yet another click to your pen. "just an hour longer, please?"

there was a sense of hope in your eyes, maybe he would actually take your words into account. mark simply stared, staggered by what he was witnessing. the officer watched the change of your expressions, your thumb playing at the button on your pen, continuously clicking over and over. as the clicks amplified, so did the sound of your labored breathing.

"you know i can't do that kid".

your frown deepened, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. worry, that's what mark remembered. your eyes widened, but not in the usual shock, simply in disappointment. you cursed under your breath, muttering something about your parents getting pissed at your reappearance. you stopped clicking your pen, letting the chagrin settle onto you. "yeah.."

you sucked your teeth, imitating the look of a sulky child. mark was consumed by his silence, completely confused by the situation. he didn't give a comment, simply watched the whole entire thing happen. "i'll give you a few minutes, don't worry".

you didn't respond to that one, your eyes following the police officer who strolled out the door towards his car. you bit into your lip again, hands grasping onto your notebook and thumb still pressing onto your pen. "what bullshit".

mark continued staring, his hands clutching at his thighs. you then glanced at him once more, causing for him to flinch back. you stayed silent, watching him as much as he did you a few minutes prior.

"are you alright?" he muttered, leaving his voice at a low volume. he didn't want to raise it, he wanted to keep it at a volume that kept you comfortable.

you snickered, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "fine, going home is just my worst nightmare".

mark's fingers found themselves sliding across his legs, teeth sliding against each other in back and forth motions. he blinked his big brown eyes, staring with an assured gaze he hoped would somehow make it's way to you. "i'm sorry".

he whispered those two words as if he was in physical pain, eyes watering for an inexplainable moment. he couldn't help it, and he had no idea why he couldn't help it. it was embarrassing how much he felt at the moment.

you stared back, lips pursuing. your expressions did at least seventy transformations, as if you were in disbelief at someone having empathy for you. you seemed distraught, why is he tearing up? that's so strange.

you chuckled, hoping it would quell his worries. "it's okay, not like it's your fault".

"still, you shouldn't have to feel that way about going home.. your parents shouldn't be kicking you out".

you grimaced, put off by the words. it isn't as if they were terrible, you just seemed.. astonished. why did he care? it was simply weird to you.

"well thank you for your concern but i'll be fine".

mark blinked away the tears threatening to escape his eyes, god what was wrong with him? why did he even tear up at that? he totally weirded you out.

"yeah um.. i'm sorry" mark bit into his inner cheek, letting out a heavy sigh. "just have a good day" a theatric smile placed itself on his lips, he was definitely trying to convince himself that it wasn't that bad of a situation.

you stared longer, seemingly itching to say something. there were words resting on the tip of your tongue, mark could practically sense it. "yeah, you too".

and when you stood up to walk out of the door, donghyuck coincidentally escaped the clutches of the sheriff, stumbling out of his office with his arms crossed over his chest. the door closed behind you, and mark watched the entire time.

"what took you so long?" mark uttered, eyes casting donghyuck's way.

the younger huffed in his usual donghyuck manner, hands on his hips. "he was giving me a big talk about safe driving" he placed heavy air quotes around the last two words, lips curled into a frown.

mark licked his teeth, his thoughts retracing back to you. "do you know him..?"

donghyuck blinked, his mouth opening to ask about who until he saw the way mark motioned his head. "y/n? oh yeah, he's around here all the time, the officers basically take him in whenever.."

"why?"

his voice scratched like sandpaper, donghyuck wincing at the tone. he then shrugged his shoulders, his attitude puzzled. "something about his parents not really caring, it's pretty shitty".

mark's lips parted in a freezing motion, his stomach pain only worsening. "that's scary.. feeling safer at the police station than your own home".

"i don't know much about his situation, just know his parents have a terrible temper".

mark swallowed the lump in his throat, his head beginning to pound at the information given. he tried to distract himself by thinking about school coming up soon, but he was snapped back into reality by donghyuck.

"why are you even asking me about y/n?"

mark glanced up at his childhood friend, a small whisper in his mind telling him to lie. "just curious that's all".

the lie laid bitter on his tongue, but he didn't allow for donghyuck to dwell on it, rising from the chair he practically glued himself to. "promise me you'll never illegally drive again, the officers here look like they wanna kill me".

donghyuck rolled his eyes, tease evident in his attitude. "okay markie, promise".

mark pushed his shoulder in retaliation.

that? that was two months ago.

before the crisp autumn weather drifted through the atmosphere, before the leaves began falling to decorate the ground in orange and brown hues, mark lee had met you at the local police station. your legs crossed, pen clicking, and nose buried into your notebook.

september came and went rather quickly, the scorching heat of the summer air transforming into the russet autumn scenery which drifts into october. the temperature steadily dropping, sweaters becoming more and more common in his closet, mark can't exactly focus in class during the first few months of school.

when mark hears his name fall from his teacher's lips in pair with yours, he snaps out of an episode of disassociation, blinking up. "what?"

his teacher deadpanned, readjusting her glasses. she doesn't even seem surprised by his lack of focus anymore, his exhaustion is constantly evident. "project partners mark, you'll be paired with y/n".

mark only parts his lips in response, the words rendering him speechless. he glances around the classroom as he listens to the older woman's voice blurs into the background, catching sight of you in the far back, again scribbling into your notebook, your manner reminiscent of how you acted the first time you two met.

he stares for a while before again looking forward, his mouth going dry as he tries again to focus, but of course, he can't. his mind stays focused on you throughout the whole class, even after the endless words he lets blur away.

you spin your pen between your fingers, it's the same pen you had that day, maybe you have some sort of attachment to it or something, maybe it's your favorite pen, maybe someone special gifted that pen to you.

maybe mark's letting it all get to his head, why is he even making assumptions when he hasn't walked up to you yet?

while everyone else rushes to leave the class, mark rises from his seat and again glances over at you, slinging his back over his shoulder.

you're riveted by what you're doing in your notebook, so absorbed that you barely hear the shuffling footsteps making their way around the many desks towards yours. your lips turn down as you smudge the ink on the page, a small suck of the teeth adding to your frustration.

"um.. hi" mark whispers, watching as you glance up and pause, one click to your pen. you don't respond immediately, studying mark for a while, and mark tenses up under your gaze, sucking a breath between his teeth.

"hi".

"we uh— were partners for the project".

your smile is neutral. "i know".

mark began biting the skin off his lips, hands gripping at his backpack. "i don't know where you want to start, uh.. maybe we could go to the library?"

he's just saying what he's hoping will work. he doesn't exactly know you yet, he assumes your one off interaction at the police station left a sour taste in your mouth.

but unbeknownst to mark's anxious inner voice, you smile, not exactly a neutral one this time, a much better smile ('better' in terms of expression, your lips stretch into an aspect of satisfaction).

"that'd be nice".

mark nods, almost too enthusiastically he thinks. how embarrassing. you let out a silent yawn, oblivious to the battle mark is having in his head. "tomorrow maybe we can start?"

your smile again becomes neutral, but at least mark doesn't think you want to kill him. "yeah, tomorrow is fine".

tomorrow. tomorrow is fine.

"okay, have a good day y/n".

mark rushes out of the classroom much too fast, he feels a little terrified of you. maybe you don't exactly want to kill him, maybe you just look at everyone else in that way, maybe it won't be that bad to be paired with you.

still, mark isn't sure why his mind tells him he should stay away from you.

THE NEXT DAY GOES AS USUAL, DAD AND MOM bicker at the breakfast table, leave kisses on mark's forehead before letting him go off. the heightened smell of pine was all that met mark's nose, his senses freaking out as he stepped into the cool october air. it's still eight in the morning, it shouldn't be this cold. just a month ago the sun was attempting to burn off his skin with it's murderous rays, and now it's obscured behind gray clouds. hopefully it doesn't rain, he forgot to bring an umbrella, and mom would kill him if he turned up at home with his clothes drenched. he assumes that he's gotten pretty good at predicting the weather, and judging by the pattern the clouds form in the sky, it won't rain today.

history is his last class of the day, and mark immediately found out that history is the only class you two share. donghyuck runs his mouth in his ear all day, something about junior year really being the one where you lose your identity, mutterings about drinking and partying falling from his lips.

his chin leans against his hand as he complains about jaemin not giving him homework answers, and mark releases a small sigh, drawing a small snort from his best friend. "you getting bored of me now?" he's quick to ask, aggressively shoving his shoulder against mark's.

mark grunts, nose scrunching as he sees the elation donghyuck shows. "you've been talking forever, do you not get tired?"

"someone has to entertain you".

"i'm not entertained, i'm annoyed".

donghyuck huffs, an eye roll being his response to mark's insult. he never lets it get to his head, donghyuck has always been the least sensitive between the two of them. his lips curl up into yet another smile of glee, overjoyed by mark's irritation.

"it's the seniority getting to you, grandpa".

mark shares an incredulous with him, scoffing as he grabs his bag from where he let it sit beside him. giggles spill from donghyuck's lips, his face red at the sight of mark's furrowed eyebrows. "not even a year older than you.."

"you're still old!"

donghyuck sings out the words in the way of a melodic tune, whistling in the air. mark again mutters something about not being old, and donghyuck sticks out his tongue. "see you later oldie".

mark's face scrunches, but he bid donghyuck a goodbye anyway. he's been a constant in his life, getting called old by an annoying sixteen year old isn't exactly the kind of thing that puts stress on his life, he'll be fine, there's definitely worse the world could throw at him, and lee donghyuck just barely scratches the surface.

after lunch, he has history for a double period. he usually disassociates through the first forty five minutes, his teacher is a nice woman, yes, but she takes so long to get to the point. he's read through the topics time and time again, he's simply relearning them to get the last few credits he needs to graduate.

he'll be done by the time the second semester rolls around, so that isn't much of a worry.

when he slides into his seat, he wants to crane his head back to look for you, but just as his head connects the dots, attendance begins, and he hears you mutter a small 'here' when the teacher calls your name.

"mark lee?"

he glances up, straightening his posture. "here" he replies, licking his lips.

the dragging of your pen against the paper of your notebook stops, mark knows it's yours because he listened to the same sound yesterday up close when he asked you about the library.

the first forty five minutes of class fly by, mark manages to keep himself from falling asleep while his teacher goes on about something he'd already learned about years prior.

then, she stops, the shuffling of desks are heard in the room, and his teacher sighs as she places her hands against her desk. "as i said yesterday, your project is about important historical events, you can use these next few minutes to brainstorm with your partners".

she then sighs with her hands clasped together. "no funny business" she scolds, her tone reminiscent of a mother angry at her children.

a click of the tongue sounds as mutters begin getting louder, mark's chest tightens as he glances around the room, watching everyone else get up to discussing with their partners.

of course, he has to go to you.

he stands from his place and drags a chair over to you, eyes squeezing shut at the sound it emanates. "sorry".

you instantly squint, a scrunch of your nose adding to your expression. "did you just apologize for.. nothing?"

mark swallows, his lips pursuing. he doesn't have a response for that, apologies falling from his lips are programmed into his speech. the way you asked makes him feel as if something is wrong with his manner of speaking, he isn't sure why he thinks about it in that way though.

"i don't know i.." his words drift off into nothing, there isn't a response to that one, because mark has no idea why he says what he does. "i'm sorry".

you respond with a chuckle, and mark's eyes miraculously widen. he just did it again, and it felt completely normal. one click to your pen. your lips stretch into yet another neutral smile, the prospect amusing you. "alright, what should our topic be?"

mark pauses, scratching his nails against the wooden table. his eyes drifts over to your notebook, and you close it upon catching his gaze. his lips press into a thin line, a breath in his teeth. "maybe the industrial revolution..?"

it's simply the first thing he could say at the moment, he wasn't exactly thinking. you blink, using a hum as your reply this time. you map out the several features on mark's face, his big brown eyes shine with anticipation, and it gets difficult to hide your smile.

"unless you wanna do something else" mark is quick to add, his words a small whisper. "i want to hear your suggestions".

he observes the act of your expressions changing, your eyebrows pinching together in a questioning manner. you don't seem to mind, he gathers. "it's alright, i would've said the bubonic plague or something but that's been dried up countless times i assume".

mark breaks into a small smile, relaxing against the chair. "okay, the industrial revolution it is" he whispers, hands clasped together. "do you still want to go to the library today or..?"

"i can't make it today".

your voice lowers exponentially, eyes casting to the side. mark gazes, as if attempting to read your inner most thoughts. you don't exactly make them clear, that's puzzling, mark almost wants to ask what the deal is, but he assumes you'd probably cuss him out if he did.

he presents his warmest smile to you. "it's okay, i can find sources for today, we can begin searching together tomorrow".

you don't nod, simply stare back. mark blinks, avoiding your eyes as he glances around the room. "i don't really want to put that all on you, i can still gather sources i just can't stay after school.."

mark is the one who nods, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. "that's fine, you think you can stay tomorrow though?"

god mark feels like such an asshole asking that, he tries to keep his eyes everywhere but directly in front of him, because he's afraid of getting decked in the face.

but instead, you chuckle. "yeah tomorrow is fine, sorry for being so.. inconsistent".

mark then shakes his head, hoping the movements would reassure you in some way. "it's alright, thank you for telling me".

your lips stay pressed together, another small hum vibrating from you. you again run out of responses, so mark speaks up. "let's work well together, yeah?"

is that really the correct choice of words? think about it mark.

mark already thinks too much, if he thinks more, he might begin feeling tears stream down his cheeks. he doesn't want to seem.. jumpy, even if there are voices screaming at him with their pitches so high blood might start pouring out of his ears.

and finally, you nod, which gets a small smile out of mark.

MARK READS ON AND ON ABOUT THE INDUSTRIAL revolution until the words burn into his brain, until the sun goes down and his mom is casting him strange looks every time she walks past his open door. around the fifth time she did a lap, she paused as she watched mark flip through the many books scattered around his bed. "what is going on here?" she inquires, and mark glances up as he's midway through reading about british imperialism, a small smile on his lips. "this is for my project" he whispers, clear fatigue in his voice. she narrows her eyes, puzzled by the manner he's acting in.

"it's almost ten o'clock, mark".

ten isn't that late, he would usually muse, but there's a pointed look she sends him that leaves the words resting on the tip of his tongue. "okay, i'll go to sleep now.." he mutters, licking his lips.

she smiles softly, tapping her finger against his door. "sleep for real, mark, don't read all night".

"i don't read all night" he argues to the air. he knows that isn't true, he can't argue about it to his mom. he crosses his arms over his chest, imitating the stubborn front donghyuck always puts up.

she utters something akin to a 'sure' and gives one last look to mark before walking down the hallway. mark only casts one last glance in the direction of his door, then he picks up the books he littered across his bed to shove into his backpack.

he isn't exactly sure why he couldn't stop thinking about your neutral smile. mark has only interacted with you three times in two months, yet there's something there that keeps him grounded, his mind warns him of something, but you can't be terrible, you seem practically harmless.

mark isn't new to knowing people with somewhat shitty parents, but he feels as if there's something more there. mark really can't judge from a one off interaction he wasn't even involved in besides watching, how can he concoct something like this about you in his head when you barely talk to him as it is? he can't just make shit up before actually sitting down to get to know you.

he stares out his open window, the night breeze comes in with a rush reminiscent of ocean waves. he switches off his lights and stares up at the ceiling, hair splayed behind him as he waits for the exhaustion to take over.

he's bad news mark.

but what does mark know? this could just be his anxiety's biggest manifestations, he's making shit up. he's guessing based on the few interactions you two have had, and if he thinks further, it seems that you don't exactly enjoy his presence.

mark doesn't get much sleep that night.

that isn't as crazy as it should be, mom asks about it at breakfast the next morning, catching the dark circles under his eyes. he manages to utter an excuse about sounds outside or something, it was barely believed, she squinted at him with pure incredulity in her eyes, but he quickly scarfed down the remaining waffles on his plate and rushed to school, weighed down by his backpack containing thick books.

donghyuck made an awful lot of remarks about him accidentally killing someone with his backpack. he had the urge to purposefully swing it around to hit the younger with his backpack, but he kept such thoughts to himself, he could get revenge on donghyuck another time. maybe he'll hit him in the head with a metal pan again, who knows?

the lack of sleep exhibits itself in mark's barely functioning body as a whole. seven separate times during the day he almost dozed off during class, his teachers gave him the benefit of the doubt, him practically snoring on his desk was nothing new, he gets a pass because he's the kid with good grades.

by the time last period rolls around, mark forgets everything else that happened today. two hours of sleep usually don't do him this bad, but considering he'd been constantly getting over seven hours of sleep this week, two basically rendered him dead.

his hand slammed onto his desk a few too many times, he jolted up a few too many times. his eyes narrowed as he yawned again, doing his regular glance around the classroom. he counts each of the heads he catches, noticing some missing, but only a certain missing one is alerting.

you aren't here.

mark's lips turn downward, a weathering frown now overtaking his former exhaustion. mrs. lim took attendance thirty minutes ago, how did he miss you not responding to the call of your name? he narrows his eyes at your empty desk, feeling a pit form in his stomach.

where is he? his lips pursue as he looks forward, now unable to care about his fatigue when he was now consumed with confusion on where the hell you were.

did you just decide to go m.i.a for absolutely no reason? god what an asshole move. do you even know how difficult it is to do a project on your own?

mark doesn't let the anger fester for long, though, because it then becomes worry. maybe something happened, you told him you'd be able to stay today, did you just lie to him?

okay, so maybe his anger does fester a little bit, but he can't stay angry at really anyone for long (not even donghyuck, annoying guy 101). his fingers press uncomfortably onto the straps of his backpack as he makes his way over to the library, maybe you won't show up, but he still has to finish this project anyway.

he drops the books down with a resounding thud, immediately getting to jotting down notes after apologizing to the librarian. his head simply leaned downward, threatening to fall and crash against the table at any moment. he isn't sure how he remains awake, but he manages to keep himself up enough that he's able to write at least two pages of notes.

he's about to begin drooling, an embarrassing feat really, but he can't contain his weariness.

and just as he's about to pass out—

"are you good?"

mark jolts up straight away, a gasp of surprise leaving his lips as he takes in the words. when he whips his head back, he immediately frowns, it's you. he sucks a breath between his teeth, shoulders relaxing. "yeah yeah i'm just tired i.."

mark would've spit out some snarky interjection when his eyes drifted downward. then, in their usual fashion, they widened, and a grimace made it's way to his face.

a barrage red and purple decorate your knuckles, the skin between your fingers threatening to open. he barely holds back his wince, it looks painful, so painful. why the fuck are your knuckles split?

"are you alright?"

you deliver a snort. "is that the question you're always going to ask me?"

"oh my god! you're— your hands jesus what the hell even happened!?"

mark grabs your hands to get a closer look, your rough skin clashing against his in a burning manner. you promptly draw your hands away, as if in a protective stance, as if.. weirded out by the whole ordeal. "nothing, it's fine".

"it's fine?" mark parrots, sharing an incredulous look with you he normally wouldn't share with anyone. "your knuckles are one snap away from bleeding!"

your face twitches, and you bring a finger to your lips. "don't yell in a library, it isn't that serious".

"it isn't—" mark cuts his own speech off, closing his eyes to try and keep himself calm. "what happened?"

you mutter something unintelligible at first, fingers picking at the sides of your hands. "i just made someone mad.."

"you just made someone mad?"

you shrug your shoulders, startlingly mundane about the whole thing. mark stares, an intake of fear entering him. your face is flat, the only expression mark could make out was slight irritation, but not at him.. at least he hopes.

"you weren't in class today" he whispers, now quickly changing the subject as you drag the chair beside him back, settling onto it.

"i skipped" you speed through your response, grinding any of the pain you feel in your knuckles between your teeth. "looked like shit, mrs. lim would've had a heart attack if i walked into her room".

"you didn't think to go to the nurse or something?"

you narrow your eyes, tongue probing at the side of your cheek. "you ask so many questions, that has to be your thing".

mark sucks his teeth. "..sorry for worrying?"

you blink, a neutral smile spreading across your lips. "you're a weird guy".

there it is. there the word is. weird. you think mark is weird. is mark weird? if mark is weird, then what does that make you? is it weird that he has empathy for others? is it weird that he holds empathy for you?

"are you insulting me?"

your head shakes back and forth, fingers prodding at the corners of your book. "not quite, i've just never met someone like you".

"well usually someone having split knuckles is cause for concern".

your face again drops, and the awkward chuckle mark hoped would quell such worries instead died down in his throat. he watches the way you gaze upward then downward, mapping each of mark's features with your tentative eyes. "it's not that big of a deal" you mumble, twiddling your thumbs as you quickly avert your gaze.

you avoid his eyes in the same way a child does when they fear upsetting their parents, your lips curl down into the exact appearance of disappointment.

mark's mouth is completely dry, he doesn't really know how to deal with.. this. he levels at you with a blank stare, attempting to see through you, maybe get into your thoughts and finally figure out why you don't find your knuckles being split being the huge problem it is.

"okay.. um, can you show me the sources you found then?"

mark is trying his best to not make it awkward, how do you not even release a wince at the pain you must be experiencing? you simply engross yourself in that pen and paper once again.

it's a bit difficult to make conversation when all he currently sees are the bruises decorating your hands. he grimaces as if you're some exhibit he isn't fond of, and from the flickers of your eyes he catches in his peripheral vision, you clearly take notice.

"you gonna stop looking at me like that?"

"sorry!" mark is quick to sputter, his blinks as rapid as his response. "i'm sorry it just.. doesn't that hurt?"

a breath falls from your lips, the beginnings of a laugh making it's way up into the air. "it's nothing i haven't felt before".

mark wants to ask again, but he keeps in such urges. again, he's still afraid you'll punch him in the face if he opens his mouth again. mark assumes he just doesn't get it, maybe how you feel is vastly different to how he feels. "can i at least walk you to the nurses office?"

another question, mark feels his stomach curl into something terrible, but instead of the blow up reaction he expects, you simply pause, blinking.

you press your teeth against each other, thinking it over with your eyes trailing the shelves of the library. one click to your pen, a small sigh falling from your lips. "fine.. i guess".

you guess, well that's a start. mark can make well with that.

you gather books as best as you can quickly, shoulders tensing. mark urges to grab your hand, maybe soothe it over with his thumb, but he suppresses such urges in fear of weirding you out (because you already deemed him a 'weirdo').

"you know.. if you ever need to tell someone something, i'm here".

it's a flimsy suggestion, a small uttering mark could only muster with the worry in his heart. you shot him a glance, the abrupt movement of your head almost startling mark backward. you stare, the expression on your face indecipherable, mark wishes he could reach into your mind, pull out your innermost thoughts and figure out exactly why you think the way you do.

your eyes stay narrowed for a moment, simply staring at mark, frozen in front of the nurse's office. you click your tongue, scratching at the start of your sweater. "sure".

sure, sure. it's not a no, that's good. it's not a yes, which isn't exactly assuring. it's a sure. sure. there's a start, it's a beginning.

you don't exactly sound sure, your eyes cast around your surroundings, and your lips sink into your bottom teeth. the anxiety permeating from you is reminiscent of mark's own.

well maybe you two aren't that different.

i'm here if you want to talk, mark repeats in his own head, and he begins biting the skin off his lips.

sure is your response.

it's a good enough response for a start.

THE TITLE OF 'FRIENDS' ISN'T YET ESTABLISHED between you two. you're still an enigma, a mystery, mark is still just the tiniest bit afraid you'll attempt to punch him in the face if he says something you don't agree with. you're an easy person to work with, in comparison to some of mark's other project partners. you two equally split up the workload, you don't mind taking up most of the work, you tell mark it's okay, even with bandages arranged around your bruised knuckles, you could jot down notes about the fucking industrial revolution all day. mark makes out that you don't necessarily enjoy talking, you communicate with your feeble expressions.

again, you two aren't established friends, and considering you only have one ninety minute class together in one whole school day, it would be a turbulent effort to even attempt a friendship.

you can be summed up as simply 'project buddies', there isn't anything more to it, but that's because mark has some fear instilled in him directed towards you. you don't glare, but it still appears that you do.

you continuously scribble in your notebook, biting your fingernails, the same anxious impulses mark finds himself unconsciously doing. day in and day out mark clocks a few more similarities between you two, that's interesting.

you become less of an apparition and more of an actual person, october begins coming to a close, temperatures falling at the rapid rate of the leaves. in the next coming weeks, he'll probably begin wearing jackets.

"i think maybe we should start going to each other's places after school?"

you pause in your dragging when mark brings that up, one click to your pen. you lick your teeth, whole body tensing. "we can't go to my place" you clear your throat. "my parents.."

you stop midway through your own sentence, it's as if you were restrained, unable to utter the rest of it in.. fear? you avoid mark's gaze, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

mark blinks, he sort of expected that answer. another click to your pen, you continue dragging it against your notebook page. mark almost leans over to check what you're doing, but he keeps himself still. you don't have to say more, he doesn't need for you to say more. "oh, it's okay! we can just go to my place".

you remain still. "your parents won't mind?"

mark quickly shakes his head. "they never mind, honestly they keep complaining about how i don't bring people over".

for the first time since mark's met you, a small laugh leaves your lips. "okay.. that's fine".

fine. not good, just fine. maybe it takes a while for you to warm up, mark doesn't mind, he can wait.

you tug at a strand of your hair using your finger, licking your teeth. "is friday good for you?" mark inquires, watching as you again begin vigorously clicking your pen.

you again pause before answering, an indecipherable feeling entering you. mark tries to study you, but he gets nothing, he really is clueless to how you are. "friday is fine" you then say, much too rapidly for it to be authentic. you seem shaky, erratic, it all seems so scary.

mark nods, a final click to your pen. "okay.. after school maybe? we could walk together".

yet another flimsy suggestion, mark only utters such a thing because he doesn't exactly want to pick specific times. it's easier this way, directly after school, you have your last class together, just heading home after it all finished would be fine. it's simple.

you stare at him as if he just grew two heads, your eyes dilated in a freakish fashion. mark finds it staggering, you always stare at him as if he's said something absurd when he offers even the tiniest bit of kindness to you. your eyebrows furrow, simply a look of pure confusion painted on your face.

but even with the torture you seem to be facing in your own mind, you present a neutral smile. "yeah, that's okay".

okay. not good, just okay.

mark thinks he can deal with okay.

the coming friday enters like a freight train, it's a tumultuous crash that is so rapid the world shakes. mark scratches behind his ear, eyes droopy as he simply awaits for the ending of class.

he zones out on the sound of a pen dragging against a notebook page, he doesn't need to crane his head back to know that you're scribbling something into your notebook. he wonders if you're interested in drawing, maybe you enjoy the aspect of art, that seems interesting.

mark wants to ask, but there's always a voice in his head that chastises him for being so curious, the same way his mother used to when he'd ask outlandish questions as a child.

he has to use all of the fight in him to not look back at you, he'd probably get another weird utter from you if he decided to simply turn back and stare, mark isn't stupid, he knows how people are, he knows it's weird to just sit and stare at someone.

one click to your pen.

class dismisses as soon as it begins, and mark almost falls to the floor when he stands up, his exhaustion practically weighing him down. he acts in a strange manner, one that draws a small snicker from you as you observe his behavior.

"you alright there?" mark only sighs, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"i'm fine just.. tired" mark explains, chuckling emptily. you simply stare again, tightening your hold against your backpack. you click your tongue, shoulders still tense as ever. "do you want to come over now or..?"

you nod. "now is fine".

mark makes sure to not show his elation too clearly, just presenting his regular smile as it is to you. he almost grabs your hand, he wants to feel the intertwining of your fingers, but again, you'd probably punch him in the face.

the walk isn't long, mark walks to school every single day, having not skipped a beat ever since freshman year began. you two stroll towards mark's place in silence, the air growing awkward as the autumn air breezes through your hair.

mark clears his throat, taking in a breath. "is your hand getting better?"

it's a trifling inquiry mark only makes out because of the need for conversation, it'd be so much worse if you two were just quiet. mark usually doesn't have a problem with talking to people, but with you, it's just the slightest bit difficult.

you again offer a curt shrug as a response. "it's okay".

okay. wow, you never really give a sure answer. mark wonders if you even know the answer yourself.

"okay isn't really a reassuring answer".

"doesn't matter".

it does to me.

the words hang heavy on mark's lips, but they then die down in his throat, would it be strange to say that to someone you barely even know? someone who probably doesn't consider you a friend in their own indecipherable mind? mark curses himself for harboring such strong feelings towards you, someone whose basically a stranger.

"again, nothing i haven't felt before" you mutter, words hushed in their usual manner. you leave no more room for explanations, going silent as you continue your walk beside him.

mark, though curious, also remains silent, slowly speeding up as he makes out the sight of his house.

you keep your head down when mark opens the door, peaking his head from behind it. "mom! i'm home!"

mark misses the small flicker of jealousy in your eyes, too busy getting attacked by his mother's frenzied affection. you could only stare at the spectacle, keeping your silence.

"oh, and whose this?"

mark blinks, his big eyes widening extraordinarily. "this is y/n, my classmate, were doing a project together".

you again keep silent for a while, clearing your throat as she offers you a smile. "it's nice to meet you mrs. lee".

"oh you're adorable, look at those cheeks!"

you had half a mind to lean back when she pinched your cheek, but you stayed still, even with the tense of your stance. mark snickers behind his hand, finding the sight amusing.

he lets a breath fall from his lips. "were gonna go study in my room, if that's okay.."

"that's fine! don't be afraid to tell me if you need anything!"

she claps her hands happily and ruffles mark's hair, yet you continue staring incredulously, as if the actions were alien. you only nodded, silence again overtaking you as you follow behind mark to his room, smiling at his mother as you walk your way there.

"your mom is nice" you whisper, mark only able to hear it because of the lack of space between you two. you still don't smile, a neutral expression remaining on your face.

mark again chuckles lightly, motioning his head forward as he holds his door open for you. "yeah, everyone says that, you okay though?"

you glance back at him, puzzled. "yeah.. i'm fine".

fine, that has to be a specific buzzword of sorts. mark again blinks, several emotions flaring in his irises. "well i noticed you kinda froze when my mom touched you".

you merely offer a shrug, settling onto the floor and pulling out the several books you'd been reading prior. "i'm just not used to that kind of affection".

mark raises an eyebrow, dropping his backpack onto the ground with a resounding thud, the many books practically shaking the floor. that was an answer didn't really expect. maybe he just doesn't get it, your mom can't be that bad, it's your mom! how could a mother not harbor affection towards her child.

you snap your head up, a look in your eye, as if you were daring him to make a brash comment about your family life. mark gulps in the quietest way possible, smile straining against his lips. "did you get any more notes on the steam engine's origins?"

you reply with a small smile, seemingly pleased he changed the topic.

hours go by with you two simply studying and talking about your topic, the familiar drag of your pen filling the air of mark's room. you didn't bring up anything off topic, it's honestly impressive how long you stayed without getting distracted, but mark assumes it's because you just don't enjoy talking.

you've pretty much given up on the subject at hand, resorting to drawing whatever in your notebook. dark circles begin visibly appearing under your eyes, but you still don't make a comment, simply preoccupying yourself with your mini art pieces.

mark stares, eyes drifting off to his open window, the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon. he admires the reddish-orange hue of the sky, his lips turning up at the picture.

"what time is it?"

mark's eyes flicker in a sudden shift, and he again glances at you, then at the clock against the wall. "it's almost eight pm".

you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, gathering the books you rested on the floor to again put back into your backpack. one click to your pen, you also let it fall into your pencil case. "i should probably get going now.. thank you for letting me come over".

mark shakes his hand, offering a dismissive wave. "it's nothing, if you want to start doing this more often.. you know my parent's won't mind".

you pause, letting your silence fester as you put on your backpack. you bite your inner cheek, mark can practically hear you thinking. "..maybe" you mutter, staring down at the floor as you begin making your way down the hall, towards the front door.

mark pretty much springs to his feet, he doesn't want to be an impolite guest, his mom always told him that it's nice to walk people out. "or we could just go back to studying in the library".

he really just wants you to be comfortable.

you pause, steps slowing down as you make it to the middle of the living room. your fingers tap against the straps of your backpack, licking your teeth. "i'll think about it, then when i decide i'll tell you".

mark finds himself smiling at that. it's again, a start. "okay, i can wait".

you share yet another neutral smile, but it seems your lips itch to turn up even more, you seem to want to share a genuine smile with mark, but you stop yourself for some reason. "you're so patient".

"i learned from the best".

you again bite your inner cheek, and mark's eyebrow raises, those words appear to displease you.

"oh are you leaving already y/n?"

your displeasure transforms into immediate bliss when mark's mother again enters, blinking. "yeah, it's getting late now".

"do you not want to stay for dinner?"

you again stop in your place, seemingly freezing. mark does the same, parroting your expression with his shoulders tensing. he glances over at you, watching as the inner battle your having in your head plays on your forehead in big bold letters. "um.. i—"

"mark!" his mother chastises, smacking his arm in a manner that draws a small wince. "what are you standing there for? invite your friend over for dinner!"

mark almost wants to utter he's not my friend, but that's just so mean to say out loud. he isn't exactly sure if that's what you would want or not, so his mouth again hangs open like he's some sort of idiot who doesn't know how to speak.

but you break the silence by chuckling silently. "it's okay mrs. lee i wouldn't want to overstay my welcome".

she sucks her teeth, waving a dismissive hand in the same manner mark does. "don't say that! you're welcome here now! have you eaten yet?"

you can only stare incredulously, biting the skin off your lips. "no not really.."

she gasps in horror, her big brown eyes holding a familiar look of worry. "you must be starving then! just stay for a few minutes, yeah?"

you so badly want to decline, mark sees it in the shift you perform, but it's also impossible to decline, you share one glance with mark, then you sigh. "okay.. thank you ma'am".

"don't thank me, i'm simply doing the bare minimum".

you wonder where you've heard that one before.

mark finally snaps out of his daze, a warm smile spreading across his features. "are you really staying?" he inquires when his mom walks back to the kitchen, the volume of his voice merely a small whisper.

"just for a few minutes" you whisper in reply, the straps of your backpack burning into your palm with how hard you're pressing onto it.

mark can barely even hide the bigger smile that threatens to paint his face. that's nice, it's not along the lines of a sure or an okay, it's something more.

maybe it's a step in the right direction.

WHEN MONDAY AGAIN ROLLS AROUND, MARK has way too much on his mind. the crisp october air has just gotten cooler, his heavier sweaters now in need. a few days from now it might begin smelling much more brisk, trees will wither at an even quicker rate, the leaves crunching under his shoes will fly away in the breeze without bidding so much as a goodbye. by the time november comes to a close, mark will have worn out this red sweater he's so attached to. for now though, he's going to wear it every single day, it matches the appearance of the autumn season, he wants to stay on theme (and he also just has a super huge attachment to the sweater).

even after you stayed over for a few extra minutes to have dinner at his house, courtesy of his mother's own magnanimity, you two still don't establish any kind of friendship. he heard you utter a few words about how he clearly inherited that from her, but he feigned ignorance as he focused on eating dinner.

your presentation is next week, the last week was simply full of research questions and many pieces of cardboard scattered across the floor. the librarian finds the sight of you two so mundane that she greets you with a small nod each time you enter.

there's much more studying than there actually is talking about anything else, an unseen work ethic mark usually wouldn't find weird if it wasn't for the morbid curiosity he has for everything.. well— you.

mark stares as you continue jotting, tape on your right hand side you stare at the cardboard folder you two decided to use for your presentation. he's been distracted for a while now, but you're still as focused as ever, it's pretty admirable how dedicated you are to this project.

"do you maybe wanna be friends?"

the tiniest sound of ink dropping onto a paper stops, one click to your pen. you always seem to do that, pause midway through your actions before fully taking his words into account. you always stare at him as if he says something absurd, like he's a crazy person. mark finds each of your actions pretty strange.

"what?"

he claps his hands, nails scratching the back of his own palms. "i don't know.. you've had dinner with my parents already, isn't it weird that we aren't friends?"

you itch to say something, and mark wishes superpowers would be granted to him in this very moment. he can't tell what you're thinking and the irritation begins to seep in as quick as he craves for it to disappear. "unless you don't want to be friends.. i don't mind".

what a terrible liar. he does mind. he fucking minds so much it's going to begin physically paining him soon enough.

you let go of the tense you seem to hold onto, shoulders relaxing as you sink into your chair. "fine, let's be friends then".

you say the words in a manner that indicates you're just the slightest bit weirded out, almost everything about mark seems to weird you out, and maybe it makes mark feel a little insecure.

"what's your favorite season?"

"excuse me?" you narrow your eyes, and mark thinks any courage he could've held in that moment dies down in his throat.

mark blinks, you have no reason to be so terrifying. it must be some skill of yours. "well usually when you make friends with people you get to know them.. i don't really know much about you, it's a start".

a start, there it is again, a start. your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, you pull your sleeves over your arms. "what? like twenty questions?"

mark's slow nod is almost barely recognizable. "yeah basically".

you stare for a moment, your silence overtaking you once again. maybe you're just thinking of an answer, maybe you don't think of these things in the way mark does, cogs turn in his brain, and he begins;

"i like summer.. mostly because my birthday is in summer but i've never really been a fan of the cold, it's excruciating to sleep in the summer but i greatly prefer it anyway, it's easier to sleep in heat than trudge to school in thick snow".

when mark releases a final breath, he again glances at you. oh! he just rambled, he just rambled through a response that he basically programmed into his head in preparation for this kind of question.

you again, look at him like he's crazy, but there's a hint of amusement in your expression, your lips threatening to turn up into a grin. "i don't really have a favorite".

mark's face scrunches, that's a boring answer. "okay but if you had to choose, which one would you pick?"

your shoulders again drop, rising into a shrug that isn't exactly of confusion, but something much more complicated. "autumn, it's like the in between season, summer makes my skin feel too clammy and winter is just.. painful".

"painful?"

"i don't really enjoy snow" you begin clicking your pen consistently once more. mark wonders if that's one of your anxious habits, he has some of those as well, he wonders a lot about you. "i guess it can be pretty but it's so cold i just can't help but dislike it".

"valid point".

you hum in response, and mark again smiles. it's pretty nice talking to you about just stupid things like this, hopefully you can share more moments in such a fashion. "do you like history?"

you snort. "not as much as you clearly do".

mark shakes his head for some reason. "i don't really enjoy history i just put a crazy amount of effort into it like i do my other subject.."

"well you have to stay on the principal's honor roll".

mark clears his throat, if he couldn't pinpoint your tone of voice, he would've thought you were insulting him with a show of sarcasm, but it's quite the opposite, there's a show of admiration in that tone of yours, respect. it's flattering, and if mark wasn't still afraid of you punching him in the face, he would've allowed for tease to slip from his lips.

"you're very smart too, just in your own way".

"well i'm much more of a science person" you respond, and mark's eyes widen in a form of daze. he had no idea what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't that.

"science?"

"you seem surprised" you utter, just the faintest hint of surprise on your features as you mirror the look mark gave you seconds prior (save for your eyes widening).

"i don't know, i would've never guessed science".

"i've long finished that class i just.. i find the aspect of science interesting" you pause your consistent clicking of your pen, again beginning to draw out something in your notebook.

mark almost wants to inquire about what you draw on the pages, but he keeps that in the recesses of his mind. "like biology and stuff?"

"physics, chemistry, astronomy, all the bullshit you hate learning about in school" though you focus on the drawing you seem pretty into, you also remember to give as much attention to mark. "it's interesting to research about when there isn't an uptight guy up your ass".

mark snickers at the reply, completely knowing of the teacher you're referring to with that sentence. "mr. cho isn't that bad".

"oh trust me, he is".

you giggle at your own response, the first show of a genuine smile mark sees on your face ever since the first time he met you. "sorry for calling you weird the last time".

shock flickers in mark's galaxy like irises. he wasn't exactly expecting an apology from you, he already got over it (as much as he could with how terrified of you he was). "it's okay, i guess i was being kinda pushy".

"no i was just being difficult, don't blame yourself".

mark wants to but in, yet his mouth clamps shut. he itches to tell you no, to tell you that he just doesn't get you yet, but it's not your fault.

"well were friends now, so it doesn't matter".

when your eyes cast towards him, an unusual shiver runs down his spine, but a smile stays stuck to his face.

after legions of fear, friendship is finally established.

but it's still a little strange. though mark finally knows a few new interesting factoids concerning you (your favorite season is autumn, you have an interest in science, and you aren't as scary as you may seem), you're still a pretty clear mystery.

the rest of the week is spent finalizing your project, there's again less off topic talking again, and mark holds on to that small conversation you originally had in the library for the next few days, looking forward to the next time he can have such a talk with you.

you seem to thrive in silence, so mark doesn't try to force more conversation between you two, when you want to talk to him, you'll talk to him.

but mark still has that itching curiosity which won't go away.

"do you ever worry about someone for no reason?"

mark inquires it to donghyuck on the following friday, the barely warm breeze rushing past them, slightly lifting hairs from their heads. donghyuck blinks, stretching his legs forward onto the rest of the aluminum bleachers. "what do you mean by that?"

mark pauses, he should've expected donghyuck to answer his question with a question. it was all abrupt, flimsy, it wasn't all thought out like most of his inquiries. "i don't know.. sometimes i don't talk much to someone and i still feel like something is going on".

donghyuck raises an eyebrow. "ohh, you're talking about y/n".

mark doesn't even know why he's shocked, out of words, he nods at his response.

donghyuck lets out a breath. "y/n's a pretty stalling guy, he usually doesn't get to the point quickly, you might just be worried because he won't confide in you".

"i mean.. it still feels like there's more there, i can understand if he doesn't want to talk to me but i'm also afraid something more might be going on, you know?"

donghyuck sucks his teeth, offering mark an elbow nudge that seems along the lines of an affectionate gesture. "that might just be because of your naturally aiding impulses, i'm sure if something is going on, y/n just isn't telling you because he doesn't want you to freak".

mark's face scrunches. "i'm not going to freak".

"well then you clearly don't know yourself" donghyuck pats mark on his shoulder, grabbing his backpack and shrugging it over his shoulder. just as mark is about to give yet another brash response, donghyuck quips; "wanna race back to my place?"

before mark can respond, donghyuck leaps off the bleachers and begins sprinting, much to his own dismay. "hey! that's cheating!" he shouts, but donghyuck makes no move of slowing down.

mark curses at his own best friend, trying his best to keep up the pace. "donghyuck!"

all he receives in return is a gleeful giggle.

MARK FIRST MEETS YOUR PARENTS THE FOLLOWING WEEK, an event that was entirely accidental. you guys ace the project, the resounding look of pride from your teacher alerts you of that. the a+ was guaranteed you say, from the moment mrs. lim decided to place you two in a project together she knew it was. still, even with the usually high expectations, mark can barely contain himself, almost hugging you in the aftermath of the whole thing. he isn't sure how he managed to keep it all to himself, but he did, and it's good that he did, he was afraid of making it all more awkward. he was pleased to see a smile blossom on your face, your smile is pretty, it's fitting.

the moment class ends, he makes his way over to you. "we did a good job" he whispers, the volume of his voice barely able to be considered a whisper. he held his hand up, wincing in his own mind as he watches you stare.

but, fortunately for mark, you give him a high five, your hands meeting in a silent slap. for the sheer moment your palms meet, he basks in the feeling of your rough callouses against his soft ones. "you did a good job".

"we did a good job" mark specifies, and you stand up from your place, simply responding with a small nod.

you decide to not argue with him, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. there's a small silence that settles into the air, but then mark again perks up. "do you want to walk home together?"

shock colors your features, an instant look of fear flickering in your eyes. "i— i mean.."

you lick your lips, thousands of thoughts running rampant through your mind. "sure" you reply, feeling mark's heavy gaze directed towards you.

again, it's just a sure, nothing exactly reassuring.

mark tightens his hold on his backpack, a small look in his eye that you actively avoid. he decides to not comment on it, instead letting the silence fester as you two bid farewell to your fellow classmates and begin walking home.

it seems you walk home to school as well, you haven't muttered anything about a bus, or about your parents taking you to and from school. he usually sees you walk in the opposite direction of the bus stop, so he simply assumes you walk home like he does.

he hears you mumble something under your breath, and he narrows his eyes, curiosity peaked by the unintelligible words. he glances at you, eyes full of anxiety. "is everything okay?"

your head snaps up so quickly mark almost squeaks at the sharp movement. your eyes are widened comically, but mark can't even find an awkward chuckle ready to leave his lips, you look terrified, you look.. scared.

"m' fine".

"you sure?"

you don't have to lie to me.

mark decides to keep that one to himself.

"yeah i'm fine" you say, avoiding eye contact and stomping your shoes.

you stop in front of an unfamiliar house, only half the walk towards mark's own place. oh, so you don't live that far away from school. you live closer than mark even does, he guesses he again learned something new about you.

"hey you don't even live that far away" mark says, hoping his smile will somehow brighten your mood. he watches a small flicker of bliss form on your face, and he manages to contain his own elation. "you didn't tell me you lived close by".

you again mutter something unintelligible under your breath, but your tone of voice indicates that you're just the slightest bit afraid once again.

mark is about to ask again when the door swings open, and an unfamiliar woman with a mean look in her eye. she squints at the sight of you, irritation crossing her expression. "i thought you were staying at school late".

the look of fear in your eyes becomes more of embarrassment, but the terror remains. "i um— i messed it up, my projects over".

mark studies her face for a moment, he assumes that's your mother, but he doesn't capture a single resemblance between you two. "crock of shit" she mumbles, her eyes shift erratically, and she clicks her tongue in a manner reminiscent of how you do it.

mark stops as he feels an awkwardness shift in the air, and she finally has half a mind to acknowledge his presence. "do i know you?"

her head tilts slightly, and mark almost jumps back in complete terror. "no i.. mark lee, i'm y/n's friend".

she raises an eyebrow, a chuckle of disbelief being her immediate response. "you have friends?"

you lick your teeth, the irritation in your expression betraying the words on your lips: "i didn't mean to lie" you continue to avoid her eyes, as if afraid she might turn you into stone if you even glance at her face. "i'm sorry".

she dismisses your apology rather quickly. "whatever i don't care.." she almost rolls her eyes, but she seems to stop it. "it's nice to meet you.." she snaps her fingers as her words trail off, and mark realizes she forgot his name already. "mark".

your cheeks tint pink with embarrassment, and you look down at the floor, holding in your breaths. "can i have a few minutes?" you mumble, tutting silently.

she shrugs. "be quick, we have to talk" irritation laces her tone, and she places a performative smile on her face as she glances at mark, the door closing behind her.

mark is almost completely overtaken by his silence, but then you sigh, shoulders relaxing. "was that your mom?"

you mimic her prior shrug, tongue prodding at your cheek. "more or less.." you don't exactly react to those words, simply have an indifferent expression on.

"you don't look like her at all".

the moment the words escape mark, he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes widening. that has to be offensive in some way, that's absolutely ridiculous to say, if his mom were here she'd smack him on the back of the head for the way he just acted. instead, you reply with a silent chuckle, a small smile painting your face.

"foster parents".

mark blinks. "what?"

"they're my foster parents, not my actual ones" you explain, and mark's heart drops to his feet.

oh. that's the entire expanse of your situation. mark didn't exactly think that would be the case, he doesn't know what he expected, but it definitely wasn't this.

"oh" he voices out loud, gritting his own teeth. "i— i'm sorry i didn't know".

he almost feels guilty in a sense.

for what, though?

"it's alright" you shake your head, shrugging your backpack over your shoulder, your expression of indifference remains. "see you on monday".

mark has no idea how he collects his words. "yeah, see you.."

but mark can't walk home without the feeling of nausea bubbling up in his stomach.

CONTRARY TO YOUR VERY WORDS, YOU DO NOT show up on monday. mark immediately jumps to the worst possible outcome. he isn't exactly sure why he jumped to thinking the worst, he's simply afraid something happened. your.. mothers sharp glare remains permanently framed in his memory, she was absolutely terrifying. when monday flies by with no sight of you, mark almost wants to walk to your place himself, but he keeps himself settled in his own thoughts, he wouldn't want to freak you out. his worries extended towards the day after, the greeting november air only adding to his worries.

now the oncoming cooler air is completely welcomed on mark's part. he enjoys the cold weather more than he has the gall to admit, and his dark red sweater has already been worn out even after only a week of consistently wearing it.

mark entered class on tuesday with a whole wave of nausea overtaking anything else he could've been feeling. when he took his seat, he practically waited to be bestowed with bad news.

he licks his lips as the teacher begins taking attendance, the 'here' he mutters is full of distraught he couldn't tell he was holding.

mrs. lim narrowed her eyes at her clipboard, the click of her tongue bouncing off the walls. "has anyone seen y/n?"

the question is asked out of sheer curiosity, just the slightest hint of worry present in her tone. it's a thing to be absent once, but you're usually only absent once, you're a pretty consistent student in terms of attendance.

her eyes flicker up, and the rest of the class begin their resounding murmurs. mark merely glances around, licking his teeth, additionally sucking his teeth to sell his irritation.

she scrunches her nose, about to ask again when, as if on cue, you walk in through the door. the indifference painted on your face is similar to the one he memorized back on that friday. you blink, avoiding her eyes in the manner of an ashamed child. "sorry i'm late" you mutter, frantically extending your gaze around the whole room.

mrs. lim stares, attempting to read your inner most thoughts. "it's okay just.. you'll get a tardy pass later sit down".

you offer your best nod, lips remained pressed shut as you shuffle towards your seat, avoiding mark's eyes specifically. his gaze trails onto yours, but because he can't see your eyes, he can't read how you feel.

you hang your head low as you take your seat, the familiar dragging of your pen against your notebook page not filling the room. mark feels as if the room is suffocating him whole, your very presence itself strangely scaring him.

"why didn't you show up yesterday?" mark inquires, he really wants make it sound like it's all okay, but his words trail off into an accusing whine.

you pause, shrugging. there's so much exhaustion behind your eyes, as if you've missed out on weeks upon weeks of sleep. "something came up".

you attempt your best shot at walking away from mark, back faced towards him as you walk in the direction of the bathroom.

mark scrunches his face, speeding up his own pace and brushing his shoulder against yours. he can no longer contain his curiosity, you look absolutely terrified of.. something. "what came up?"

"nothing".

"don't lie to me".

mark's expression of worry is now at full affect, his big brown eyes holding anxiety. you manage your best scoff, the grasp on your backpack tightening. your face twitches, the flicker in your eyes betraying the disdain you attempt to face make with.

still, you try to brush him off, shaking your head. "i'm not lying, and besides, it's none of your business".

mark kisses his teeth, a loud sigh now leaving his lips. he clears his throat, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.

you stare, crumbling under his undeniably soft gaze. "i'm sorry" you mumble, immediately looking away from him, eyes shifting uncontrollably. "i just don't want to talk about it" you poke the side of your cheek with your tongue, clasping your hands behind your back.

mark stares down at his feet, biting down into his bottom lip. he scratches at his own fingers, anxious impulses all high and mighty. "it's alright, i— um.. do you wanna go get ice cream?"

you blink, sucking your teeth. you scratch the back of your neck, and mark has no idea why he asks that question, he just knows ice cream usually makes him feel better, maybe it's the same for you.

"ice cream? in november?"

"ice cream always helps people feel better".

you offer a small chuckle at that, head turned down as you nod.

mark smiles, he can't believe that worked. your walk to the local ice cream parlor is silent, clear fatigue still present under your eyes. you lightly shiver at the cold breeze that rushes past you, a faint mutter from mark questioning if you two should even be going to get ice cream in the first place.

"you're the one who suggested we get ice cream" you breath out, making no indication that you were against the idea of getting ice cream after school in the beginnings of winter. "i don't mind".

"but i just want to make sure".

the words seemingly appall you, and mark realizes that most of his words seem to have that effect on you. you again fester in your silence, tongue licking at your lips as you catch sight of the nearby ice cream parlor. "it doesn't really matter.."

why doesn't it matter? why is it so strange that i care about you y/n?

the words don't escape mark, they simply fizzle out into the air as the screeching of the open door instead meets his ears. mark is quick to smile as you two walk into the ice cream parlor, his humming immediately filling the air.

"i kind of see ice cream as a comfort thing because it reminds me of summer.." mark mutters, licking his spoon stained with the cookie dough flavoring.

you don't eat right away, simply stab your spoon into your pile of vanilla. "how can something so cold be so comforting?"

just look at you.

you suck your teeth, as if sensing his thoughts, the ice cream brightens your mood in just the slightest, he can see it in the way your eyes flare up. at least he momentarily got it, at least there's at least a sliver of happiness there.

"everything cold is comforting in summer".

"it's going to begin snowing soon" you smack your lips at the taste of vanilla on your tongue, it's just.. vanilla. "might get a brain freeze".

"worth it for the sugar".

now that, that draws a small snicker from you, your lips finally turning up in a display of ecstasy. maybe it isn't you finding that funny, but it's you finding mark's delivery to be blissful. your head tips down as you attempt to stifle your laughter, but you can't exactly hold yourself together.

mark stares at the prospect, his lips turning up unconsciously as his gaze is stick onto you, and how you look.. pleased.

mark can't even contain it. he loves seeing you be happy.

which then results in his mind retracting, he thinks back to the sight of your mother's angry face, and his lips turn downward.

maybe you were gone because something happened at home, mark can really do nothing but assume.

"sacrificing your well being for sugar? that's so.. strange".

"sugar is a good coping tool" mark breaths, throwing out the ice cream that he finished rather quickly.

you simply hum in reply, clearly not believing those words, but letting mark have the win anyway.

"hey y/n?"

you blink, your gaze slow as you stare down mark. mark clears his throat, swallowing his own fear. "i want you to talk to me.. okay? i don't mean to come off as pushy or annoying or nosey i just want to make sure you're alright, i'm not going to bite or anything".

you opt to awkwardly chuckle at that last bit, again shrugging your backpack over your shoulder. "i know.."

mark's face scrunches, he still doesn't really have you, you're still pretty withdrawn. "you don't have to tell me about everything just.. you know i'm here, if you ever need someone to talk to—"

"you'll be my first choice, don't worry" you finish the next half of your sentence with your own words, words that can't be feigned honesty, as you avoid mark's eyes in the process.

the words strike something.. different in mark. is it maybe bliss? some undiscovered form of happiness? he doesn't exactly know the name, even if it feels as if it's on the tip of his tongue, but he's pleased for now. there's trust that's been established between you two, you trust mark.

"okay, okay" mark heaves a breath, his smile sticking to his face.

you seem to like his smile, because your pupils dilate at the sight of it.

maybe it isn't exactly the ice cream that helped you feel better, but mark can't figure out that it might be him that's your cure.

FRIENDSHIP ALSO MEANS HAVING TO SPEND time with each other, something that seems easy enough. "spending time" simply equates to mark talking and you listening. again, you don't exactly enjoy talking, so you leave all of it to him. mark talks to death about himself, his life, his dad, his mom, stuff you probably don't find interesting, but keep circulating through your mind. mark can hear the disdain you must be feeling, because all he does is talk about his stuff. he doesn't think he would enjoy that if it was someone else, but you really don't seem to mind, as long as you don't need to do the talking.

"do i talk about myself too much?" mark abruptly inquires, head whipping towards you in an instant. your gaze is fixed on the ground, and you opt to sucking your teeth as a silent response. "it's alright, you can be honest".

you snicker at that. "you're a very.. thoughtful person".

mark narrows his eyes. what is that supposed to mean?

"you think a lot, there's simply so much on your mind" you clarify, tongue dragging across your teeth. "i don't mind if you talk, it's how i learn".

"learn about..?"

"you, what you like, how you are, talk all you want it's okay".

mark straightens himself, hands dropping into his lap. "i want you to talk".

you raise an eyebrow. "what?"

"talk about yourself, i know enough about me, why don't you tell me about you?"

"i'm not that interesting" your quick to say, fingers beginning to pick at your own individual nails. when mark sends you a look, you follow up on your words; "really i'm not, don't look at me like that".

mark takes in a deep sigh, carting a hand through his light brown hair. "it doesn't matter".

you bite into your cheek. mark parroted your own words to signal at least.. something, reaching out to you might be a challenge, but mark isn't going to stop trying.

you contemplate, eyes heavy lidded. "i mean— why are you at the police station so much?"

the police station. that's where you two first met, you raise your shoulders into a performed shrug. your dark sweater paralleling the color of your eyes, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. "my parents are assholes".

the words are said surely, there isn't indifference there, there is no dissatisfaction behind your eyes, you know what you're saying, you don't even mind what you're saying.

mark could never say such a thing, let alone say them about his parents.

"oh".

mark clears his throat. "you're a foster kid? how does that work?"

mark knows how it works, he just needs to see how the terms spill from your lips. "they just drop me into another home when my other foster parents get sick of me, adoption is useless so i just stay with strangers who get paid monthly that don't care".

mark isn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't that. his mouth remains dry, what is a regular response to exposition like that? he scratches at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, guilt again in the air.

"sorry, i really know how to ruin the mood".

"no no! it's okay, i'm the one who asked".

"still, didn't need to make it all.. depressing".

"i mean— it is pretty depressing" mark scratches at his own knees, smile awkward. "but sometimes that's just how life decides to treat us".

us is a bit of a shallow way to put it, mark doesn't understand your circumstances, he's never faced any of what you face. "i'm sorry, i wish i could do something".

"you need to stop apologizing".

"but—"

"stop" you suck a breath between your teeth, hands placed symmetrically at your sides.

"alright, sorr.." he pauses when you raise an eyebrow, the beginning of his second apology forcing itself back down his throat. "okay".

you just barely hold back your shiver, the fall air rushing past you in a speed reminiscent of the ocean. "shit like that isn't your fault, i get you're.. you care, i know, but you don't have to apologize".

mark opts to awkwardly chuckle. "i don't really know what else to say.."

"you're a nice person to be around".

the words are enough to get a pause, but you don't exactly mind it, you said those words with conviction, as if you had previously thought them out and were completely sure of what they entailed.

or maybe you can secretly sense the effect they have, because mark isn't exactly the best at hiding the formations of his newest expressions. his eyes light up, the shine of the sun peeking behind the clouds amplifying the pleasure he recedes from the compliment.

your lips turn up by in the slightest, and you suck a breath between your teeth as you patiently await his response.

"oh" mark breaths, clearing his throat as he lets the strange feeling in his stomach settle away. "thank you.."

you don't reply, your smile simply mundane. you again kiss your teeth, mark's fingers fiddling at his necklace. "i.. uh— another thing i'm pretty interested in astronomy".

the mutter is half said, the rest of your words trailing off into something barely intelligible. mark's eyes dazzle in intrigue, astronomy is pretty interesting. "you like space?"

"i love space" you shake your head in disbelief at your own words. "it's pretty, the stars, the planets, just.. all of it is beautiful".

"and deadly".

now that one is a surprise, because you aren't able to stifle your laughter, your head shaking as a display of your amusement. "well yeah but that can be said for many things".

mark's eyes again dazzle, his own intrigue building up at the reply. "that's what makes a lot of the world interesting".

your eyebrow raise in a parroting of mark's own intrigue. "more like it's what makes it terrifying".

"terrifying can be interesting".

"i never said it couldn't".

your knees knock together, an indecisive look in your eye. you pull your sleeves over your arms when you begin noticing the goosebumps, a sigh leaving your lips immediately. "it's fine if you talk, i don't mind".

mark has no idea why, but he feels that those words are a lie. "it doesn't get repetitive?"

your expression falters for a simple moment, but instead of speaking, you keep your words to yourself. you shake your head silently, hands placed into your lap.

there's a moment of silence again, mark carefully crafts his next words, straightening his posture as he keeps his gaze trained straight ahead. "do you like drawing?"

seamless segway.

it would be seamless if mark wasn't shaking so much, maybe it was dumb of him to forget his sweater, but in his defense, it was warm in the morning! he would've been sweating on the way to school.

mark thinks if he focuses enough, he'll be able to hear the familiar continuous clicking of your pen in the background.

he again shudders, a small breath leaving his lips.

when you glances back at you, you smoothly slip your sweater from your arms and hand it over, slightly startling mark back. your face remains still, your gaze averting in an instant. "take it".

mark blinks dumbly.

you suck your teeth. "your cold, take it, you can give it back to me tomorrow".

"y/n—"

"you're not walking home cold.." you mutter, simply placing the sweater in mark's lap as you watch him again involuntarily shudder. "i'll be okay, don't worry about me".

mark wants to argue, but you leave no room for that, stubbornly crossing your arms. he takes the sweater and mutters a silent "thank you" 

a somewhat ggressive act of kindness, mark guesses that's pretty fitting for the kind of person you are.

he still tries to get you to open up, and slowly, it seems to be working.

"i know you hate snow" he comments whilst you two walk down the hallway that friday. he tightens the grip he has on his bag, a small smile on his face as he pictures the upcoming winter. your hum is a usual response, a simple sound mark has to focus to even catch. "how do you plan to survive winter?"

you snicker silently, again humming. "can't do anything but walk".

"you better have good boots".

"i have good boots, maybe not a good jacket, though".

he's about to ask for clarification when the spawn of satan decides it's his time to shine; "markie!"

mark flinches when donghyuck comes around the corner, bouncing on his heels as he makes his way over to mark. mark's loud sigh ricochets off the walls of the hallway. "that's the bane of my existence.." he mutters towards you, and you chuckle lightly.

"you're so sweet to me" donghyuck's smile is strained, but he doesn't focus all his attention on mark that often. his eyes flit over towards you, and there's immediate intrigue there. "and you must be the famous y/n!"

the volume of his voice causes for your face to strain, but you keep it all together as to not offend him. you glance everywhere before again focusing on his face, a small smile showing up on your lips. "famous is.. probably pretty dramatic".

donghyuck exchanges a knowing look with mark, who blushes and clears his throat whilst feigning ignorance at that glance. he extends his hand towards you, whistling. "well with how mark is, it seems you are".

he snickers, and mark just barely keeps himself from punching the younger. you shake your head as you too shake his hand, avoiding mark's eyes. "okay then, it's nice to meet you.."

"donghyuck".

"donghyuck, nice to meet you".

mark watches the interaction with wide eyes, his mind rushing with a flurry of thoughts. "i can't believe this is our first time meeting! it's been a while since you two became friends huh?"

friends is a weird word, but you don't exactly comment on it. "yeah, mark has mentioned you before he just never said your name".

mark blows a breath between his lips, unaware of why his anxieties are suddenly rising. you glance at him, practically sensing the presence of his anxiety. mark almost jumps, but he manages to keep himself together. "i have to get home early, i'll see you monday".

you don't exactly seem sure of those words, but your smile makes it all look fine. "it was nice meeting you donghyuck".

the other only hums, you two exchanging smiles as you begin your way down the hallway, smile dropping once you get a wise distance away from them.

mark keeps the silence before donghyuck pipes up; "isn't he cute?"

mark chokes on his own spit, his face noticeably scrunching up as he glances in his childhood friends direction. "what?"

"don't tell me you've never thought it before" donghyuck snickers, affectionately nudging mark as an uncertain smile tugs at his lips.

"i haven't! you're so.. strange".

donghyuck narrows his eyes, clearly he doesn't believe such words. "okay mark, i'll believe that for your own sake".

and mark can't register why he assumes he's lying, donghyuck is just crazy.

donghyuck is just crazy.

OKAY, NOW THAT IT'S BEEN MENTIONED, MARK can't exactly stop thinking about it. donghyuck can be so stupid sometimes, but maybe it's somewhat justified. he never really took the time to focus on your facial features in specific, and he guesses that laying awake at three in the morning is the perfect time to focus on them. mark noticed everything, nose freckles, moles, the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lips, your dark brown irises, he usually picks off the physical traits of those he's meeting for the first time with stark detail in his own mind. he really never did think about it, but now he has all the time too.

are you cute? mark's eyes stick to the photos decorating his walls, the figures shrouded in darkness without the light of the sun permeating through the window aiding in producing the shin they so clearly require.

yeah, you are. mark isn't over admitting when he finds a guy cute, you can easily be described as such. there's something about the flicker of your eyes that entices him, but that's just.. strange.

he opts to rolling over, staring at his alarm clock nestled onto the bedside table. being kept up because you're stuck pondering about whether you're friend not friend is cute is absolutely idiotic. since when has this happened before?

that question is also idiotic, it hasn't.

he pulls the covers over him and nuzzles against his pillow, feigning ignorance to his flurry of thoughts with a sigh as he keeps the pattern of your moles pictured in his head.

thanksgiving breezes past just as it always does every year, donghyuck's family again comes over for the festivities ('festivities' equaling the sharing of meals while the two scarf down pretty much everything in the kitchen), but mark stays unfocused even with a bunch of people other than you around him.

then the end of november speed runs until mark's face scrunches at the upcoming first day of december.

december is too cold, there's no foresight of ice on the ground, no snow ready to sneak up on everybody just yet, but he doesn't care, he can already feel the grimace ready to be painted over his features.

and as the cold breeze balls up it's fist into an open punch, mark takes a small breath;

you said you hate winter.

mark gets it, but it's less of you hating winter and more of mark constantly thinking of.. well— you.

again, he doesn't exactly need to take history, the class is as useless to his academic record as it is interesting, but mark won't continue complaining, he's terrified mrs. lim can secretly read his mind.

"what class are you taking next semester?" mark whispers, leaning back in his seat as the widening of his eyes is in tune with his complete interest.

your shoulders rise in a puzzled shrug, the familiar drag of your pen now right in mark's ear. you don't make an effort to glance upward, but mark is aware you're paying adequate attention anyway. "not sure, they always tell me after, what are you taking?"

mark decides to completely scoot backward, the crack of knuckles causing for your face to scrunch. "computer programming".

there's a beam in your eyes. "as a senior?"

mark's snicker is a result of your tone. "it's for last minute credits, just like this class.."

"ah".

you again engross yourself in whatever it is you're doing in your notebook, mark attempts to sneak a glance, but you seem to sense his eyes, as you flip the page upward where his eyes can't meet it.

well shit, you caught him.

yet you don't mutter a single word about the event which just transpired, you simply continue with the similar drag of your pen.

at this point, the sound is a puzzling solacing noise for mark. he'll never utter such words loudly though, it's strange to admit that the sound of someone drawing in their notebook has become a sense of comfort for you.

mark sometimes wonders how deep the corners of his mind expand. "finals week is coming up".

you hum in reply, nodding your head, pen seemingly having a mind of it's own. mark glances over, unable to decipher the gleam of your eyes. it could be irritation, or maybe it's satisfaction, you're confident in the strength of your brain, it doesn't seem like you would struggle.

your eyes flit up for a moment, and then you snicker for a reason completely unknown to mark. "you nervous?" he decides to quip.

another hum. "always, but i trust most of my intellect".

"you should, you're very smart".

the compliment is spontaneous, an abrupt uttering that you clearly weren't expecting, as heat coils against your skin, the reddish tint clashing with your once vain cheeks. your lips part, the dragging of your pen subsides. you then glance away as you clear your throat, blowing smoke through your lips.

"i'm sure you'll be fine" mark finally finishes, big eyes bugging out as he decides to avert his gaze. "don't give me that look, i've observed, you have one of the highest grades in the class".

"it's all just.. nothing".

mark decides to snicker. "not nothing, you have the ability".

"i guess i'll take your word for it" tease lingers on your tongue. "smartest kid in class after all".

there, now you two are even. you just complimented mark with words that he hears from people everywhere, but hearing them from you is what gets a stupid smile out of him. "oh.. well i don't know about that one".

mark tucks a strand behind his ear, the slightest bit of meekness displayed by his eyes. your eyes flitter upward, and the curve of your lips is satisfying. "yeah you do, you're smart, honor roll smart".

"i would say you're the same".

you long to take those words as a challenge, mark notices a certain burning in your eyes, but you opt to a small smile instead. "not enough for honors".

"well i think so".

and maybe, that's the only thing that matters. your face appears to light up, but you decide it's best to not comment on such a thing.

as the colder days approach, mark learns even more about you he doesn't exactly expect.

and it all comes through smoking.

"what?"

you seem amused by the inquiry asked of you, and mark's eyes widen in their usual jolted fashion, his hands clutching at his sides. you seem to look through him, humor still present in your tone as you reply; "did you just.. you smoke?"

mark clears his throat, eyes immediately averting, his gaze zeroing in on the visible air he can see being blown through his lips. "it's like a— um, anxiety tick thing, sometimes when i get overwhelmed it helps".

you bite into your cheek, shoving a hand into your pocket as you rummage for a while, pulling out a lighter which you shake in air, listening to the clinking of the metal. mark's eyes again bug out, a usual reaction for him, his expression reminiscent of a child hearing someone swear for the first time. "oh.. so you smoke?"

you pass the lighter, whistling in the air as you nod. "yeah, same thing really, it's not regular or anything i just sometimes need to let go".

mark longs to ask why, and you practically read his mind with the words displayed all over his face. "my parents are such amazing stressors, it'd be a shock if i didn't smoke at this point".

he can only stare, blowing smoke out from his lips as he watches it form in front of him. "it gets bad for me during exam season, finals get to my head and i can't resist".

"your parents don't know?"

mark shakes his head rapidly back and forth, a snicker falling from his lips. "nope, i think they would kill me if they found out.. can't let them know".

you opt to once again humming, shoving the lighter back in your pocket as your nose scrunches. you scratch behind your ear, howling winds earning the slightest shiver from you. "ah, i see".

mark keeps himself silent, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stares forward, his eyes then falling to the ground. it's bare, empty, the sight of snow may meet his eyes in the coming days, maybe tomorrow even, the weather has always been know as unpredictable, a snowstorm could happen tonight, mark is afraid of that one.

"please don't tell anyone" mark whispers, eyes still cast downward. it's embarrassing, not even donghyuck knows that he does, and he's sure donghyuck is a smoker himself. he isn't exactly sure why.. he just knows what the reaction would be. "it's.. um, i don't know actually, feels like everyone thinks of me as a certain person so if they were to find out—"

"i won't tell" you state immediately, raising your pinky. "you have my word" is your next collection of words, mark blinks at you with shining eyes.

a pinky promise? he isn't sure what he expected, but he guesses they are the closest thing to a legally binding agreement.

mark intertwines his pinky with yours, the clash of your fingers together something of a prospect. your finger is rough, his are soft, he can't help but keep that fact tucked away in his mind. "pinky swear?"

"pinky swear".

mark decides he will take your word for it.

he supposes pinky swears do a lot for people, as long as the promise isn't broken, he won't have a reason as to not trust you.

IT'S A WEEK BEFORE FINALS WHEN MARK REALIZES yet another thing he doesn't exactly mean to discover. your simply.. esteemed love for thai food is a prospect he didn't exactly expect, but with a week until finals and the end of the year breathing down your neck, he guesses learning more about you is the right way to go. he wonders if there'll be many more turns to take in the future, he wonders how much truly runs through your heads. through picking your nails and raising eyebrows, he's already been able to decipher a lot, maybe he could just learn more if..

"do you know any good thai restaurants nearby?" he inquires, arms placed idly as he again admires your side profile. you hum, scratching at the sleeves of your sweater. it's a pretty one, the hue is a dark red, mark is curious on if the shades of red are your favorite, he forgets to ask.

your snort is short. "not in this town, it's a distance away from here, used to go regularly as a kid, it'll never get old.."

"so it's like.. a place of comfort?"

"basically" you reply, getting comfortable in your chair. it's the midway point of the period, the class is doing nothing but studying for finals next week, it leaves room for flurries of conversations mark otherwise wouldn't have been able to have with you.

it's nice, discussions flow a little easier between you two now that you've gotten slightly closer. though skepticism remains at an all time high (mark picks up on the mutters you occasionally let slip about your parents, something along the lines of fighting, loose funds, substances, his eyebrows keep furrowed), mark finds the now regular talks a fond juncture.

he rests his head onto his fist, scratching at his jaw with mid length nails. "when was your last visit?"

you shrug despite clearly knowing your response, arms coming to fold over your chest. "i haven't gone since high school began, makes sense because that's when i got put with.. them".

'them' equating to your current foster parents, mark unconsciously slides downward in his seat, anxiety rising. he observes the twitching of your left eye, a sight almost frightening.

"do you— um.. can you go again?"

your right eye closes, a sign of your contemplation. "they're.. my parents, they're crazy".

"have you never attempted to sneak?"

you chuckle, seemingly amused. "really? sneaking? i would've never thought that from you".

"i took part a few times, you could thank donghyuck for that one" mark keeps his head leaned sideways, it's easy to admire your features in this manner. you have a nice side profile, the left of your jaw perfectly highlighted in the lighting of the room. your lips curve upward at the reply, enjoyment behind your eyes.

"oh, i see, you're that kind of pair".

mark longs to figure out the meaning of those words, but you once again begin whistling, arms folding over your chest.

a specific question keeps echoing in mark's mind.

"you could.. uh— why don't we go together?"

you blink, dumbfounded. you study mark for a moment, and he suddenly feels unconscious under your gaze. you then silently snicker, just the slightest bit amused. "what?"

his hands find purchase on the desk before him, eyes avoiding yours, throat clearing. "um.. i just— i don't know, you seem to be fond of the place, wouldn't visiting be nice?"

your eyes narrow. "you're so.. wow, okay".

you chuckle, hiding your oncoming expression behind the cover of your own hands. mark remains anxious at the lack of a reply, nails coming to scratch at his hands. "is that a no?"

"no, no! you're just.. too sweet" you opt to reply, laughter carrying you through. mark feels heat coil over his cheeks, he's sure that it may manifest in color which permeates his skin, but he can't exactly think about that.

"oh, um— i.."

"while i would love to go" you begin, smoothing your hands over your jeans. "that's implying i have to sneak out".

oh, mark can't believe how dangerously impulsive he is.

but instead of a snark, you smile, it's small, yet it results in genuine ease sinking into mark's anxiety ridden heart, his hands coming to clasp together. "that was a dumb thing to say right? i'm sorry, forget i even said anything".

you contemplate for a moment, mark's anxiety again rising as your silence merely continues. "that's a good idea, it'd be nice to go before it starts snowing".

mark almost dies, was that just a yes?

you seemingly read his mind, because your lips do a swift upturn. "i guess i wouldn't mind sneaking out".

mark blinks, attempting to properly register the words without looking like a crazy person. "i didn't— i mean.. you don't have to, i don't want to get you in trouble, if it does—"

"doesn't matter" you cross your arms, leaning back in your seat. "at this point, getting grounded is a blessing for me, it's not that far a walk".

"are you sure?"

you lick your teeth. "i've been conditioned to hide my money better, they barely pay any attention to me".

mark digests the depression littering those words, but you keep up appearances, preventing the dejection from blossoming up in your features. there's shy disappointment behind your eyes, yet you don't comment. "i'm sorry.."

your head snaps in his direction rather quickly. "for what?"

mark shakes his head in reply. "i.. um—"

"don't apologize for something that isn't your fault".

mark bites his tongue before he allows for another apology to slip, your eyebrow raise simply enough to shut him up. you remain the slightest bit terrifying, even after established friendship. "can't help it.."

he picks at his nails, feeling the burning sensation of your eyes on the spot. he guesses his anxiety is really that permeable, and he longs to change the topic. "let's just hope the grades are good, yeah?"

"are you saying you wanna be study buddies?"

"i mean.. that's sort of how our relationship began" one click to your pen, mark tilts his head at the sight of your notebook. it's a simple hardcover, no label, a blank dark shade, yet it seems to carry a large entailing of significance, just like the pen, it has to contain something of an emotional connection to you, maybe, similarly to mark, you form attachments to even the smallest of things.

the use of the word 'relationship' earns a puzzling manner of expression, as if you have to rethink how you two interacted before the establishment of.. your now larger bond.

"that's cute".

you again open your notebook, yet another click to your pen as you begin.. something. mark has never been courageous enough to inquire about it to you, but he assumes there's some length of artistic expression in your personality, or maybe you just really enjoy writing, or you just scribble back and forth. really, mark can't assume what he doesn't know, and maybe you just don't want to divulge such a thing, he doesn't mind.

he simply observes, staring for long enough that you catch sight of it through your peripheral vision. "you'll do well, alright?"

you glance over at him, as if puzzled by the sudden reassurance. mark almost worries that you'll punch him in the face, his mind really needs to stop going down that route. "alright, let's hope you give me your luck".

MARK IS SURE HE COULD PERFECTLY RECITE EVERY SINGLE printed word in the several textbooks he's been staring at with nothing but pure disgruntlement for these past few days. there's a flurry of muddled information swirling around in his brain, he's afraid he might be taking a history quiz and begin scribbling down the formula of quotient entities. the many trigonometry equations have begun rotting him from the inside out, you've practically been an angel of a study buddy for these past few days, even despite the many whispers you let slip about you sleeping through pretty much all of trigonometry. you have strikingly straight notations, not even a letter out of place, penned compositions littering each page.

he can barely help the upturn of his lips.

"didn't you take trig last year? you're supposed to remember these things".

mark keeps his forehead pressed to the desk, the cool air just barely disturbing him. "trig is pretty much useless, math isn't my strong suit".

your eyebrows furrow. "you still got an a".

mark scoffs. "wow, thanks for supporting me with my endless struggle".

your chuckles now appear much more vibrant, some timidity remains, but it's better than how it all was in september, the change jumps out to mark, you're just so—

"you sound defeated, don't worry mark, you're still honor roll smart".

his heart constricts for a moment, and while he would usually be worried he was experiencing some length of a health risk, he knows it isn't that (but he guesses you could result in a heart attack, you're simply very..), but he can never be too sure.

your handwriting is irritatingly neat, nothing of an observable mistake despite pen clearly being used. is it the same pen? do you keep pens? do you like pens? his intrigue towards you could extend for miles, but he lets it stay inward no matter what.

your eyes gleam with the light of an indescribable entity. "do you.. would you still want to go out to eat on friday?"

mark blinks, contemplating despite the very much known answer. "yeah, i brought it up, if it makes you happy.."

"well you should also think about yourself, if you don't want to go—"

"no, no! i do" mark unfortunately can't arise much excuses for his sudden enthusiasm. he notices the amusement on your own features, but he doesn't make a comment. "besides, we won't see much of each other next week, and then the break will come right after".

winter break is usually its own blessing in mark's eyes, but there's this strange installment of fear this year. he isn't sure the extent your parents go, no signs of anything physical that he can see, yet he worries about you just having to be there for a length of almost two weeks. from what he's observed, school seems to be your only source of escape from whatever goes on at home, and he's aware that a student's safe place being school is typically a bad sign.

but maybe that's too much to just tell you right off the bat, you might think he's crazy, you probably already think he's a little crazy.

"aww, you're gonna miss me".

and mark is unsure of why, but a red hue strikes his formerly vain skin, it's simply mindless teasing, yet he can't help his flustered nature. jesus, he might actually have a heart attack, why did the room suddenly spike in temperature?

if you notice, you make no comment. oh that must've been a good ego boost.

"yeah um.. we've really come a long way since september".

he's sounding a little too sentimental, a break really is nothing, mark guesses donghyuck was right, he does care way too much, even so, he feels it's justified. you stare for a moment, scribbling something in your notebook as your gaze averts. "thanks for not giving up on me, even if i was an unbearable asshole in the beginning".

"don't say that" mark softly chides.

"it's pretty true, you can admit it".

he clears his throat, smile displayed. "so are you gonna come to me friday?"

you nod. "if i don't get caught".

mark doesn't mean to showcase his anxiety in the manner of his expression switch, but hiding his lingering fright has proven him extremely difficult, his mother said it's 'detrimental' to commit such an act.

you tilt your head. "are you okay?"

mark nods much too quickly, rendered somewhat speechless. "fine".

the rest of the day is surprisingly less awkward than he expects.

the week completely exhausts mark, he could probably hang onto his own eye bags at this point. though you feign bright normalcy, it's obvious that you're just as tired, you'll both be wiped out after finals.

yet you seem pretty lighthearted.

"you sure walking is just fine?"

"we could hop the train".

a small frown tugs at mark's lips, but the joke isn't exactly distasteful. "i've never gotten that far" the overcast sky clashes with your dark jacket, it's somewhat of a picturesque image, your best features are explicitly highlighted, even with the shadowed sunlight.

"really? i did once in eighth, the conductor let us off at the middle of nowhere, we got a terrible scolding after that one".

mark's eyebrows furrow, there's a lack of context in that reply, as if you said it to yourself instead of to mark. "us?"

your nose scrunches for a minute. "old foster friend, i used to do everything to get in trouble, he'd tag along for the adventure of it".

"oh".

mark doesn't mean to extend the silence, but talking isn't anything of an accord to you, it's easy to sink into a fit of silence, nothing of a bother.

things appear so young and innocuous outside, sometimes mark believes that nature could be the perfect picture of innocence, if it didn't also harbor an equal opportunity of available danger. he shivers, almost slipping on ice which lays dormant on the floor, no snow yet.

mark wishes he could have not a care in the world, and judging by your circumstances, you clearly do too.

the place is a way's walk, but mark guesses it was good to get in some steps. it appears pretty homely, somewhat aged, the walls are cracked, tiles exposed, and from the captured glimpse of the menus, they're old laminated ones.

you stare with fondness, the smell bringing a sense of warmth to you, as if the place healed your scars. "basically, this place is my home".

"is the food up to par?"

"you don't even have to ask".

mark chuckles, and you can't resist your own corresponding chuckle.

"y/n? is that you?"

at the call of your name you blink, smiling right away. it's an older woman, early fifties probably, her jaw hanging in a manner of recognition. "oh you're so big now!"

"hi mrs. saeng" you don't step away, instead you allow for her to fully embrace you, mark simply observing. "sorry, i know last time i said my next visit would be soon".

"oh it doesn't matter, you're still so adorable!" she squeals as she cups your cheeks, completely rendering you speechless. "and your friend is..?"

"mark" you just barely speak through the squeezing of your cheeks. "he's my classmate".

the woman smiles, a huge, homely smile that strikes comfort mark wasn't exactly expecting. his hands come to clasp in front of him, the typical sweet smile taking over his features. "hi, it's nice to meet you".

she gapes in her spot. "he's even cuter than you! oh my goodness look at his cheeks!"

your nose scrunches up in offense, yet it's clearly feigned. "cuter than me? that's rude to say auntie!"

she crazily fawns before you sit, and as you observe the laminated menus which appear on their last lives, your lips take an upturn, but not at a specific thing, simply at them. "auntie?" he inquires.

you snicker. "there's no relation, she's just an old family friend".

auntie by association, mark guessed that one, he again didn't recognize any sort of relation between you two.

and really, it seems you haven't eaten in a while, mark can't help but observe the tiny things. "did you have breakfast this morning?"

you pause, pretending you are genuinely contemplating something. he's pretty sure you burn your tongue midway through inhaling the bouts of food, yet that seems to be the last of your worries, he can't help the goofy laughter which escapes him at that. "it upsets my stomach".

mark doesn't bother inquiring about lunch, his gaze immediately softening. "you need to make sure you always eat, okay?"

you stare, mark supposes the words appear a bit shallow. sometimes people can barely get out of bed, not even able to roll over to throw off their covers, or fold their blankets, or they find themselves rendered so exhausted that mundane tasks extract so much energy.

but it seems you reply with a soft gaze of your own, radiance carrying your expression. "okay".

mark hums, leaning back in his seat. "so what is this place to you?"

you don't even glance upward. "special spot, it holds good memories, from way before everything that's happened.. well— happened".

"you brought me to your special spot, so i'm special?"

you finally do spare a glance, your smile is one of the prettiest sights ever. "of course".

a smile blossoms over his features, his posture unconsciously straightening. he isn't sure why the news excites him so much, he'll internalize it though.

WHEN IT GETS TO A CERTAIN POINT, MARK IS UNSURE OF HOW HE LIVES through the week. he has always prided himself on his intelligence, it isn't the topics which perturb him, it's the extent of his own mind. his eyes grow heavier with each passing day, his wrists may have gone limp, but he doesn't pass out just yet, a good record in comparison to last year. it's simply exam after exam after exam, blue pen marks clashing in the visions of his dreams. he can't even close his eyes without seeing muddled geometric equations, he's going to begin reciting them in the startling mumbles midway through one of his sleepwalking episodes. it's a miracle how he makes it through finals week, but he does, possibly no bad markings.

the exams happen to be the least of his issues though, throughout his week, he was mainly stuck on christmas, specifically stuck on christmas gifts, specially stuck on christmas gifts for you.

again, you two only have one double period class together, and the week is full of packet after packet, nothing of a technical interaction going down. the somewhat date-y nature of your restaurant outing comforted him through the piercing manner of trigonometry, he guesses it's pretty funny.

mark's mind reverts back to the many moments of you scribbling with your pen in your notebook, the specific mini sketches you have kept placed beside your trig notations, and it becomes clear what he should get you as a gift.

when the week finally comes to a close, mark is simply glad that he's alive, glad that the information didn't all mix into mush, glad that he got a seemingly perfect gift for you.

"okay, how do you think you did?"

a scrunch of your nose is the opted response, but you don't seem any worried. "it should all be fine, i think all the information seeped into my brain".

the reply draws a chuckle, mark allowing for his head to tip downward. "you're probably the reason i passed, have some faith in yourself".

"hey, you have to give yourself some credit too, you're pretty much a genius".

mark, again, blushes. he doesn't mean for it all to shine through, he simply can't help it. you're much too sweet, even through your whispered compliments, terms shyly spilling from your lips while your head remains downturned.

it's.. cute.

you begin picking at your nails, clearing your throat. mark smiles at you; "thanks, but i really couldn't have done it without you".

you definitely want to argue with that, but your mouth plops shut, your eyes darting away. "i'm so fucking tired".

"maybe you should sleep through this break".

you giggle at that one, eyes seemingly getting heavier. "sleeping is really all i can do anyway",

mark hums, attempting to inconspicuously eye the box he carried all around the day. he pays a few glances between before taking in a huge breath, a breath which you causes the furrow of your brows. "um.. uh— okay, don't freak out".

apparently those words do a lot, as you let out possibly the loudest laugh ever since you two became friends. something about his delivery possibly, the amusement manifests in your movement, much less in your laughter. "are you gonna pull out a gun or something?"

mark frowns, true annoyance in naught. "no, i just have a gift for you and i don't—"

your laughter comes to an immediate stop, head tilting sideways, puzzled. "you.. what?"

mark blanks for a moment, the words disappearing into the air. "christmas is coming up, i uh.. you know we won't see each other during christmas, so i got you something".

you blink, dumbfounded, absolutely staggered, as if the act is terribly unheard of. you almost appear terrified, a callback to the moment where you called mark a weirdo for his regard when your knuckles were aptly split.

you're sending him one of those looks.

"why would you— did you spend your own money why would you do that?"

and there's less of disbelief there, more of guilt, guilt mark can't idly place. you shouldn't feel guilty for anything, yet you seem to. "hey, it's okay, it was all in my own will, just open it".

mark is even more excited than you, sliding the completely totally cynical box over despite your insanely watchful eye. your facial muscles twitch in desperation to display your own enthusiasm, but you somehow keep it at bay.

your fingers twitch. "what is it?"

"that would ruin the surprise".

mark is very impatient, tapping his feet incessantly, fingers again coming to repeat the act in a somewhat similar rhythm. you stare down the box, possibly hoping for it to open itself. he begins getting anxious after a moment, the less than rapid unwrapping keeping a tension in the air.

you seem to want to take your time, as if fearing as creature hidden in the box. mark places his hands in his lap, gazing endlessly.

when you finally pear into it, you again tilt your head, blinking. "holy shit".

mark snickers, that has to be a good one. "yeah".

"how did you— why did you— oh my god.."

it's simple, but mark was aware it would have the desired effect. you stare downward, completely and utterly astonished, you don't expect it, of course you don't, yet the reaction is great for mark.

you're out of words for a moment, so mark decides to take that time; "i sort of observed— i mean.. i figured you liked drawing, art, saw your notebook, saw your sketches, it seemed like the perfect gift to get you".

you blink again, simply pure devotion behind your eyes, as if you were one term from confessing your love to him. it's a art set, a cute kit consisting of colored pencils, markers, and even paintbrushes, it looks.. expensive. "how much..?"

"it doesn't matter" he cuts in, clasping his hands. "i wanted to get you something".

that should be enough.

you seem to struggle with what to say, unable to find the exact words until your lips begin trembling. "thank you, i don't know how to repay you".

"you don't have to".

a frown tugs at your lips, you clearly don't like the sound of that one. "i'll get you a gift of your own after the break, don't worry".

mark's nose scrunches, but he can't argue with you, because he really does want a gift, yearns to see what it may all add up to. he clears his own throat, hands smoothing over his thighs.

"i just wanted to get you something because—"

"i know, thank you".

he can't even help staring in the manner he does, his lips taking an upturn, eyes holding remaining regard he's always known he felt.

"it's nothing".

well, mark guesses it is something, he just has to figure out what something exactly entails.

[smooth-perceval]

“My love, my life.”

“We are going to be just fine…”

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

PART ONE

Max Corner

Summary: Max and reader crossed the line in their 3 year friendship, resulting in 2 positive pregnancy test. And 1 baby on the way.

Warnings: 18+ you could say smut- but it’s not very ‘Smutty’ maybe if you squint, pregnancy, swearing, Google translate, Lando being Lando, no proof read.

Key: Y/N (your name), Y/L/N (your last name), biscuit= Cookie, Lando and reader are friends for about 4 years.

Word count: 2,949

A/N: Thank you for the votes 🖤 It has motivated me to now write something 🙂 I’m seeing how this goes, I might even turn it into a series. Anddd I love dad max 🖤

The soft moans, and whispers of each others names was all that painted the walls of the vanilla hotel room. Us both sinning beyond hells gates… Something so wrong feeling so right- like we was both made perfectly for each other.

You could say it was the drink… or the pent up sexual attraction we both craved so badly from one another… either way we both bathed in the moment, showing one another what 3 years worth of “friendship” really meant.

The little touches and glances go along way… they turned into flirty comments and kisses so close to the lips if either had tilted our heads we would’ve been where we are now a lot sooner… Tonight, it turned into Max kissing that little more over, lips brushing slightly. Both breathing heavily questioning wether to go in for a second. And I did, I took the chance to grab him by the collar kissing him. Not just the once though, it turned into three or four little kisses before Max was pushing against the wall and shutting the door blindly.

So we could say Max is to blame here, Max is the reason I’m biting down onto my lip, suppressing any noise he is causing me to make- His blue eyes had me pinned, scared to turn away incase I lose this feeling- this intimacy, this entire moment.

Hovering over me, one hand holding my thigh up the other next to my head supporting himself, his bare chest on view, with only smudged lipstick stains coating him. His hair a little messy from my hands running through and tugging on every strand I could. Lips swollen from the rough kisses of need. The warmth in the room from our heavy breathing causing a thin layer of sweat over us both… and even in such a unhinged moment. He still looked perfect.

And after our night of pleasure, and we had both ‘cleaned up’ me putting on one of Max shirts, him sticking to fresh underwear. We left his room, as if we was naughty teenagers, we tiptoed down to my room, climbing into fresh bedding.

Both laying there staring at each other in complete awe, Max hand reaching up and stroking my cheek and along my jaw. Now letting the sleep slowly evade us, with my eyes closed I heard him whisper the three words I’ve always dreamt he would say… wether he did or not it still felt real to me.

“I love you”

And as if it was a reaction to the words I found myself shuffling closer to his chest. Like he was the protection I needed… the knight in shining armour in every princess story.

**3 Weeks later**

Back home, and was things awkward between me and Max? Yes. Very.

Even Lando picked up on the weird tension. Lando also being a close friend and noticing how we was both frightened to go near each other.

For me? It was scared of going near him and pushing him back into a hotel bed all over again… it was scared of getting to close and getting burned in the long run- because Max wasn’t the type of guy to stick around… not after his last breakup everything was fucked and chucked, and me unfortunately was one of them- or so it feels.

I was attending the Monaco GP, in support of Max & Lando them being my only two friends you could say.

However the weekend turned to not be the best of starts, I had picked up a stomach bug somewhere, as I’ve been sick nearly every morning, sometimes of an evening if I really give into the feeling. I realised eating something small like a biscuit would somewhat cure the sickness… it’s been horrible. I texted both Lando and Max saying I would leave my home once I had felt a bit better in myself, both sending back get well soon messages and updates on what’s happening.

I was adamant on attending the qualifying, so chomping down on a biscuit and sipping on a bottle of water I made my way to the GP. In my bag I had a little bag filled with biscuits. I wasn’t going to let a little tummy ache stop me from watching my boys-

I read online that a stomach bug doesn’t seem to be contagious after a few days, which I was praying was true. If not then I could only apologise to them and beg for forgiveness if I ruin their race…

My first stop was Lando, who was practically jumping when he saw me. Bringing me in the most tightest hug you could imagine-

“Lan- don’t I still feel like I could be sick…” mumbling I rub his back before pulling myself away.

“Oh shit- sorry… wait are you contagious?!” He jumped back holding his hands up like they would defend him.

“It says no online… if I am I’m sorry though…” pouting I shuffled about on my feet. “I just wanted to watch you both race-”

Tutting he rubbed my shoulder, before throwing an arm around both. “It’s okay, longs your not sick in here. We just washed the floors.”

Rolling my eyes I elbowed him in the ribs, “I won’t, I got my biscuits.” Patting my bag I smiled up at him. “And anyways if I was sick it’s normally first thing in the morning, or maybe later… if I stop eating these biscuits.” Eyebrows furrowed Lando tilted his head at me.

“First thing in the morning? Sounds like something else to me.” Humming a teasing tone he lead us both out the garage. Shaking my head in annoyance at him I look around. “Behave Lando.”

“I’m just saying-”

And well him just saying that had my mind reeling… what if? I couldn’t just pull out my phone and check when I was due on my ladies, Lando would see, seeing as his attached to my hip, so in my head I counted back. I should’ve started by now right? I doubt it- I think it’s next week.

Before I know it we was stopping outside red bull’s garage Lando practically screamed for Max, all the engineers turning to look up at him. Some in annoyance and some confused to why he was screaming…

And there he was- Max in all his glory shuffling his way through. Suit unzipped and hanging down at his waist, his fireproofs on show… showing every shape of his body- gulping, my eyes started to wander, slowly remembering every part of him I kissed, where the red lipstick marks were, where to touch that would make him shiver and whisper my name in a warning. As if I was triggering a ticking time bomb- I mean you could say I was that night. I was remembering it all in waves, before it was only a faint memory.

“Y/N! You made it finally…” smiling at each other he came and stood infront of us both. His hand brushing my arm slightly in a little pat/rubbing manner. Yeah it was tense… i felt like screaming, if we hadn’t pushed that boundary, it probably wouldn’t feel so awkward- I had the devil on my shoulder, shouting over the little angel, telling me I should just let him have me right here on the track and claim our own trophy, create our own ‘finish’.

Oh what have you done to me Verstappen.

Clearing his throat Lando patted my bag. “Well lets just ignore the awkwardness… She has her biscuits.” Confused Max looked between us both.

“To keep the sickness away.” Finishing Lando’s sentence with another shake of my head and a small smile at Max.

“Ah- makes sense.” Laughing a little Max turned back to the garage. “Lan I think we’re about to start quali”

“I’ll probably be back and fourth between you both- I’m just going to get some more water…” smiling a little at them both I gave a small wave. “Good luck both of you.”

Both quickly giving nods and a thanks, they ran into the garages suits getting pulled up and zipped in the process.

Now finally away from them both I checked my health app, going back to my last period…

Panic rises through me, I have been stressed so maybe it’s on its way- I’ll do a test later just in case but I’m sure it’s stress, or even many other reasonings but the one that makes sense is the one I’m praying against. I mean it’s only a week, so no panic.

But except I am panicking… Maybe I should go do a test now… put my mind at ease-

Quickly heading back out I sent a text to them both to see, incase I wasn’t back-

“Be back soon- wasn’t feeling great again.”

And then I went straight to the chemist…

Looking between test, hands shaking as I try and read the box, I finally gave up taking them both to the checkout, nervously looking around like somehow someone I knew would catch me. The lady behind the till offered a kind smile, which I quickly returned, paying for the tests and rushing out with the bag mumbling a thank you.

I felt sick again- maybe it was nerves who knew- I mean why am I panicking I have been so stressed lately it could be that- but still what if…

Once I got back to my apartment I headed straight to the bathroom fumbling with the test taking a stick from each and doing them both at the same time- Two test can’t lie…

I was pacing, doing circles around my bedroom as I bit down on my nails. Every few minutes sitting on my bed, before pacing again. It wasn’t until my alarm went off was I finally broken out of my trance. I took a few deep breaths and crept into the toilet, standing in the doorway, I rose to my tiptoes craning my neck-

My stomach dropped, and I found myself stumbling into the toilet reading both test, my head going from left to right as I held both sticks…

[2-3 Weeks] and the other [3+ weeks]

There it was the sickness again, dropping to my knees I curled myself around the toilet letting every little bit of sick come up… all the nerves building up in my body and raking through.

When I was finally able to get away from the toilet bowl, I got up brushing my teeth and washing my face… trying to stop the little tears, why am I crying? I’m terrified-

How the fuck do I tell Max?

Feeling sorry for myself, I crawled into my bed breathing in and out slowly… I am absolutely terrified.

Somewhere from my racing mind and the tossing and turning I dozed off only waking up to the sound of my door being nearly knocked down.

Rushing out of bed I head downstairs looking through the peep hole.

“Lando you knock like the police-” muttering I unlock the door letting him in.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at qualifying?” Frowning i move over to the door before turning back to look at him.

“Y/N that finished about an hour ago…” concerned flashed over his face as he brought me into a hug.

“Maybe we should go to the doctors, maybe he can get this sickness sorted…” mumbling he rubbed my back soothingly, rocking us a little.

“I know what it is Lan…” I felt it again the burning in my throat as I tried holding back the tears… my eyes welling up at even the thought.

“I know I know- but maybe he can give you something like an anti-sickness tablet?” I shook my head wiping underneath my nose with my sleeve, hand on the door handle as I went to shut it.

“Oh wait-”

“I’m pregnant…” whispering I covered my mouth hoping that if I trapped the sound it wouldn’t make it real.

Lando’s shock was evident as he stared back, hand in the air still pointing at the door, his mouth creating an ‘o’ shape.

“Did you say pregnant?” A familiar voice was heard that defiantly wasn’t Lando’s.

My head felt like it was going to snap as I looked back at the door, and once again there he was, trying to squeeze himself in the little gap I had left him from trying to shut the door…

My heart pounded as I watched him, hoping he would show some emotion to put my mind at ease but nothing… the silence in the room from us three was unbearable.

“Well congratulations!” Lando grabbed ahold of me again hugging me tight, my eyes were still glued on Max, waiting on anything. But nothing he just stood there frozen. And that somewhat annoyed me more- it was both our faults that I’m in this situation I don’t expect anything from him but the recognition.

Lando pulled away looking between us both with a smile, “So have we got uncle duties? Are you going for an early scan? Who’s the dad?”

Shaking my head at Lando I push past him, trying to get away. I would rather Max saying he doesn’t care there stand there saying nothing at all… “Y/N I didn’t mean to ask so many questions-” Lando was rushing in behind me, before more footsteps were heard and then Max was seen.

“Is it mine?” Eyebrows furrowed, was he angry? He has a right to be angry. I’m angry. Lando bursted out into a fit of laughter smacking Max’s arm “Flirting with each other doesn’t make someone pregnant you idiot.” Now both with confused looks we turned our heads looking at Lando.

“Of course it’s yours.” Shaking my head I looked back at Max.

“Are you sure?”

“What you trying to accuse me of here Max?”

The realisation finally hit Lando as he pointed between us both.

“I’m not accusing you of anything but, I have a right to ask if there had been anyone else don’t you think.”

“Yeah sure because I do that kind of stuff.” Stepping closer he shrugged slightly, which only added fuel to the fire, my voice getting slightly louder.

“Oh come on Max! You’ve known me 3 fucking years.” Tears started spilling down my face, and I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t stop them.

“You guys fucked?!” Once again we both was staring at Lando, merely a few feet away from each other. Both nodding our heads slowly.

“Is that why it’s so fucking awkward to be around you both?!” And once again we both just nodded our heads, both looking lost, like deers in some headlights.

“When did this happen?!” Lando’s hands went in the air as he stepped closer.

“Three weeks ago…” whispering I looked down at my feet.

“None of you told me that something happened. I’m supposed to be yours two friend as well. You were both my friends before each others! I should’ve been told!”

“Because that’s so important right now Lan.” Max glared at him as if he was trying to silence him with his eyes, but if anything that spurred him on more.

“It is to me. That’s just fucking unfair.”

“How is it unfair?! It was a silly drunk mistake Lando. It’s not like we’re hiding a big fucking thing from you. We aren’t together- it was one night.”

“Well Y/N is pregnant now. That’s a big thing?! It’s your baby!”

Sniffling I looked back up at Max. “It was a mistake?” I should’ve know, I somewhat did know but it still stung hearing him say the truth- maybe I was imagining what I heard that night…

Max hands came up tugging at his hair.

“Yeah it was a mistake you should’ve told me!” Lando raised his voice, throwing a tantrum like a child, foot stomping against the floor hands balled into fists.

“You both need to leave.” Turning away I went and sat down on the sofa, hands gripping the edge, trying to hold down any emotions that wanted to show.

“Leave.”

“No we need to talk about this. I can’t do this Y/N!” Max was now moving closer gesturing wildly around.

“I didn’t ask you to do anything Max. Apart from leave.”

“No I want to stay, I want to talk.”

“Talk or scream at each other?” Tilting my head I looked up at him wiping my face. “Like you said it was a stupid mistake. I can deal with it on my own. Now go.” I looked between him and Lando.

“No, I can’t be involved in this stuff Y/N. What about my career?!” Scoffing I stood back up. “Your career?! This stuff?! Two was to blame for that night not just me.” Pushing his chest slightly moving him towards the door, grabbing Lando’s arm on the way who only hissed. Shoving them both out the door, both screaming their own protest but neither stopping me from pushing them away, I went to slam it behind them, only for Max to out his foot in the way.

“We can’t do this Y/N…” it felt as if he was staring into my soul, trying to change my mind on the matter, I wasn’t going to be doing anything stupid over our “stupid mistake”.

“I can… Now leave. And neither of you speak to me… years of friendship for what? Some friends you both are.” Spitting words with venom at them both I slammed the door against Max foot before using all my body weight I pushed against his foot until it slammed shut finally. Max giving up any chance he had to change my mind.

We are going to be just fine…

A/N: So this is part one, as I felt like I was typing for ages and dragging on- it is a bit all confusing I think I had a skim read and I’m confusing myself lollll but this is going to be a little mini series I think, cause it gives me a chance to section everything I want out of this “love” story with Max.

I got the title idea from listening to ABBA 🙂 I was thinking about Max saying it to the baby or something idk we will see when we get there 🖤

Masterlist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 28

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

The visit from the detective quickly drifts to the back of your mind. You have enough to worry about without dwelling over the unfortunate victim of the break-in. It’s only Cole that reminds you of the strange early morning drop-in as he recounts it to Peter.

It’s just after noon as you set a fresh batch of cookies into the display and Cole wonders about the mystery intruder. Would they come here? Where did they break into? Why? Maybe he should look into a better security system.

Peter is more interested than you are. You continue to transfer the oatmeal raisin, one by one with the tongs, as soft instrumental flows from the new bluetooth speaker Cole installed to add to the atmosphere. It just makes you sleep, you suppose that would drive peoples’ caffeine addiction.

As Peter goes to grab his apron, Cole goes to replace the dark roast filter as a new batch is needed. You stop setting out the cookies to ring through a new customer. The steady flow helps keep you from thinking too much. 

You hand over the medium roast and a muffin and watch the man still yammering to his Airpod leave. You turn back as there’s a sudden clamour and Cole gasps as he tears open a preloaded filter and the grinds explode over him. You really wish he would stick to the back office.

“Oh my,” you grab a tea towel as he coughs, turning to you with coffee all over his face. You can’t help but laugh through your irritation.

“What’s going on?” Peter comes out as he ties his apron. “Oh sh–” he guffaws as he points at Cole, “bruh.”

You tut and shake your head. You take the shredded package from Cole and toss it. You turn back to him and dust the grounds off his face with the towel, letting them fall to the floor.

“Get the broom, Peter,” you say as Cole’s blue eyes fixate on you. He keeps his hands slightly out as he watches you. His gaze bores into you hotly, as if he can’t look away. “Well, I think maybe it’s about time you go back and get some of your own work done,” you reproach.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t… I’m so clumsy,” he smiles, his cheeks rosy as you wipe away more of the coffee, moving down his neck to his collar and sweeping away even more.

“Well, you’re going to smell delicious,” you kid as you use your hand to dust off his shirt.

He steps closer, surprising you. More of the grounds litter onto the floor as Peter shuffles in the storage room. Cole seems to lean in but you’re quickly distracted as the cafe door swings open. You step back and clutch the cloth as you face the new customer.

“I shoulda fucking guessed it,” Lloyd lets the door fall open behind him, “I knew you were lying.”

Shit. You’re speechless as he struts across the room, stopping just on the other side of the counter, “kinda fucking funny you’d lie about working at a cafe but I guess I know why.”

Lloyd glares at Cole who stares back in confusion. “Uh, hello, can we get you something–”

“You can shut your mouth. This a conversation between me and her,” Lloyd shoos him with his fingers, “really, this jag off? You’re over here pushing coffee–”

“Please, just go, we can talk after I’m done–”

“No, no, I want the truth. I wanna know who I got in my home? Is it Mimi or a slut?”

“Woah, hey, hey,” Cole steps closer to you, palms out pleadingly, “hey, guy, calm down. You can’t talk to her like that.”

“And who the fuck are you? Shut the fuck up,” Lloyd snarls.

“Wait, wait,” Cole nudges you slightly behind him, “I know you– you broke my windshield.”

“Huh,” Lloyd scoffs and smirks, “that was you? In hindsight, I shoulda done more.”

“What the…” you mutter.

“Look, you’re going to have to leave if you’re not getting anything. And if you’re going to continue to harass my employee, we won’t serve you. So please, let’s be polite–”

“Polite? Polite?” Lloyd blusters, laughing like a hyena, “I’ll show you fucking polite.”

Lloyd grabs the tip jar before either of you can react. He whips it at Cole, hitting him in the jaw, before launching himself across the counter. You cry out as Cole recoils, thrown off balance as Lloyd latches onto his collar. They hit the espresso machine and grunt, rolling around against the counters and shelves as they struggle with each other.

“Peter!” You shout terrified as you stay back, trying not to get caught up in the entangled men. “Peter, call the police–”

Lloyd grunts as he head snaps back. Cole shakes out his fist as he detaches from the other man, and cocks his arm, setting his feet. He grits his teeth as Lloyd wipes the blood away from his nose and brings his own fists up.

“Wanna fuck around?” Lloyd snarls.

“Lloyd, stop!” You shout.

“I got farmer strength, buddy, don’t make me use it,” Cole warns. It’s a bit lame but you don’t think he could be mean if he tried.

“Woah, woah,” Peter rushes in, getting between them with the broom, pointing the handle at Lloyd, “who the hell is Mr. Caterpillar?”

“Stay out of this, boy,” Lloyd warns as he grabs the broom.

“No, no,” you exclaim and grab the broom, twisting it as you insert yourself between Lloyd and the others. Peter lets go and you jab the handle up, sending Lloyd’s hand into his jaw. He releases the broom as you hold it up defensively. “Leave now. Leave me alone. What I do is none of your business. That’s what you said. So go.”

He huffs and juts his chin out, cradling it as his nostrils flare. He looks behind you at Cole and Peter. His eyes search the room like a wolf searching for prey. He curls his lip and spits blood onto the floor.

“You’re fucking right we’re going to talk later,” he steps closer and you sense both the men behind you do the same, “keep up the hard work, Mimi.”

He enunciates the last two syllables venomously. He turns and grabs the milk frother, shoving it to the ground in a crash. You bring the broom horizontal to stop Peter and Cole as they try to charge him. You shake your head and whisper, stop.

Lloyd shoulders past you and hops back over the counter, his sole slipping on the tile and nearly sending him onto his ass. He growls in frustration and stomps to the door. He stops to look back at you, pointing at Cole then turns his hand to flip him off.

“Just you wait, bud, I got a spare tire iron with your fucking name on it.”

He rips open the door and storms out. You take a breath, shaking as you lower the broom. You hang your head and feel your insides crumple.

“I’m sorry, Cole,” you turn to the men, “and Peter, I’m sorry to you too. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

“Who was that guy?” Peter asks.

“Don’t be sorry,” Cole undercuts, “you did nothing wrong. That wasn’t… your ex? The cop?”

"With a mustache like that, he definitely reads cop," Peter snorts.

You shake your head. You don’t even know how to explain it. You can barely think.

“Hey, hey,” Cole takes the broom gently from you, “hey, you’re shaking like crazy. Why don’t you sit down?”

Peter looks at the store front then back to you, “I should follow that douche–”

“Please,” you gulp as you let Cole take you by the arm and gently lead you away, “please, I don’t–” your voice cracks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

You can’t help but repeat the words over and over. Not just for them, but to the man in your head raining down punches on you and the man who just left. You’re sorry for all of it.