#and again cold shoulder is not a mature way to handle things - but it's IC & tbh she has every right to be pissed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkspine10 · 9 months ago

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GF Fanfic - The Cabin in the Woods

Tangled Roots (8,853words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 2/7

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Mature

Breathing in a lungful of cold air, Pacifica decided that a walk in the woods was the exact thing she needed right now. It was nice not to walk with any particular destination in mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wandered like this, without even the vague goal of ‘completing a hike’ to drive her onwards. She could let her thoughts drift and appreciate the shade of the trees beneath a patchy azure sky.

She was brought back to reality when she stumbled over a tree root. Her heels had been a poor choice. She hadn’t dressed for this at all. A desire for class and style had come before any mad ideas of tramping through the undergrowth. A thrill raced through her and she was a teenager again. Back when she was constantly defying her parents, trying to fit in with the Pines twins and getting it all wrong and having the time of her life.

Ahead of her Manly Dan briefly looked back to make sure she was alright from her trip, then carried on forwards. He kept his shoulders hunched and Pacifica half-expected to feel the earth shake after every step he took, so determined was his stride. He hadn’t said so much as a word since they’d left the graveyard.

Pacifica carefully stepped over slippery leaves and twisting tree roots, concentrating so hard on her feet she had the feeling that her spine wasn’t quite straight. That was probably another symptom of her changed body shape. The guilty culprit had drifted off into a nap in her arms, gently rocked by the motion.

A small stream they passed was partly frozen over, with chunks of ice jostling each other amidst the flow. Though it wasn’t currently snowing, Pacifica guessed another flurry would be on the way. It had been a harsh winter even as far back as October. Her husband wasn’t a fan of this type of weather but she’d come to tolerate the infrequent cold snaps over the years growing up here. Despite all that she longed to curl up next to a warm fire.

Corduroy didn’t seem to notice the temperature, though he also didn’t notice much of anything. He lifted a branch up for Pacifica, causing drifts of snow to fall. She politely edged past him and saw a small cabin built of wooden logs dead ahead. A trail of smoke snaked lazily into the air from the chimney. Pacifica suppressed her critic’s eye towards the house. It might be small and crudely put together, but it was a damn sight more inviting than any house her parents’ had ever lived in.

Next to the ramshackle dwelling sat a rusting campervan, unused for years. Over half of the surrounding trees had deep axe cuts visible. Evidently Manly Dan had trained his kids on proper lumberjack techniques from an early age. Pacifica held her nose as she tiptoed past discarded axes and beer bottles strew across the clearing. On the air she picked up a whiff of drifting woodsmoke. “Boy’ll have the fire on,” Corduroy said as if reading her thoughts. He marched forwards and out of the snow.

Pacifica followed, though became wary as she approached. Above the cabin’s door hung a metal hacksaw. She had visions of it coming loose and slicing down on an unsuspecting visitor. Embedded into a stump beside the door was a shining metal axe. The handle was a single varnished branch of wood. It had a sort of functional beauty that Pacifica could admire, practical but pleasing at the same time. The blade was certainly sharp enough, honed to such a degree that she couldn’t imagine any tree lasting long against an assault. Having seen her fill of blades, Pacifica pushed the door open.

Though the cabin wasn’t large, it was impossibly smaller on the inside. A single support trunk held up the roof of the central hall, as if it had grown right out of the floorboards. Pacifica found the sound of the corrugated metal roof vibrating as it was buffeted by the wind oddly nostalgic. The thin separation between the outside reminded her of sleepovers in the attic of the Mystery Shack.

Unlike that structure, the inside of the Corduroy’s cabin was nicely insulated. A black metal stove housed a crackling fire attended by one of Manly Dan’s burly sons; Kevin or Gus, she recalled, were the names of his younger kids, though for the life of her she couldn’t place which of the two it was. He was now anywhere from his late teens to mid-twenties. He showed no reaction to her presence. Either he’d been given an advanced heads-up from his father in the few seconds she’d lingered on the porch or else he was profoundly uncurious. Pacifica suspected the latter.

Corduroy had barely taken the time to shake his boots free of clumps of mud and snow before heading to one of the few adjacent doors. Pacifica counted only four doors, one each for Manly Dan and Wendy; the boys must have had to share a bedroom, and she guessed the spare was a storeroom of some kind.

“Here we are,” Corduroy said in a matter of fact way. He walked towards one of the doors and stopped short, inviting Pacifica to breach the threshold. Swallowing, she pushed into Wendy’s bedroom. The thing she was struck by was how mundane it was. Wedny’s possessions had been left as they were whenever she moved out or last visited. Manly Dan wasn’t the sort of person who would dwell on the past. The thought of coming in here had probably not occurred to him before today.

It wasn’t Pacifica’s first time in the room. She’d spent a few evenings with Wendy and Mason, watching crappy 50’s B-movies. It had been nice, gleefully mocking the films and laughing in a mutual irony. It was the closest she’d come to properly sharing an interest with the girl. Even though Pacifica had spent most of those movie nights stealing glances at Mason (before he was even clued in enough to be aware of her interest), she remembered the posters plastered over Wendy’s walls. Old horror movies were a big focus, and edgy metal bands of the kind Pacifica had never got into.

Her gaze took in the rest of the room. A yellow road safety sign, genuine no doubt, with a stick figure. A pile of dusty VHS tapes sat under a garish floral lamp with a cracked bulb. A blue and white baseball cap, merch from the Mystery Shack, wedged beneath a pillow. Pacifica’s eye was caught by a glimmer of light flashing behind the red flannel curtains. She brushed them aside and set swinging a hanging glass prism in the shape of a heart. She held the crystal heart in place, fascinated as to its significance. Her mind was abuzz. Did Wendy make this thing herself? Was it special in some way? Or was it simply a distraction that she’d outgrown? She’d never know.

She let the thing hang loose and watched the light dance in the room. Manly Dan entered behind her. His eyes panned around with disinterest, before alighting on a bobble hat resting on one of the bedposts, which were made out of simple cut logs of course. He picked up the hat, which was so small it could have only belonged to a child. “This was Wendy’s,” Corduroy said redundantly. He ran his thumb along the soft stitching. Without saying a word Pacifica could tell this was his way of expressing his grief. She raised a weak smile. It seemed Manly Dan processed and repressed his trauma in much the same way she did.

Pacifica perched on the edge of the bed, putting Leah down for a moment to rest her arms. Something prodded at her from below. Pacifica grimaced, and with two delicate fingers lightly picked up a bra and tossed it aside. The bed was messy, with all sorts of clothes strewn across it. Pacifica found that oddly more affecting than if it had been neatly made. It suggested a purpose, a life, that wouldn’t come again.

“What am I doing here?” she said aloud the room. Manly Dan turned his head to look at her but didn’t speak. It felt insane that she was here in this room. Wendy had never been her friend, not really. It wasn’t Pacifica’s place to disturb this place or bring her own issues into things. This was someone else’s personal space, their relics, their memories, and she was violating it. She picked up Leah, startling the baby into wakefulness, and stood up robotically, making for the door.

“We’ve got some meat on the stove if you want to stick around some more,” Corduroy said, stopping her in her tracks. “We can… talk about things.”

She clenched and unclenched her fists, then took a deep breath. “You know what? That sounds pretty nice. Why not add another weird detour to today. Let’s eat, Corduroy.”

Meat turned out to be a smoked possum one of the family had shot earlier that day. Pacifica poked at her portion with her fork and took a few small nibbles to be polite. She’d eaten stranger things before, especially whenever the Pines twins were preparing the food. She had thought to bring some baby food in her purse that morning, so at least Leah was eating decently. After a few minutes of quiet dinner, the Corduroy kid left for some chore or another, leaving her alone with Manly Dan.

Whatever private barriers she’d been holding up finally broke down. “I’m sorry your daughter died. That I couldn’t save her. She made that choice, I know that. She chose the sacrifice move. But I’m sorry I didn’t know her better. So I could keep a part of her alive, as a memory. She saved my life. I feel like I owe her that much.”

Corduroy didn’t smile, but she detected an appreciation from her words as his expression changed ever-so slightly. “Thank you. Wendy would’ve been glad to hear words like that.” He patted Pacifica on the back, nearly making her cough up the scraps she’d eaten with the force. “I wish I’d seen her more too. Wendy wasn’t around much by the end. She was moving on finding her own way in the world. Every father hopes to see that someday, even if it hurts.”

“She found a cause,” Pacifica offered tentatively. She wasn’t sure what details he knew. “Joining a technocratic cult and becoming an assassin probably wasn’t what you had in mind for her, huh.” Manly Dan simply raised an eyebrow, otherwise unfazed. “She did it for positive reasons, in the end. God knows she made some mistakes, but she wanted to make the world a better place. More ambition than I’ve ever possessed.” Pacifica jabbed at the roast possum some more, unsure what else to say. She thought she was being awkward by dredging up these topics. Pivoting to a new subject seemed best. “So, how’s things been with you lately? Still… logging, or whatever?”

“I take what I can get, here and there. People always need more wood. That May Pines isn’t helping though. Nice girl, but her treehugger friends seem to treat every felled redwood as a criminal act.”

“That’s my sister-in-law for you.” Pacifica waved a dismissive hand. “Sometimes her opinions sound like a first year poli-sci student, but she’s got her heart in the right place.”

Manly Dan scratched his beard. “You know I used to work for the Northwest’s logging company, back when they were still running it. You and your friends kind of cost me my job.”

“Sorry.” Pacifica winced, avoiding eye contact and twisting her fork around pointlessly. One could hardly blame a 12 year old for upending the town’s economy. It’s not like she wasn’t used to mounting bills. She was technically unemployed herself right now.

“Ah, it’s nothing. I moved on to working for that McGucket fella after he came into money. Renovating that manor of yours to his standards. I go there now and again, firewood delivery for Tate McGucket. The place still feels haunted.”

“Sorry,” she said again. “If it’s any consolation we dealt with the curse and the ghost.” Archibald Corduroy. He was the spectre she’d pacified all those years ago. Thinking about the ramifications of her family’s cruelty hadn’t been high on her agenda back then. “Your family probably had more reason than most to hate the Northwests. My ancestors did all sorts of evil shit to yours.”

“Hmph, it’s not your fault, girl.”

“That doesn’t make it any less my responsibility to make up for it.” Pacifica noticed her voice becoming raised. “I mean, that’s the whole reason I’m out here, isn’t it? Trying to sort out all my issues like it’s that easy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.” She patted Leah on the head, watching her babble, then fed her another spoonful of baby food. “I thought I knew who I was,” she whispered. “I’d broken away from my asshole parents and found true friends. But I still feel like I’m not who I want to be. I haven’t been this confused since I was a kid. Even when I found out I was infertile…” Manly Dan coughed into his fist and Pacifica quickly moved on. “Let’s just say 2023 was a shitty year. Even then I didn’t feel quite this uncertain.” She took a deep breath to reign in her temper. When she spoke her voice was trembling. “What do you do when you’ve been through so much awful crap, and you reach a good place in life - no, a great place - and it still doesn’t satisfy you? Am I being greedy, is it in my nature to always want life to be better? Now I’m venting all my issues to some guy I barely know - who’s the dad of someone I barely knew! How sad is that?”

Silence echoed around the room. Corduroy wore a soft expression, a mix between sympathy and finding himself out of his depth. After some time he got up and wandered away from the table. Pacifica stared down at the fleshy carcass on her plate, not knowing what else to do. Clearly she wasn’t wanted here. She was about to say something but was startled when Manly Dan sat back down with a crash - it was hard for a man of his stature to do anything quietly.

“You want guidance? I might have something.” Clutched in one of his paws was a necklace, wreathed in black feathers, in the shape of a bird skull. As Pacifica examined it she recoiled, guessing it was probably genuine bone. Small blue gemstones sat lodged in the empty eye sockets.

“A dead pigeon skull is supposed to guide me?”

“It’s an osprey skull,” he said defiantly. “Handed down to me by my father-”

“And his father before him, etcetera, et fucking cetera, am I right?” Her smirk only grew when he said a reluctant yes. “So what’s the deal with it?” She took the amulet and turned it over in her hands. Apart from a gradually fading dark colouration of the beak it was bleached white. The feathers were interwoven with the band alongside small wooden tokens. There were small carved rectangles and spheres decorated with intricate swirls.

Manly Dan delighting in an air of superiority, happy to have dented her ego and made her curious. “There are some things even your family doesn’t have a monopoly on knowledge about.”

“My family? Oh, the Pines, right.” Thanks to their prior conversation she’d instinctively thought of herself as a Northwest, a notion she was glad to have disabused.

“Know-it-alls, the lot of ‘em,” Corduroy continued. “I already mentioned May Pines, but your husband likes to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong too. I remember when I was a kid his great uncle was much the same.”

“Wait, you mean Stanford? You met him way back then?” Pacifica put down the skull, her interest piqued. She had always regarded Ford with a tempered admiration. Everyone else treated him as this genius, and she’d seen many examples of his work. His portals and sci-fi weapons and body-swap carpets were certainly technical marvels. At the same time he was very capable of getting in over his own head, as his failings with Cipher had proved. It seemed to be a trait that ran in the family.

“He employed my help with some kind of research exorcism,” Corduroy continued. “He exorcised this very cabin.”

Pacifica looked around the room into all the nooks and crannies with the silly idea that she might see some trace of a ghost pop out at any second. “You do realise if the twins had simply asked you how many fingers their uncle was supposed to have you’d have changed the course of Weirdmageddon.”

“It never came up,” he said gruffly as if that was the end of the matter. “But you, you’re different. You’re a native. Born in this valley. You may not have Corduroy blood, but you’re attuned to fundamental bones of the valley.”

“Do you mean that in a good way or not?”

“I mean that you might have a chance of understanding what this totem represents. It’s a legacy I never had a chance to show my daughter.”

The mention of Wendy made something snap inside Pacifica. Suddenly her interest in the amulet waned. “I suppose you want to tell me about a mythical creature on the loose? Or some ancient sacred stone circle or hidden cave. And you expect me to, what, conquer my demons? Fight some obvious representation of my repressed emotions? No thank you. My husband went through all that over Christmas with his parents. Frankly, running through it again sounds exhausting.” She looked out the window, tired of this conversation. “Look, it’s getting dark.” That didn’t mean much at this time of year, when it got dark around 4pm. Still, she didn’t relish the idea of stomping back through the pitch-black woods all on her own and it was as good a reason as any to excuse herself.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Corduroy said as she rose from the table. “I’m only offering you a chance to find some inner peace.” Pacifica lifted Leah into her arms and strode to the door. “You wanted to bridge the gap between our families? This is your opportunity.”

Pacifica’s hand halted in mid-air, inches from the door latch. After everything her family had inflicted on these people she was duty-bound to try and rectify it. “Goddamnit,” she muttered, turning around and sighing. “Fine, lay it on me. I’ll hear you out, if nothing else.”

Manly Dan eagerly shuffled forwards in his seat, pointing to the bony trinket that apparently held such significance. “The stories go back before the first settlers came with the wagon trains. Before Nathaniel Northwest ever set his sights on ruling this town.” Pacifica gave him a stony look. “Hmmph, moving on… this town is infamous for the magical folks roaming about. For something to stay hidden and obscured is a challenge. But there was one being that was unspoken by all but the anointed.”

“So the Corduroy family, they knew this secret?” Pacifica tried to keep her tone respectful. There was no point making fun of Manly Dan, as this was by far the most open and talkative she’d ever known from him.

“We took on the mantle. It didn’t begin with us. The entity dwelled in Devil’s Lake, as the Siletz Indians called it. They drove the evil spirit out with sacrifice. When it found Gravity Falls it was unprepared.” He picked up the amulet and held its sightless eyes up so the gems glinted in the light of the fire, still roaring in the stove. “The natives of this land knew many mystical rituals and remedies. They even knew of Bill Cipher. Most of the settlers ignored their words, but the Corduroys had nowhere else to turn after the great mudfloods. While others cared little for the mysteries of our new home, our family accepted them.”

“When you say ‘entity’, what do you mean?” Pacifica wanted to scooch closer to the fire. The room had taken on a decidedly chilly air.

“By rights I can’t say. A dark survivor of the world’s primordial past? An interloper from the outer realms of existence? All I can say is that it predates mankind. It lurks in the shadows of the unseen mind and feeds on the disillusioned and dispossessed. It is darkness incarnate. The only name it has ever known is the Unshriven.”

“Sounds spooky.”

Corduroy slammed a first on the table. “I don’t tell you this lightly, girl!” Pacifica jumped in her seat, then frowned, not fond of being patronised. Leah started crying and she grimaced at the lumberjack. Breathing in and out, Corduroy leant back in his chair. “Sorry.”

“It’s going to take all day to calm her down after that. A big scary guy like you should know better than to traumatise a kid for life.” She began rocking Leah, succeeding in calming her despite a continued look of fright remaining on the baby’s face. “Go on with your story,” she added with a sly smile, “I’m not done listening.”

“Once in a generation it was the task of a first-born Corduroy to seek out and quiet the beast’s mournful existence. Wearing the amulet you see before you allowed us to perceive the creature’s existence where no others might. It is said they would come of age once they quelled the horrors for another lifetime.” Corduroy handed Pacifica the sacred relic. She peered closely at the skull and feathers and once again failed to detect anything out of the ordinary. Then again, the adage appearances can be deceiving had often proven true in her line of adventuring. Corduroy grinned, keenly aware that Pacifica was beginning to get hooked by his tale. “There was more than hollow glory. Rumour has it that encountering the creature brought equal parts luck and dread. Corduroy fortunes would alway increase after a successful hunt. It was as if a lack of the Unshriven’s presence brought a measure of balance to the valley.”

“‘It was said’, ‘rumours say’.” Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Do you have any proof to go along with this fancy narrative? It seems like a pretty big pill to swallow, that there’s some mega-ghoul running around that no-one else has ever bumped into. Have you even seen it for yourself?”

“Once. I saw this nightmare myself when I was 17. My father sent me out with the amulet to slay the beast once and for all. I’m ashamed to say I failed.”

“What makes you think I’ll have any luck then?” Impulsively her fingers traced the curve of the bone. It was frigid to the touch. “This is your big gesture of reconciliation? You’re sending me to find a freaky apparition out of a fairytale?”

“You’re not a Corduroy. Perhaps your approach will prove… different from ours.” She noted he resisted saying she would be better than his family’s methods. He wasn’t about to cede that much ground. “It may bring you a measure of peace.”

“Peace. You said that already. My name, Pacifica, means ‘peaceful’. How’s that for a joke? My parents’ last laugh.” She swiftly grabbed the bone amulet off the table and made to leave again with Leah. “Look, thanks for the bedtime story but I’ve gotta go. I can’t guarantee I’ll find your ‘Unshriven’, if it even exists. I’ll consider your proposal, that’s all.”

“You’ll likely find it prowling in the eastern forest along the foothills. Good luck,” he said, but she was already out of the room, blasted by a draft of cold air that drowned the lumberjack’s words.

As she trekked back through the snow Pacifica tried to push thoughts of the amulet out of her mind. All of Corduroy’s words made her more sure that coming here had been a waste of time. She was no closer to resolving her issues on any matter, let alone the tenuous link between her family and the Corduroys. She had no intention of following through by getting lost in the wild blue yonder in search of… what? A myth shrouded in twenty layers of hearsay and Chinese whispers, that was what.

Pacifica crested the edge of the clearing and took a last look at the cabin. She imagined Wendy stepping out of the door, present and alive as she’d never be again. She turned and walked on, her overriding thought to forget today’s diversion. Yet even as she was sure that absolutely nothing could make her want to investigate the rumour, a nagging part of her psyche was whispering in her ear. “Go on… tug on that thread, see where it takes you…”

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #pacifica northwest #manly dan #wendy corduroy

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allandoflimbo · 3 years ago

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Ashens (Part 21)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,800

Chapter Warning: Smut. Strong language. Non-consensual elements, but not non-con.

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

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Too many things have been different lately.

Between the both of you, there had been too many silences just like this, but this time it was different.

It was different because you knew your kiss with Pietro had affected Bucky. This time the silence was because Bucky was upset.

Back at the anti-climatic ball, after your meltdown with Pietro, you both spoke for a few more minutes before you excused yourself. Pietro was disappointed at your sudden departure, but he nodded, not digging any further. Before you’d left he had given you had address and he told you you could stop by whenever you wanted. He reminded you to stay safe with a kiss on your forehead.

He didn’t pry and you appreciated that. You put your ear piece back in and Bucky had taken extra long seconds to reply. The rest of the night his responses were one worded.

You both ended up finding Silas and Ashen’s men by the corner of the bar. You had eavesdropped and was able to confirm that the delivery tonight was for a tested cure for the virus and it was going to be administered to Ashen’s son, Ashens.

It was going to arrive at the back alley way at nine, but it wouldn’t even be administered until tomorrow afternoon. Ashens would be transferred from the tower to his home.

“We’re done here.” Bucky’s voice had come from your ear piece.

“What? We’re barely done.” You responded.

“Tonight is just the delivery. What I’m interested in is tomorrow. I’ll have to stake. Let’s go home.”

“Buck-“

“Meet you back where we were.”

beep.

The short walk to your hotel had been silent. Awkward.

You knew he had heard you. You were glad he did.

He deserved to know you had a choice in this. He also deserved to know you deserved better.

But what bothered you was that you knew the kiss bothered him but he was too proud to admit it to you.

You needed him to tell you. Him glooming was not doing you well.

Bucky had been frozen to the spot as he overheard you on the other end. He could move or breathe as he heard Pietro kissing you, as he heard you moaning for another man.

He could feel the blood pumping in his head along with the sudden feeling of pure regret.

He felt regret at not taking the initiative that he should have. He knows he has no right to feel the way he does right now, but he does. He feels the heartbreak and the jealousy over you kissing someone that wasn’t him.

He had been wanting to the last two weeks. At first, he had held himself back, now allowing himself to go down that path of intimacy, but it had began to get harder.

Bucky was going crazier for you, bit by bit.

He knew what you two had was only physical, and he knows he has no right to feel the way he does especially with how he had pushed you away, but he regrets it all.

He regrets the way he handled it.

What killed him the most about Pietro kissing you though, was the fact that Pietro was clearly a better guy for you.

Something Bucky could never be.

Not that you even wanted him anymore.

It took him two months to finally want you for more than sex and you had moved on.

He couldn’t speak to you. Not when it hurt him so much. Not when you drove him crazy the way you did.

He could still feel his heart beating just as quickly as it had an hour ago. What he felt around you didn’t even compare to how he felt around Daisy.

His relationship with Daisy had been carefree and easy.

You were a hurricane.

He wishes he could tell you everything he’s feeling, but he knows it’s for the best that he doesn’t.

You both take the elevator up to your room, silently. His eyes stays on the floor, his hands in his pockets.

Look at me. You think to yourself. Tell me what you’re thinking.

After walking through the door to your room, you turn around to face him.

You couldn’t see his face. He had been quick to avoid you and he was already turning the other way, making his way towards the bed.

The bed where he took your heart many times and squeezed it his fingers.

Little did you know that you had been doing the same to his.

His silence was overbearing and your heart tore at his facial expression.

He didn’t hold that blank look he usually held when he didn’t want to show emotions.

This time he bared it all for you. His face was fallen and he was trying his best to keep it down.

You hated this silence. You hated the lack of communication that complicated this relationship.

You and Bucky no longer made any sense.

This wasn’t sex without feelings. This was far from it.

You had expected to gain so much more after your kiss from Pietro - freedom and strength. Instead, you felt confused.

He was still quiet and the tension in the loft was thick.

“What are we doing?” You asked breathlessly, breaking the ice and literally mentioning the elephant in the room.

What was this?

You watched as he loosened his black tie from around his neck, pulling it up over his sharp jaw and head.

“I don’t know.” He says quietly. His voice sounds broken, life he was on the brink of giving up.

He sits down gently, and the bed sinks down with him.

He reaches down and removes each of his dress shoes one by one. He does it slowly.

You walk up to him and stare down at him in a clouded daze of mixed emotions.

He’s stopped and reluctantly looked up at you, eyes pausing at your hands for just a moment first.

Your face showed him that you were begging him to communicate, begging him to get off his chest what he needed.

It hurt you that he couldn’t do it.

Again, he was unhappy about your kiss with Pietro and you needed him to tell you why.

Bucky’s eyes fell back to the floor and he blinked away whatever it was.

He pushed off his jacket started unbuttoning his white dress shirt.

“Go to bed, sweetheart.” He says with heavy emotion in his voice. It almost breaks off at the end with how much feeling he puts into the words.

His term of endearment shocks you to the core. Your heart swells deep within your chest. This is the first time since you’ve met him where he’s ever used this tone and addressed you this way before.

You’re gaping as you watch him continue to unbutton his shirt. His fingers were meticulously. Somehow in a dystopian and near apocalyptic word he still kept his nails trimmed and perfect.

Something so small that could go unnoticed but that said so much about his personality.

You find yourself moving closer until his knee is touching your left leg.

You feel the heat of his body radiating off yours. You reach down and touch his hand, stopping him from unbuttoning.

He stops and swallows hard.

He could feel the heat of your fingers on his own and it makes him ache inside.

What’s happening to me?

“You want to know why I kissed him?” Bucky’s gaze stays on the floor. He doesn’t respond. No I don’t, “I wanted my first kiss to be with someone who didn’t take it for granted. For the first time, I wanted to be the one who made the correct choice,” you let go of his hand, “but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Bucky inhales deeply and returns to undoing the last few buttons. Bucky shakes the shirt off his shoulders and then stands up to go hang it in the closet. He walks right past you, not saying a word. You close your eyes tightly together, “Talk to me.” You beg.

You turn around as he’s hanging the shirt on one of the hangers.

His jaw is tight. You can tell his teeth are clenched and he’s holding whatever he wants to say, in.

He moves onto his dress pants, removing them until he’s in his boxers, and then he pulls out a pair of grey sweats, slipping them on.

He grabs a black T-shirt and puts it on, too.

He walks past you, still not looking at you.

Without thinking, you reach your arm out to grab him, and he stumbles back like you’ve burned him. You’re shocked at his reaction and your eyes go from your hands to his own eyes. Your heart shatters immediately.

He gapes down at your hands and you can see the fear and intense sadness in his eyes.

You take a step closer to him and he gulps as you slowly bring your hand up to run over his hard torso and eventually up the side of his neck. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to keep it from trembling.

You look up into his eyes as you play with the short hair on the back of his neck.

“Please.” It’s the first time he’s also begged you in such a small voice. His eyes close halfway as he whispers, “Please, no.”

You feel the need to comfort him; to comfort this man who has done nothing but hurt you the way he’s hurting right now.

You grasp the back of his neck with your whole hand, shaking your head to yourself as you do so. His head hangs low, eyes still closed.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whisper, “what are you so afraid of?” He opens his eyes and looks away from you. He lifts his head and looks out towards the window behind you. He reaches behind his head and takes your hand, pulling it off his skin.

“Please, let’s go to sleep.” He says softly.

You watch in a daze as he spins around and walks down the hall and into the bathroom.

He needed a moment to breathe. He needed a moment to catch his breath and think.

After splashing his face with some cold water and brushing his teeth, he walks back into the room to see you already changed into a pearl colored silk camisole.

The edges graze your thighs as you crawl up the bed and towards your pillow.

The water did nothing to help him.

He still kept hearing the way you moaned as you gave away your first kiss.

All to get a reaction out of him.

Bucky flicks off the remaining light in the loft, his lamp, and crawls into bed next to you.

He pulls the comforter up until it’s halfway up his chest and he pulls at his hair, look up at ceiling and letting out a long breath.

If only you knew the affect you were having on him. If only you knew how much he cared about you.

Your mind was else where than his.

You felt a need for vengeance. You needed him to hurt. Just like you had told Pietro, you couldn’t let him do what he was doing to you anymore. He needed to respect you and if he wasn’t going to own up to his feelings and finally speak to you, you were going to move on.

You had Pietro now, anyway.

So you had a plan.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say quietly, looking out the window.

There’s a long pause before he replied.

“I’m not having sex with you tonight.” He tells you in a quiet voice.

You flip around until you’re staring at him. He’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling, a far away look in his eyes.

How dare he be the only one to make the choice?

You spread your legs a little wider and reached down between your legs. You reached under the band of your underwear and cupped yourself.

You kept staring at the side of his face, silently asking him to look your way. He didn’t budge but you could tell he knew what you were doing. If your soft moan and the shift of the bed was any conciliation.

He blinked and swallowed thickly.

This was all he was good for now. He lost his chance and your respect, and all he was now to you was a human dildo.

As much as he wanted to tell you how he changed his mind about giving it a try and as much as he wanted to tell you how he was starting to feel, part of him was still afraid. He was afraid of his emotions getting in the way and of him losing you.

Especially when you now had a chance to be happy with someone else; someone so much better than him.

As much as he wanted your touch and your caresses, he needed to push you away. Push you into the right direction.

You were hurting him and you didn’t even know it. Him pushing you away when he needed you, pained him.

You let out another moan. He closes his eyes, turning his face away from you.

You were hurting him.

“Please, y/n.” His voice came out in a whimper.

You removed your hand from yourself, half sat up, and looked down at him. He still had that same sad look in his eyes.

Two can play that game.

You sensually dragged your fingers that had just been on your core over his bottom lip. You watch him for a reaction.

His eyes flashed to yours, stunned at your move, and you stared at your fingers on his mouth just as shocked.

Was this what anger pushed you to do? Vengeance?

You found yourself panting as you continued to touch his lips.

Slowly, he grabbed your hand. You could see what was only the lingering of tears in his blues.

There it was.

“You fucked me nearly every day for the last two months. And the one time I want you to fuck me the most, the one time, you say no.” you say quietly. He swallows thickly, “you’ve used my body for two months,” your voice shakes and he blinks, his eyes burning, “I’m just asking you to do it again. As a friend. It’s not that hard, right?”

You could feel your own words hurt in your throat at your words.

You slowly lean down, laying half your body on top of his. He closes his eyes, sucking in a shaky deep breath. You lean down until your face in the crook of his neck, on his pillow.

Bucky gulped at the proximity, feeling his heart race like mad.

“If you can’t say what you want to say, if you’re too weak for that, you can at least show me using your body.”

You ran that same hand that was touching yourself down his neck and over his chest. You find the bottom of his shirt and you slide your hand underneath, feeling his hot skin.

“I don’t want to do this.” He whispers, pained.

He almost changes his mind when he feels your hand change direction, going under his sweats.

But you stop just below his navel.

As much as you wanted to convince him and push him off the edge, you also didn’t want to breach the line of consent.

Your touch was so gentle it burned through his skin and Bucky took it in. He closed his eyes tightly together, a soft cry leaving the break of his lips.

He was crying.

You lift your face from his pillow, looking down at him to watch.

He wasn’t sobbing but there was definitely tears leaking from his eyes. One drop runs down the far corner of his eye.

He lets out a long shakey breath, still looking up at he ceiling. You feel his left hand grab the back of your head and he rubs your head. You feel his legs widen slightly and you wonder if it’s an invitation for you to continue.

The proximity of your faces shocks you when he turns his head to the side to face you.

You can feel his breath hitting your face. And you lips are only inches apart. You watch him in awe as he continues to rub your head, his eyes searching yours as another tear leaks from his blue orbs.

He rubs his nose against yours, suddenly wanting to give you everything.

When you finally take him in your hand, Bucky’s eyes close together tightly. You give him two slow pumps before you maneuver yourself so you are laying on top of him.

He watches you in a daze like you’re a siren and he’s a pirate who’s been summoned.

You stretch your hands over next to his head, taking his in your own. Your camisole is pushed up to your waist and you sloppily kick off your underwear.

He leans his head up until it’s in the crook of your neck.

“Not like this.” He says quietly. You don’t know what’s he’s talking about. You continue pushing his bottoms down until the back band is under his ass and until you see his length slip out. The tip is already oozing pre cum, now dropping onto his black shirt.

You feel the need to pour all your emotions into this fuck.

You swirl your hips and rub down until your folds are sliding over his tip, the velvety skins touching each other like two pieces if expensive silk.

Bucky involuntarily bucks his hips at the feeling.

You let out a delicious moan.

“What are we without sex, Bucky?” You whisper, breathe hitting off his forehead, “This is all we’re good for, can’t you see that?” You grunt, sliding down until he’s half sheathed inside of you, “You’ve only treated me horribly, since the day I met you. You’ve never once gave me the chance to gain your honor, oh fuck, but this, this you always knew how to take from me, to give me—“

“Stop,” he begs, breathing harshly into your neck.

“You might be a great fuck and a good friend, but you’re not a good person.” You continue to fuck yourself on his rod, rubbing your nose against his as your harsh breaths mingle together, “but that’s okay,” you put your left hand on the side of his neck, rubbing him tenderly there, “you’re good for this.”

A struggled and very loud moan escapes Bucky’s throat and you feel his right hand go to your waist, stopping you.

You put you hand on his, releasing its grip, continuing to move over him.

You watch as more tears fall out of Bucky’s eyes, his eyes snapping to yours.

“You’ve gotta stop.” He whimpers.

You can’t tell if he’s talking about the things you are saying or the fucking, but he’s a super solider and you know that if he was talking about the sex, he would’ve had more than the strength to fully stop you by now.

You purr as you look down between your legs.

“Look how perfect your cock was made for me.” You say. Bucky moans, looking down with you, his own hips pushing up to meet your down stokes, “that’s it. You hate me, don’t you?” Bucky’s hips falter and his eyes snap to your face.

“Wha—“

“That’s right, you do. I deserve this. I deserve your anger, right? Never did anything bad to you a day in my life but I still deserve it.“

Bucky was close to edge seconds ago, but with each word you’re saying, he feels the need to correct you and he no longer want to cum anymore.

This was wrong. Everything about this was utterly wrong.

“You don’t, y/n—“ He tries to tell you before you cut him off again.

You’ve never felt anger like this. Never.

“Fucking fuck me, Bucky. For just one night pretend I’m her, fuck me like I’m her.” Bucky’s heart falls hard into his stomach and he sits up, stopping.

“Stop.”

“Please.” You beg through clenched teeth, “you’ve already made me suffer enough finish the damn job.”

“Stop!” He shouts, grabbing you by the waist and pushing your off of his body.

He looked shocked as he stared down at you, his still wet tears running down his face.

“Are you serious?” You say back to him as he stands up.

He’s running his hands through his hair, pulling on the strands as more tears fall out of his eyes.

His mouth opens and closes a few times as he stares down at you, still at lost for words.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” He shouts, stumbling back.

You take a note of how his cock is an angry red, bobbing up against his belly. Catch you, he pulls his boxers and pants up all the way.

“Did I say something that triggered you?” You ask through heavy pants. How does it feel to be on the other end? You want to add.

He’s breathing hard too as he watches you. His face was crest fallen and broken.

He looks you up and down, sniffing.

“You’ve gotta stop this,” he whispers harshly, his volume growing with each word, “whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?”

His face crumbles.

“You’re purposely trying to hurt me!” His yell stuns you, “It’s hurting me!”

You’re both trying to catch your breath as you stare at each other. “All night that’s what you’ve been doing. You think I wanted to hear you kissing him? You think I want to fuck you like this? You think I wish it went down this way?” His voice becomes a whine. He closes his eyes and looks away from you running a hand down his face.

You tilt your head as his last question.

“What went down what way?” He lets out a pained chuckle, “What way, James?”

“Forget it Im sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“What went down what way?!” You shout, banging your fist down on the bed, “You tell me right now or I swear to fucking god, Bucky, I am walking out that door right now and never coming back. I’m giving you a chance right now. Im giving you a chance to make this right.”

Your mini lecture gives him enough time to catch his breath and compose himself. It finally dawns on him and a look of disgust fills his face. He tilts his head at you.

“So that’s what this was? So that’s why you fucked me just now? To persuade me into a fucking guilt trip? This borderline non consensual—”

“—Don’t be dramatic.”

“And then you talk about you feeling used. I’m just a guy, Y/N.”

You both stared each other down. You suck in a deep breath as you take the hair tie from around your wrist and begin to tie up your hair into a bun.

“I’m so fucking over you. I really am. I was lying about the using me for sex part. It’s obviously the only time we ever communicate anyway. I do get that out of it.”

“Yeah that makes me feel so much better,” he reaches down to grab the pillow and before he can take it, you grab it, “give me the damn pillow.”

“Stop closing up on me.”

“Give. Me. The. Pillow.” You don’t budge, “I don’t have the patience for this. Especially after you almost jeopardized our entire mission with your little stunt today. Which was reckless and completely irresponsible by the way.”

“Stunt?”

“Please, you put on a fucking show as you stuck your tongue down his throat just so I could hear and then you turned off your damn ear piece. This is why I’ve always said you’ve always been a girl who acts on emotion. Give. Me the pillow.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes twitched.

“What?”

“That’s not the deal reason you’re upset. You’re upset because I hit a nerve.”

He seethes, looking you up and down again.

“Look. What you did here tonight was the lowest of the low.”

“You don’t communicate.” You say.

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart?”

“I want you to tell me why me kissing him bothered you so much you couldn’t say one damn word to me.”

“It doesn’t matter why it does or doesn’t bother me." “Of course it matters. It means something.” “It means shit. Just because it might bother me on some level it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop you from being happy, okay? You want to go ahead and kiss and sleep with other men, that’s you doing you. We were never exclusive.” “Sure so that’s why you overreacted so much —”

“—You didn’t even give me a heads up! We had sex just an hour before you told me you were going on a date with the guy, y/n.”

“And that’s what made you cry?” After that question it goes silent. He avoids your eye and attempts to take the pillow again, “Bucky. Please.”

He licks his lips and looks up at you.

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear because it doesn’t matter anymore.” He tries to take the pillow again and this time you let him. He hooks it under your arm.

“Are you going to sleep there because of what I did to you?” He looks up at you and then looks away. He reaches over you to take one of the throw blankets, “Bucky?”

You reach over to touch his face and he flinches at first. This makes you pull away first.

“I didn’t mean to scare you or make you feel like I was taking advantage of you.” You whisper.

He looks down at your lips.

“I might be a super soldier and an ex assassin but I’m still just a man.” He says quietly. You nod, reaching for the back of head, and pulling him into you for an embrace which he gladly accepts, "You can't do that again."

He leans his forehead on your shoulder, inhaling your sweet sent.

“Please stay here tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll stay.” He gives your shoulder a kiss, “I’ll stay. I’ll always stay.” He assures you as he feels you trembling beneath him.

He pulls away, cupping your face as he does so. He looks down at you and you share a silent conversation.

This was different.

This time, he’s the one who rolls your dress up until it’s bunched around your waist.

You’re both breathing quickly as you watch him push his sweats and boxers down.

You whimper at the sigh of him, and he guides you a little lower, but you’re still halfway sat up. He runs his right hand from your core up the inside of your left thigh, widening yourself for him.

He’s knelt down between you, his lips still lingering over your shoulder. He grabs your right thigh and pulls it up so it’s bent feet down on the bed. His left hand goes to your back, right over your bottom.

You whimper again when you feel him drag his cock over your clit over and over again, and then finally down your soaking slit. His nose hits the side of yours and you’re both staring deeply into each others eyes.

“I got you,” he tells you, “I got you.” He repeats, sliding into you. His thrusts are steady and hard. He watches your face as you gasp and moan, your right hand going into his hair and pulling on it. You’re both like that for about three minutes until he lays you fully back onto the bed.

He watches as you unravel below him and he can’t imagine not living like this anymore. He doesn’t remember what he even did before you entered the picture. He doesn’t want to.

He stretches his arms around on either side of your head, keeping his thrusts steady.

“Fuck.”

“I won’t stop.” He tells you breathlessly.

You clench around him and this makes him groan loudly.

He feels his end approaching embarrassingly fast and he reaches down to give your clit some flicks.

On the fifth flick you come undone and he follows you right behind, cumming inside of you. Your legs wrap around him like a vice and he falls on of you. Both your hands run through his hair as he breaths harshly into your neck.

He doesn’t pull out of you this time and you don’t let him.

This time he falls asleep in your arms.

For you, it’s the last time.

I won't hide the ways I've tried It's just not right, it's killing me tonight

@snakeeatery17 @utterlyhopeful-fics , @marvelfan1017, @iheartsebastianstan , @annathesillyfriend , @redhairedfeistynerd, @perksofbeingabookworm, @amyrose051, @meegggoooo, @morganclaire4 , @captainchrisstan, @bxndys , @shoesonpointe , @writerwrites, @rainbowkisses31, @lindatreb , @littlemissner98 , @dezzylou24, @ayeitslelee , @hardygal69 , @emmabarnes , @redbarn1995@thequeenreaders@ilovemysupersoldiers@maximumplaidzonknerd@ceapa-mica @s-trawberryv-eins@buckysknifecollections@sobangie@lindatreb@theseuscmander@nervous-plant @wildmoonflower @aya-fay@appreciating-fanfics@kaitlynisinfinite@justreadingfics@kaitieskidmore1 @mrsdancing @everythingiloveandcherish @shinykoalacat

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes smut #bucky barnes #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #Bucky Barnes series #tfatws fanfic #tfatws fanfiction

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 4 years ago

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serendipity // bucky barnes

PART TWO

Summary: You end up stuck in 1942 without a way to come back, but when you meet the young and charming version of Bucky Barnes, do you really want to go back to the present?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of cheating, reader is a bitch, sad bucky, angst, fluff, lack of ‘40s knowledge

A/N: As always, please remember English is not my first language. Also, thanks to @coffee-books-music for proofreading this!

divider by @firefly-graphics

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Red. Everything went red. Your vision blurred as a flame curled in the pit of your stomach. You enter the building with a firm step, walking through the hallways, anger building inside you, trying to take over the sadness you didn’t want to feel. Your phone vibrated in the pocket of your jeans, you reach for it only to see the name of your sister on the screen. Memories weighed down on you, but you would not allow yourself to break down anymore. Instead, your heart turned ice cold and slunk into the shadows as your brain took complete control. You screamed in frustration and threw the phone against the nearest wall. How dare she call you? You took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“Are you okay?” a voice called from behind you. You turned to face a man you had never seen before. He was tall, with long dark hair for his shoulders and piercing steel-blue eyes. His face changed once he saw you, going from worried to shocked.

“Y/N?” he asked cautiously, his voice was so soft, with a hidden hope you didn’t catch on.

“Do I know you?” you asked, not really caring for him, but getting annoyed for how he was looking at you.

“Is it really you?” he asked again, not believing what his eyes were seeing. Maybe so much brainwashing had really messed with him.

“Look dude, it’s really not a good time,” you wanted to leave, but he grabbed your arm, not forcefully, but with enough force for you not to have the chance to leave. You yanked your arm from his grasp and realized that where his left arm was supposed to be, there was, instead, a metal arm. Who the fuck was this guy?

“Don’t touch me,” you rebuked. Waves of fury rolled off you as the blood rose to your cheeks. The term anger barely even touched the tip of the volcano that you so clearly were in that moment.

He took a step back, not wanting to upset you even more, but he could not help himself, he needed to know if it was really you. He wished it was really you.

“Y/N, Bucky? What’s going on here?” the voice of Steve Rogers flooded your ears, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Ask your friend,” you said before giving a not-so-friendly glare to the guy before picking the pieces of your phone and making your way to your room, leaving the men behind you.

You groaned in frustration against the pillow. You were such a bitch when you met him. There were times when your brain fries up. It was no excuse you know; you owned your behavior. It was like a trigger flicked inside you. Your emotions turned cold, fearful, anxious... You back away, flee or strike out at someone. Those are the moments where you’re not proud of who you are. You fail to be the warrior you were always told you were born to be. Instead, you show the frightened child within, damaged and afraid, the one still hiding from the monsters under the bed. You knew these are things you have to work on. You had spent so much time caring for others, pouring out love without measure, yet never receiving it in return. So like a stupid child, you hold out for love.

Now you understand why Bucky acted so weird around you that day in the compound. He remembered you. He remembered you from that night in the dance hall. But… how could he? It hadn’t happened yet. Well, technically yes, but at the same time, no.

“What are you thinking about?” Wanda pulled out from your thoughts, you turned your head to look at her.

“Nothing,” you lied.

“Y/N, we’ve known each other for a long time, I can tell when you’re lying.”

After a few minutes in silence you finally speak up, “I was thinking about the first day I met Bucky,” the tone of your voice betraying you.

“Y/N, you just find out your fiancé cheated on you with your sister. It’s normal you acted the way you did. You were angry.”

“And what about the other times?” you sat up and faced your best friend. “I had been nothing but mean to him.”

That morning you woke up later than usual so when you entered the kitchen, the breakfast was long gone. You groaned, you really needed a coffee.

“Sorry kiddo,” Tony patted your back before leaving the room. Sam and Steve made their way to the gym. Wanda and Nat were chatting on the counter, and the new guy was standing a few steps away from them looking at you. Again.

“Do you have some problem with me?” you asked annoyed, alarming the girls of your presence. They turned to look at you. “You are always staring at me.”

“S-sorry,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away from you. You rolled your eyes and made your way to your friends. “Here,” he offered you a mug of coffee. “It’s still warm.”

You looked at him confused, “You always drink a cup of coffee in the mornings, so when I noticed you weren’t coming anytime soon, I poured one for you in case you would come out later,” Nat and Wanda shared a smile on their faces, melting at how sweet the former winter soldier was being.

Your reaction was very different, though. “I want nothing from you,” and you left the kitchen, leaving the guy with a heartbreaking look on his face, and a shocking one on both of your friends’.

“You can do nothing to change the past, what has happened has happened. But you can change from now on.”

“You think I still have time?”

“You’ll have to try”

You had hurt Bucky so much; you took out all the anger you felt inside you on him. It was unfair. No matter how badly you treated him, he always sent a smile your way, he had been nothing but nice to you. You were a horrible person.

Everyone had their reasons for being how they were. Some people get past their troubles and grow mature, others get stuck in a sort of basic mode of fear and reactions, loving responses becoming absent or portioned out for personal gain. You were the latter type.

This had been the ninth time you checked to see if Wanda was really asleep. You felt like you were sixteen again and you were sneaking out of your house to meet your boyfriend. But you needed to go to the dance hall, needed to see if he would still be there.

You made the pillows form the shape of your body and covered them with the duvet, and you tiptoed out the room.

You walked through the Brooklyn streets one more time, those streets, so familiar but at the same time, so different to you. You spotted the dance hall you were in last night. The night where you met Bucky, and you danced with him…. you kissed him. Immediately, you felt the heat rising to your cheeks when you remembered the feeling of his soft lips on yours. You. brushed your thumb across your lips and a smile crept its way across your face.

You searched through the club, looking for the soldier. What if he wasn’t here tonight? What if he had already met someone else, and he’s dancing with them? You disliked the pit that formed in your stomach when your head was clouded with the thought of Bucky with someone else, holding them the same way that he had held you, showing them that beautiful smile of his….. his lips on someone else’s.

“Looking for someone, doll?” you turned around at the sound of his voice, even though you hastily left last night with no explanation, he didn’t seem mad about it, his face still plastered the same smile.

“H-hi.”

“You’re going shy on me now, doll?” he asked, “What happened the previous night? Never had a dame running away from me so fast,” he joked.

You chuckled lightly, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, no worries,”

The same song that you danced to last night started playing, your eyes caught a few couples starting moving to the music. When you turned to look at Bucky again, he had his head tilted to one side and a hopeful smile playing on his lips.

You stretched out your arm to him, “Shall we?”

He didn’t think twice and took your hand in his. “So, what made you come back?” he asked. His hands were on your hips and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, just like last night while you swayed to the music.

“I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to dance to our song one more time.” you were feeling pretty bold, and you liked it, and by the grin forming on Bucky’s face, you were sure he liked it too.

“Our song?”

You hummed. “That’s our song. So you can’t dance it with anyone else,” you replied, “Just me.”

He chuckled, “I have no problem with that, doll.”

As you both kept swaying to the music, you leaned towards his body and let your head rest on his chest. You felt the way his heartbeat quickened and smiled, knowing you were the cause for it. All of your thoughts stopped. It was like your heart took over your head when you were with him. You realized that you never felt this way when you were in Jake’s arms.

You wanted a love that was passionate and determined, fire with earth, yet was also a serenity soul that you could dwell in forever. When the song finally ended, you felt his intense gaze on you, and your insecurity took over, “Is everything okay?” you asked looking at him.

“If I kissed you now, would you run away from me again?”

You laughed, and shook your head, “No, not again.”

“Promise? Because my heart wouldn’t be able to handle it again.”

You looked into his blue eyes, and you cursed yourself for not realizing before how beautiful his eyes were… every piece of him was beautiful. He was a masterpiece. You didn’t answer his question, but instead, you stood on your tiptoes and closed the gap between the two of you before he could say anything else.

“I’m telling you, it’s her.” Bucky was losing his nerves to the disbelief of his best friend.

“Buck, it’s been over 80 years, there’s no way it’s her.”

You were the exact same replica of the woman that stole his heart back in 1942 in that dance hall. It was you. He was sure about that. No matter how crazy it would have sounded.

If he and Steve were still here, why couldn’t you be too?

“Alright, then why didn't she recognize you?” Steve wasn’t trying to be mean, he knew his friend really loved that girl since the second she bumped into him. But he also knew that the chances of it being the same person were slim. Maybe you were her granddaughter. But that wasn’t an option Bucky could consider.

“I don’t know,” the soldier didn’t have an explanation for that. Maybe they had brainwashed you the same way they did with him and you forgot about your past… about him? If that was the case, he would try his best to make you remember. “But I will not lose her again.”

He wouldn’t give up on you. Not again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #sebastian stan

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byunbaekby · 4 years ago

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

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

—DAY ONE.

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

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

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wants you.

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

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

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

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

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

“You’re giving it up or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying,” he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TASTE.

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

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

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

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

He hums in response, turning to look at you.

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

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

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

Does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a puff.”

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

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

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

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

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

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” is his response.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops.

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

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

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but I…”

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tease me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

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

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

Cocaine.

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

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

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

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

“So, can I have some?” You ask again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathless, you nod without words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

Luckily, neither will find out.

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

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

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

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

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

But that hadn’t happened.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST BURN.

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

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

When he wakes, you’re burning up.

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

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

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

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

It’s the cocaine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

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

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

God, he’s fucked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

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

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not alone.

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

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

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

He’s too late. Maybe much too late.

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

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

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

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

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

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re different now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

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

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

He’s learned his lesson.

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

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

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

“It’s not that, I—”

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

“... Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

“That was the last time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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clareguilty · 3 years ago

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Coal Fires and Snowstorms

This was a request fic that was originally for the Overwatch cowboy but I changed to Arthur Morgan for... apparent reasons Arthur Morgan/F!Reader (reader also has big enby vibes) Rating: Mature | No Warnings Word Count: ~2,200

Arthur wakes with a wheeze, bolting upright and smacking his chest with his fist as he tries to pull in enough air.

He’s shirtless, but a woven blanket had been draped over him while he was unconscious. A ray of light cuts through a grimy window. The angle is harsh enough that it’s probably late in the evening.

The last thing Arthur can remember is the dark of the night and the clamoring of the law on his heels. So he’s been out for at least a day.

His lips are dry and cracked, and his muscles groan in protest with every movement. God, his head is pounding like he was hit by a damn train.

A door creaks open, and there’s a squeak of surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Arthur blinks in the harsh sunlight that’s streaming into the small cabin. Whoever is there is bundled up in furs and a jacket with a bow over their shoulder. They’ve got two armfuls of game practically swallowing them.

“Who are you? Where am I?” He means for it to sound rough and demanding, but it’s more croaky and pathetic when the words pass his lips.

“I’m not really anybody, and this is my cabin up in Cumberland. The law chased you a long ways from Annesburg didn’t they? You must have done something real bad.” The hunter dumps all the game onto the table and rushes to the bedroll where Arthur lays. “You aren’t hurt too bad or nothing, but you’ve got a real nasty cough. I’ve got tea and herbs that should help. I bandaged up all the bleeding bits as best I could”

Arthur is bewildered. He knows there had been a fire in Annesburg -- the coal had gone up in a pyre in seconds. Somehow, he had gotten separated from Dutch and the others. The smoke had taken him like crows to a carcass, and he was lucky to make it across the ridge with the way his eyes and lungs were burning.

The last thing he remembered was the pinkertons still on his heels and the darkness of the trees as he tried to hide in the brush. He must have made it to cover before the smoke and the soot finally got him.

He flinches as the hunter sticks an open flask under his nose. “Tea. It’s bitter but you’ll need it.”

Arthur sniffs the mouth of the flask, but it sure does just smell like weeds and water. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. But the flavor is a small price to pay for the way the liquid soothes the burning in his mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” he says. “You could have left me in those woods to rot. I appreciate you dragging my sorry ass back here.”

You grin and pat the bandage on his arm. “It weren’t much trouble, but you sure are one large fella.” Arthur thinks you must be a young boy -- it’s hard to tell. Your hair is short under your cap but your voice isn’t all that low.

You turn to the game on the table and grab a knife from your belt. “I hunted enough for the both of us the next few days. It’s gonna be a while before you’ve got your strength back, and a snowstorm is rolling in off the Grizzlies anyways.”

Arthur frowns. “Bit early for snow, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “Winter never listens to me. At least the game was out. Everyone is trying to feed as much as they can before it gets too cold to hunt. That includes us.”

Arthur grunts and struggles to his feet. “I can help with those,” he offers.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, obviously skeptical of Arthur’s strength. “Take the small ones,” you offer up the rabbits and squirrels.

Arthur usually doesn’t have a problem skinning game, but the smoke must have gotten to him more than he thought because he finds himself having to take a rest after just a few minutes. He finishes off the flask of tea and sorts through his pack and weapons.

“My horse…” he asks after a while.

“She’s fine,” you say. “I found her not far from where you were unconscious and she helped me get you back here. She’s out back with my Old Girl.”

“Thank you,” Arthur sounds genuinely touched. “She really means a lot to me.”

You shoot him another smile. “You’re nothing but a big softie, ain’t ya? What could you have done to have the law chasing you all the way across the damn country?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, flushing in embarrassment. “My folks might have blown up Annesburg? I don’t actually know how much of it is left…”

“Ha!” you bark. “You’re with them van der Linde folks?”

Arthur’s silence is answer enough.

“I won’t judge,” you shrug. “You’re safe as long as you want to rest here.”

And rest Arthur does. He’s confined to the bedroll, rolled out on a warm pile of furs near the stove. You’re good company, witty and friendly and far too nosy for your own good. Arthur learns that you’ve has been living in these parts for a few years now, trapping and hunting and crafting to sell in town every few weeks. It’s more of a living than Arthur could ever ask for. Arthur thinks he might be sweet on you.

It’s another day before he’s got the strength to walk. He makes it outside to his horse, glad to see that she’s well taken care of. You had said you were going off to bathe in a nearby stream, and Arthur follows the sound of the water.

He’s not expecting what he finds. The water is shallow but fast moving, and he sees a familiar jacket hung on a branch by the bank.

You’re turned away, rinsing in the ice cold water, and Arthur can see the gooseflesh on your skin.

But when you turn slightly, it’s the swell of breasts and the curve of hips that catches Arthur’s attention. He averts his eyes quickly, darting back towards the cabin with his cheeks stained pink.

Now that he thinks about it, you had never said that you were a man. Arthur had simply figured it was most likely. The soft voice and gentle features make more sense now.

“You had better wash up if you want to,” you say when you return to the cabin. “The snow is coming in tonight. I can smell it. I stocked up on herbs for your cough and we’ve got plenty of provisions. I’m gonna split some more wood to bring inside.”

Arthur can’t help but find it attractive that you’re so knowledgeable and well prepared. He makes his way to the stream on his own and washes up in the frigid water, pushing through another coughing fit when the cold makes his muscles seize.

It’s already getting colder when he gets back inside. His weak breath fogs even inside the cabin and the little stove can’t do nearly enough to warm the small space.

“You’re going to freeze,” he tells you. He’s big enough to handle the cold -- spent a damn month up in the grizzlies without much of a problem -- but you surely won’t last the snowstorm.

“I’ve made it before,” you say with a huff and a glare. “I’ve got plenty of furs to keep me warm.”

“Put your bedroll beside mine,” Arthur insists. “We can share the blankets.”

The snow begins to fall, sticking to the ground in wet clumps, and you brace yourselves for the days to come. You’re practically strangers -- save for the fact that you had dragged Arthur out of the woods and saved his life. Now you have no choice but to rely on each other until the snow melts.

Arthur wakes in the night to your violent shivering under the blankets. He pulls you so that you’re pressed against his chest, tucking both of you under the quilts closer together. “I thought you said you’d made it through this before?”

You huff, teeth chattering. “I survived. I never said I kept warm.”

“Stay close to me. It’s my turn to keep you alive.” He drifts back to sleep to the howl of the winter winds.

The next morning he’s greeted by a bowl of piping stew that makes his sinuses burn. “I had some jarred peppers I keep for weather just like this. You’re in no condition for liquor so this is the best you’re gonna get.”

Arthur accepts the stew graciously. He’s not ready for the way you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek when he offers to wash both of the bowls.

You pass the time snowed in with several rounds of cards. Arthur tells stories about him and the gang until his throat aches and he starts coughing again, and so the you regale Arthur with your life’s tale and a few stories you picked up over the years. You’re curled up next to each other in front of the stove, and you have no shame about burrowing against Arthur in a quest for body heat. He lets you steal as much as you want.

“I thought you were a boy when I first woke up,” Arthur says.

You shrug. “Most people do. I find it makes things easier a lot of the time. How’d you figure me out?” You don’t seem to feel too strongly one way or another about how Arthur and others see you.

Arthur hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “I, uh, caught you washing up in the stream.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s pretty solid proof, ain’t it.” You’re smiling, not shy at all. “You’re not mad at me for lying, are you?”

“You never lied,” Arthur says. “I just came to my own conclusions. Doesn’t matter much to me anyways, whether you’re a man or a woman.”

You frown at that. “Doesn’t matter?”

“Nah,” Arthur ruffles your short hair. “You’re cute either way.”

It’s the right thing to say. The frown disappears and you settle back against him, humming contentedly.

He wakes in the night to the feeling of your breath on his neck. You shift and your lips brush against his skin. He can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the sensation. His arm is draped around your waist, holding you close because he knows you’ll freeze if he doesn’t.

He pulls you in closer. Every inch where your skin touches his feels oversensitive and hot. You’re still asleep -- he can tell from how slow you breath against his skin, but you reach an arm around his neck and burrow against him.

His heart begins to race. He’s flushed and half asleep and you fit against him so well in this tiny cabin that you’ve made your home. One of his hands slides down your back. You moan as his palm passes over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, but you shift again and rock your hips against him.

He gasps, then has to fight back a cough. He doesn’t want to wake you, but your quest for warmth has you plastered against him in a very compromising position. It’s starting to make his long johns downright painful, and he thinks he’ll combust in shame.

You rock against him once more, mumbling sleepily into his skin.

“Darlin’” he croaks. But the sound doesn’t wake you. He tries to wriggle an arm between you so he can push you off, but instead he winds up with a handful of your breast, and the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard escapes your lips.

He freezes. He’s painfully hard now, and you’re still gently rocking against him in your sleep, perhaps even more so now that he’s got a hand on your chest.

“Arthur, please,” you whine.

He’s pretty sure you’re awake by now, so he readjusts his hand and rubs his thumb over the peak of your nipple. You let out another breathy moan against his skin. This time when he runs a hand over your ass he lets himself take a moment to appreciate how it feels under his palm, they way his fingers sink into the soft skin beneath your winter sleep clothes. He once again places his hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you so that your hips are lined up with his, straddling him under the blankets.

You whine against him once more and grind your hips downward. The friction does way more for him than he imagines it must for you, and his vision whites out momentarily at the heat and weight of you against him.

He loses himself in the motion of your hips for several long moments, but then your whines grow frustrated and unsatisfied and he knows exactly what your after.

Gripping both of your hips tightly, he flips you both so that you’re laying back on the bedroll and he’s kneeling over you.

Your eyes fly open.

“Arthur?”

“You were asleep?” he looks absolutely bewildered.

“I thought so? I was having the best dream.” Your eyes look past him as you remember.

“I don’t think you were dreaming, sweetheart,” he chuckles. He leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Then I think you had better keep going, cowboy.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan/reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #mild lemons #oranges #i guess #maybe limes

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watevermelon · 4 years ago

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Patience is a Virtue | Shinsuke Kita x Reader

✧ Summary: You lost track of the days that you were in love with Kita. He was so much more than just the team mom that many outsiders dubbed him as. He was the wielder of cold-logic and held the bluntest of words at times, but he showed his own special brand of care for each member of the team. What you hadn’t expected was for him to especially care about you. ➳ Warnings: Language because twins lmao ➳ Tags: Childhood friends to lovers; mostly fluff and humor; Atsumu being a little shit; friends trying to be match-makers; mild jealousy on Kita’s part; introspection and some character development

✧ Masterlist

---xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx---

As the manager of the Inarizaki volleyball club, you were no stranger to the antics of your generally loud team. And while this was usually elicited by the twins, with most of the team ahem especially Suna being no help (since many would rather film then break-up the fight), you were almost a pro at keeping them calm to the public eye.

You grew up alongside most of the members of the team, a strange connection between all of the players. From advanced classes in junior high to being literal neighbors to some of them, you were long-term classmates with many of the members - including the captain himself.

Kita was much more than the doting team mom than people gave him credit for. Yes, he was often the face of the team, the voice of reason that handled the interviews and other press coverage, but this all came from a place of stone-cold reason. He had strict routines and never cared about doing things without practical rationale. Kita had a mature way of thinking, often compartmentalizing both people and emotions, to the point that it made people his own age not relate to him.

Even the quiet Suna, the analytical little shit who loved to poke fun at said captain, had honestly admitted that he thought Kita to be on the robot-side of the emotional spectrum.

And, despite all this, Kita was the long-term object of your affections.

It was all the little things that made your crush on him grow. From his proper speech, the blunt words no matter to whom he was speaking to, or his unusual brand of care he extended toward his teammates, Kita was the foundation of Inarizaki that you fell for. And when he was named captain of the volleyball team? You almost cried alongside him, reveling in the rare fit of pure happiness that he was gracing your eyes with.

You remembered the last time you walked home together, for once not being called away on separate duties as captain and leading manager. He treated you to ice-cream and walked along you side-by-side.

“Mint chocolate-chip with two cherries.” He told the street-cart vendor confidently, knowing your favorite flavors by heart at this point.

You ordered for him in kind, receiving the treat from the vendor as Kita paid for both of your orders. Anyone else would be contesting it, but you knew that Kita would not take no for an answer. He did stuff like this all the time with you, you were better off not fighting it. This was not the hill you wanted to die on.

But you were surprised when Kita licked at your ice cream, smiling as he tasted it and maintaining your gaze head-on. The shock on your face must have been evident since the smirk on his widened. You reached for the cone in his hand, only for him to lightly slap it away.

“Should I be asking with a pretty please or something?” You asked with a playful pout.

“No.” Kita replied, before lowering it to your eye-level.

Did he want you to lick it? While he was holding it????

Wordlessly, you followed his silent command and felt the minty taste of your afternoon snack on your tongue. Kita watched the action, eyes following your tongue as he shot you a friendly smile. He pulled away before you could get that much more, before licking your ice cream again.

Was that an indirect kiss???

“My, you two make quite the couple.” The vendor commented, clasping her hands together as she watched your interaction.

“We’re not dating.” Kita answered, squashing any hope you had from that interaction.

He was just?? So confusing??

You had so many little moments like this over the years. So many that had you often questioning deep into the night what truly was your relationship with the blunt captain of Inarizaki. You fell for him so many years ago, it made you wonder when was the last time you really thought of him as just a friend. Did he truly not know about your feelings?

But Kita was smart and on just as many occasions, you wondered if he knew the truth but simply did nothing about them. If he could read the twins with little effort, there was no doubt he understood your feelings long-ago, but decided not to act.

At least, that was your reason behind not openly admitting it to him:

That Kita knew you had a crush on him. And since he did not feel the same, it was better off if he did not address them.

And so you never brought it up, stewing in silence for years.

Eight years was a long time to be in love alone.

“You should just give up on him.” Jisoo, your fellow Inarizaki manager commented one day. She was in the same class as the twins, a year your junior.

The both of you were lounging outside in the courtyard for lunch, a humidly hot day that made the two of you especially lazy this particular school-day. Only a few more hours more and you would be free of classes, liberated of any schoolwork and finally enjoying the weekend.

You were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, looking at the different posts on social media from your various friends. Atsumu had posted of his serve practice the day before, his comment section flooded with various hearts by his fan-club of all things. Osamu’s private Instabook was of food while Aran’s had posted one of the day’s blue skies.

“Why would I do that?” You asked with a sigh, already used to her trying to guide you away from him. You understood why, it was hardly a smart decision to hold onto your feelings, not that you really cared.

“Aren’t you tired of it by now?”

But was that a good enough reason at this point? You were a third-year and about to graduate. If there was one thing that was constant throughout your entire life in the farming prefecture you called a home, it was that you had feelings for the captain.

The sky was blue. Summer was hot. You liked Kita.

It was that simple sometimes. And while there were moments that hurt your heart, it was not like you had any head-space to even try to stop.

“Maybe.” You answered candidly, “Honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to. But I don’t want to either.”

“I worry about you, senpai.”

“What can I say?” You tried to joke, even with your sad smile. “Kita has my heart on lock-down.”

“We’re all going to the twins’ party this weekend, why don’t you try talking to some of the guys there?”

“Not this again.” You complained as you put your phone down on the table.

“Come on!” Jisoo pushed, “I’m sure there’ll be someone there that peaks your interest.”

You raised a brow in response, doubt evident on your face.

She teased, “It could also be on a purely physical level.”

Laughing at her statement, you said. “Like that’s any better.”

“A little smooches here and there never hurt anyone.”

“Now I’m worrying about you.”

She giggled, before continuing. “Just think about it. First guy tonight who hits on you, give him a chance.”

While you would have dismissed the thought immediately, there was something rather playful happening in the pit of your stomach. As if, for once in a long-time, you wanted to feel the puppy love of just casually flirting. Of grinning and laughing along with someone's advances and actually enjoying one these parties; rather than just sitting on the couch playing Mario Kart waiting for Kita to hopefully show.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

She sighed loudly, happy to have cracked you a little. Jisoo continued with a teasing grin on her face. “Oh right, I forgot. You’re a masochist.”

“I could’ve told ya that.” Another voice broke out, the familiar setter of two-tone hair taking the seat next to you. He picked at one of your french-fries, eating it with no preamble as Suna took the seat diagonal from you, next to Jisoo at the picnic table outside.

For someone who spoke a lot of game about not being caught up with the twins, Suna tended to hang around Atsumu quite a bit.

“I am not a masochist.” You defended from Atsumu’s words, earning an eye-roll from the other female manager.

“Why else would you agree to manage a team with the twins?” Suna quipped before taking out his phone, probably scrolling through social media as well. Atsumu shrugged in agreement, a smirk on his face.

“Also, tell that to your love life.” Jisoo countered, playfully moving her lunch out of Atsumu’s reach before the setter could commandeer some of hers.

You quietly pushed the rest of your fries in his direction, appetite long gone on this overly humid day. Doing this sort of thing was actually quite natural with the twin, sharing food and hugs were a normal thing with your friend.

“It’s not that bad.” You argued.

“Wait, have ya ever dated before?” Atsumu asked.

“Have you?” You countered back, the setter was infamous for his many… romantic encounters. But the young man had yet to ever put a serious label on any of those instances, at least not to your knowledge.

He rolled his eyes in response, turning to Jisoo instead to continue.

“Come on senpai, not even a smooch?” She pushed.

You felt your face flush at having been called out, “Well....”

Atsumu turned his body toward you in his seat, his insufferably confident smirk back on, “I could help ya with that.”

You pushed away at his shoulder, “You say it like it’s a problem.”

“Ya savin’ it till ya get married or somethin’?” He asked, genuinely curious. Even Suna turned to you, looking up from his phone in interest.

You turned to Jisoo, the conversation taking a dangerous turn. If you said yes, their curiosity would definitely be spiked. And it was not like you could lie to them and say it was some random person in your class - you knew these boys for years, but they also knew you in kind.

Yes or no?

The other manager did not even try to bail you out and your silence was already tantamount to an answer.

“Aww. How cute of ya, (L/N).” Atsumu chuckled, reaching to pat your head. You slapped it away before he got too close. For someone younger than you, he was quite the brat. Years of being friends long stripped away any formalities apparently.

“Looks like our heart-breaker manager is actually very sentimental.” Suna commented, a brow raised in your direction.

“Heart-breaker?” You questioned in genuine confusion.

“Come on, (L/N)-san.” Jisoo answered this time, “She’s had her heart set for so long, she hasn’t even seen the other boys she’s curved.”

“How is that possible when no one’s confessed to me?”

Jisoo laughed while Atsumu absently tapped his finger on the table, “Even I know that ain’t true, (L/N).”

“Whatever.” There was no reasoning with your underclassmen when they were this dead-set. No one had confessed to you before, right? At least none to your memory, they were just being instigators as usual?

“That doesn’t answer the question why ya sittin’ here single.” Atsumu stated.

“He obviously has feelings for you, but she’s too much of a wuss to confess.” Jisoo stated it plainly for you, then turned to look at Atsumu with an expectant face. “So it’s either because he hasn’t noticed, which I doubt, or he’s not looking for commitment.”

“Ah. And it’s someone we’ve known for years, huh?” Suna deduced, words come out slowly.

You straightened your back in surprise and shot warning looks toward both boys. This was getting too close, they were starting to put together pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t even willingly handed to them. And knowing these little shits, they were not going to let this go until they found out.

Atsumu inclined his head for you to continue while Suna’s eyes never left your own. Suna was smart all the time, but with being associated with the twins constantly, it was easy to forget that fact. And since the trio acted like idiots so often, you tended to forgo how truly analytical even the Atsumu was.

This was not good - so not good. It probably would not take them long to deduce the person at this rate.

“I swear to the highest volleyball gods out there,” You spit out as your turned to the other manager, “I will fucking smite you off this planet if you say another word.”

Jisoo burst out laughing immediately, almost choking on her lunch as Atsumu grinned at your warning, the exact opposite response you wanted.

“Strong words ya got there.” He commented, body still angled toward yours in interest. “Looks like we hittin’ a lil too close to home?”

“Don’t even try it.” You responded back, turning away from his inquisitive eyes and back to your phone.

Needless to say, they didn’t listen.

Suna backed up in his seat, eyes glancing between you and the setter. “No commitment, huh?”

Meanwhile, Atsumu was rapid-firing questions. “Is it a second-year? Third-year? Is he on the volleyball team? Do we know ‘em personally?”

You smiled at his now peaked curiosity, the setter almost looking like a small puppy waiting for a treat. But you refused to answer, no doubt sure that they would tell the captain the moment they found out the truth. You turned to Jisoo, who was smiling away at Atsumu, but otherwise sat thankfully quiet.

Atsumu was firing off specific names now, hoping to get any response from you.

“The bastard’s gotta be on the team.”

“Bastard?” Jisoo laughed at the nickname.

“Shut up, Atsumu.” You countered, attempting to poke harshly at his forehead to stop. But he just grabbed the hand in one of his own, holding it in his lap as he continued to spit out names.

“Is it Aran?”

“Will you stop?”

“‘Samu?”

“I will murder you in cold blood.”

“... Is it me?”

You tried your best to pull your hand away, now realizing his tightening hold on against the skin of your hand. How long had you been sitting there holding hands? You felt a natural rosiness rise to your cheeks, not really because of the recipient, but because you were doing so in public with some guy.

Instead, you poked the setter’s side roughly, earning a deep groan, but freeing your hand in the process. Packing up your belongings, you stepped out of the picnic table and stated, “Lunch is almost over, we should get to class.”

You walked away with a small wave, the boys turning to the now only female occupant of the lunch-table.

“So…”

“Nu-uh.” Jisoo cut off Atsumu, moving to leave the table before she accidentally said anything.

“Throw a man a bone here! Or at least help him bone.” Atsumu murmured that last part under his breath, “Ya don’t even have to verbally confirm it - is it me?”

Jisoo paused as she stood, books in hand already. The look she threw him was mischievous, but otherwise she left in silence.

Unfortunately for you, all you were thinking about during class was that conversation you just had. Kita sat on your right in your next few classes, the mild Ōmimi behind the both of you. The last thing you needed was to linger on their teasing words of smooches and marriage. You couldn’t confess your feelings, imagining anything else?? You could only imagine the bright blush at the simple thought of it.

And apparently, you hadn’t hidden it well.

“Something wrong?”

There were still a couple more minutes until the teacher would return. And so you were sitting in the classroom with Kita alongside you, other students milling around the room. He was so damn good at reading people and you cursed that he was using it against you now.

“Just thinking about some stuff Jisoo said at lunch.” You tried to wave off.

“You’re blushing.” Kita stated bluntly, putting his book down as he spoke to you.

He was never one to sugar-coat his words.

“Am I?” You put your palms to your cheeks, as if to feel the heat. There was no point in trying to lie to him. “She was teasing me about boys.”

“Oh. Are you dating anyone?” Kita asked.

God, this was awful.

There was nothing worse than your crush asking about your crush.

“No, not yet.” You shook your head negatively, turning towards the window on your left, at least trying to hide your expression.

“Yet? Are you looking to date soon?”

You wanted to scream.

“Um, not in the near future.” You tried to deflect, “But it could happen!”

“Of course.” He smiled, “I packed extra onigiri for lunch, but I couldn’t find you. I’m not sure if you still want it.”

“Ah, I would love to! If I’m not imposing, then yes.”

Kita shook his head, “I packed it for you.”

“You’re so sweet sometimes.” You said honestly, taking it and munching down.

“You usually either forget your lunch or eat junk.” He stated plainly, making you suddenly blanch at his cold-words. I mean, he wasn’t exactly wrong either. You thought back to the lunch you had today, literally just water and french fries that you ended up giving to Atsumu.

“Ha, well.” You trailed off before settling on, “Thanks for always taking care of me.”

Kita’s small grin widened as he looked you in the eyes, “It’s my pleasure.”

When he said things like that, it easily set your heart aflame. It was so simple, such small interactions that you would have to squint hard to find anything underlying in his words. But you wanted to. You wanted to feel needed and also give to the captain as well.

The blush you had earlier was probably nothing in comparison to how you looked now, you were sure. And, with Kita being the ever smart cookie he was, there was no doubt that he spied your inflamed reaction.

Was that conversation over? Was he expecting a response?

Maybe the volleyball god’s did have mercy on your poor soul, since your teacher walked in then and thankfully brought your conversation to a halt. You tried not to outwardly seem relieved, turning to the front and taking out your notebooks.

Your mind wandered in and out of the lecture. There were moments that your gaze just happened to meander over to the captain to your right. It was one thing to suddenly notice you were staring at him, but another thing entirely to be caught in the action. Kita would usually just smile at you kindly, before nudging his chin toward the front of the room toward the teacher.

Even later during volleyball practice, your eyes would casually dawdle over to where the captain was standing. Whether he was watching the team with careful eyes or participating himself in practicing spikes, your eyes usually just found him.

But today was not the day to let down your guard.

Atsumu and Suna were paying careful attention to you. And now it was no secret where your gaze was pointed to. Suna smirked when he realized, but Atsumu clicked his tongue and mentally filed it away for later. Jisoo once snapped playful fingers in front of your face, grabbing your attention to flip the scoreboard.

When it was finally time to clean, Kita helped you collect the left-over volleyballs and roll the hammock into the proper storage room. You did so carefully, making sure not to accidentally touch his skin lest he back off from the motion. But the kind, neutral expression he shot you went straight to your heart.

“Let’s get the scoreboard next.” He instructed, the both of you moving to opposite sides of the wheeled board.

And you would have, if Atsumu had not thrown a casual arm across the captain’s shoulders.

“Hey, do ya mind helpin’ ‘Samu over there?” He motioned with his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to his twin who was not looking at all.

Slightly suspicious, Kita did as asked anyway and went with the grey-headed twin to mop the floors.

“What was that about?” You asked as Atsumu pushed the scoreboard along with you.

It was only when you entered the storage room alone that he replied, “So Mister No Gaps Kita Shinsuke, huh?”

“What?!” You fought the inward need to slap yourself, high voice and exclamation enough to show that he was right on the money. “You asshole, how do you know that?”

“I didn’t need anyone to tell me that.” He emphasized, gesturing at your eyes with two fingers. “Ya kept starin’ at ‘em the entire practice.”

You huffed frowning, “That obvious, huh?”

“Yea, he probably knows too - especially if Suna and I figured this shit out.”

That didn’t help at all.

“Great.” You leaned against the nearby wall and put a palm to your forehead.

Atsumu crossed his arms, “So why haven’t ya confessed to ‘em yet?”

You scoffed and shot him a flat-expression, “Because he doesn’t like me back?”

“What? He said that to ya?”

“Well, no.” You hesitated, but explained. “I mean, he definitely knows I have feelings. And Shinsuke has never been one to beat around the bush. If he hasn’t addressed it, it’s probably because he doesn’t want to make it awkward… since he doesn't feel the same.”

“I think you’re a dumbass.” Atsumu stated back, sighing heavily. “Kita don’t think like that and we both know it.”

“Why else would he be waiting it out?” You asked, “This is the same Kita that told us he doesn’t understand how people feel nervous.”

“Jesus, (F/N). He was talkin’ about volleyball.” Atsumu groaned, raking one of his hands through his piss-blonde hair. “Kita’s human too. Maybe he’s not sure how ya would respond for the same reasons.”

“I don’t know if love advice from the school’s resident fuck-boy is a good idea.” You jabbed instead, a playful smile on your face.

Atsumu put a mock-offended hand on his chest, a smirk finding a way on his face before he squashed it down seriously. He took a step toward you until you were less than an arms’ length-apart, “Fine, have it your way. Stew in silence until he finds someone else.”

That struck a silent chord in you.

“Honestly, that was kind of the plan these past few years.” You admitted, turning your head toward the ground. “If he could find his true happiness with someone else, then I would be happy for him.”

Atsumu must have detected your seriousness, since he hesitated to say his next few words. “Don’ be like that. Stop bein’ an idiot - he likes you.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, (L/N).” Atsumu levelled with you, “Ya standin’ here like ya ain’t the only girl he’s ever withstood.”

“Wow, what a feat.” You muttered as you sighed.

“Fine, if ya don’t believe that. Aren’t ya’ll best friends anyway?” Atsumu asked, “I’m sure he’d do anythin’ to keep you close.”

You hesitated, but agreed. Your relationship, no matter if he reciprocated your feelings or not, you were best friends. But if he didn’t feel the same and you said something? Would there ever be recovering from something like that?

Atsumu drew you out of your thoughts before he lost you further to your over-thinking, “You’re a real catch. Anybody would be lucky to have ya.”

“Oh?” You shot a withered smile at him.

“And I’m not just sayin’ that to put the moves on ya.” Atsumu joked, earning a light punch to his shoulder as you walked past him to leave.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said before turning back towards him, remembering to say. “None of this leaves this room. You hear that?”

“Yes ma’am.” He mock-saluted, a second later a loud ahem ringing through the room.

You tensed up and turned toward the door, seeing a blank-faced Shinsuke standing in the open doorway. Atsumu was always surprised, albeit much less worried than you were. Was your secret finally out?

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, before you pushed shouted a loud No! and brushed past him back into the gymnasium.

Atsumu tried to casually exit the room as well, before his captain’s voice rang-out again, “Care to explain what that was about?”

The setter had two options here: either brush it off or fan the flames that he knew for a fact was there. You were the obvious party, openly staring at the captain like your eyes belonged on him. But Atsumu knew that those feelings were not as unrequited as you thought.

He remembered some club-room talk not that long ago. It was normal for the guys to discuss their preferences, something that Atsumu was rather vocal about on multiple occasions. Aran was just looking for someone he could cook while Ōmimi stated he liked girls who were generally very kind. Osamu preferred someone who was a bit meeker while Atsumu loved ‘em vocal, even bratty to the point of talking back.

“Of course, you would.” Suna commented as he dressed.

“What the fuck do ya mean by that?” The setter bit out.

“As in the fuckboy thinks he’s a girl tamer.” Suna snarkily replied.

“Well, when a girl has a mouth on her. I want to put it to good use.” Atsumu said with a smirk, earning a loose towel to the head, one that Osamu had just launched from across the room. Aran sighed and grabbed it before Atsumu could whip it back. Kita nodded toward his counterpart in quiet thanks.

Many of the others were still dressing after practice this day, it would be annoying to have to break up another fight between the twins then.

“Can ya be less of an asshole?” The grey-headed twin asked.

“Wha? I’m speakin’ the truth!” Atsumu defended, “Not every girl is like that anyway.”

“And who would the infamous Ratsumu have his eyes on?” Suna asked, genuinely curious but not missing the chance to poke at the setter.

Atsumu frowned, but continued anyway. “No one, right now. But I still got eyes, ya know. Ya can’t tell me our manager ain’t a cutie.”

“She would rather hand you a new asshole than ever date you.” Suna said, to which Akagi laughed.

“Careful, ‘Tsamu.” Osamu playfully warned, “People might think ya like (L/N)-san.”

“What can I say, she’s single and hot as fuck.” Atsumu replied off-handedly.

It was a plain statement, but you could almost physically feel the temperature change in the club-room. Aran was glancing between the captain while the rest wondered why it was suddenly dead silent.

Osamu wondered if his prayers had been heard and he would soon be an only child.

“I suggest not saying that again.” Kita stated over his shoulder as he buttoned up the rest of his shirt.

That was a clear enough warning to everyone in the room that you were off limits. Suna had remembered this instance as well, in the present day reminding Atsumu after lunch not to push any buttons. It was clear then that Kita had no tolerance to any shit he was going to pull and now the pining was mutual on both your ends. Suna reminded him again and again during class to just let you and Kita sort your feelings naturally.

Pfft.

Was Atsumu going to be a little shit and try to sew some discord?

Hell yes.

“What can I say?” Atsumu feigned being casual, even shrugging as he exited the quiet storage room. “A pretty girl and a young guy enter a closet alone together, you know the rest.”

The glare he felt on his neck could have been enough to snap it with this much pressure. But, Atsumu digressed. He was doing the both of you a favor anyway, pushing you together when you both already had feelings for one another (albeit with some mind games interspersed).

Atsumu almost laughed when Kita grabbed your hand when the two of you walked home together.

Kita knew what the setter was doing. What buttons he was trying to push, what he was trying to imply with you. The captain knew it all and he was still getting pissed off.

True to everyone’s assumptions, Kita knew about your feelings for him. The extent and duration, that he was not sure of. But he knew that you have thought about him in a romantic light for quite some time. Lingered looks and purposeful touches, on both your ends, was not something he could easily ignore.

What made Kita wonder was why you hadn’t said anything at all?

You were often pretty straight-forward as well. Not exactly in terms of romance, but you when were interested in something you tended to speak your mind. Whether it be a new show, some shounen anime you were following along with, you always shared it with him.

And for that fact he was always grateful.

Many of the others your age tended to be warded off by his way of thinking, branding him too mature or even too cold at times. To think that even the sarcastic Suna had nicknamed him as a robot, it was interesting to see that was how most people saw him.

But you didn’t.

Or at least, you saw passed his cold exterior and were just a freely-spoken with your mind. Kita’s blunt way of speaking had casualties sometimes, but you usually voiced if his blunt speech was too much. There were times that, if you were inadvertently hurt by his words, you would say it out-loud.

He remembered the last time this happened, not even a month ago. The two of you were hanging out under the shade of a tree, about to go out to a team hangout when you exited your back porch wearing a blue sundress. It flirted high above your knees and showed off the creamy legs of yours that he loved to trail his eyes over.

You looked breath-taking.

And so he said:

“Is there an occasion I’m missing today? I thought we were just going out with the team.”

The disappointed look on your face was immediate and it did not take a genius to figure those were the wrong words to say. But what he was not sure is where it went wrong. Logically, it made sense. You were going to walk at least two miles to the train and then from there a mile to the arcade. And most of that time you would all be standing. Would you even be comfortable doing all this walking in sandals?

But you didn’t get offended or draw away from him from these smaller misunderstandings.

You were always ready to knock some sense into him if need be.

“Not even a compliment on how I look? How mean.” You said with a frown, “I tried a bit more because I don’t usually get the chance to.”

“I know, but I want you to be comfortable considering the walks today.” Kita lightly grabbed your elbow as he stepped closer, “Besides, you always look beautiful no matter what you’re wearing.”

Your blush was palpable, Kita was almost sure he could fry an egg on your forehead, if the redness was any indication of temperature.

“Let’s save this dress for another occasion. Preferably where only I see these.” He glanced down to indicate your legs, to which you sputtered and allowed him to guide you back inside the house.

And instead, he picked a pair of light-colored shorts and a loose summer-blouse. Kita knew you had a pair of black-and-white sneakers that would go with it anyway. You commented how it was almost scary that Kita knew your wardrobe, but he stated it simply:

I like what you wear. And I think it looks very agreeable on you.

It was simple and he stated it thusly. And from your reaction, it seemed as if it had made your day. From the beaming smile on your face to the new skip in your step, it was clear to him that he had amended the situation properly with your guidance.

But he still had the same issue: Kita thought he was being clear as day.

There was no one else he was spending time with like this. No one else whom Kita was expressing interest in like he was with you. From sharing ice-cream to hangouts alone with just the two of you, he thought his way of flirting with you was obvious? His actions alone should have been clear that he was showing his own interest in you.

And so if Kita was being clear with his feelings, why hadn’t you said anything?

This was not something he could just say and retract, either. The last thing he wanted to do was put your entire friendship on the line just to lose you. What if you actually did not feel the same way? But from your constant blushing and obvious gaze on him, you liked him too? But why hadn’t you said anything? Were you expecting him too?

He almost groaned aloud at this line of thinking.

Nothing had him flustered quite like you. Kita was confident both in school and on the court, a sure faith that no matter where it was. It was not a baseless arrogance, but more like a calm trust that he knew what he was doing was right.

And yet…

When it came to you, that brand of confidence simply withered away. Not always a bad thing, you often caught him off-guard with your own kindness and rarely did you ever truly fight. But there were times that he sorely wished he knew what was going on in that head of yours.

Like why hadn’t you said anything to him regarding this tension?

Or better yet, why the hell were you whispering with Atsumu in the gym closet?

The setter knew all about your being off-limits. Kita made it very clear that day and it seemed even then, the message did not totally receive in the asshole's mind. Or rather, it probably did, Atsumu just decided to ignore it.

And so on your shared walk home after practice, Kita gently grabbed your hand and did not let go. You almost jumped in surprise alongside him. Not that you hadn’t held hands before, but it was usually called for in the context. Navigating one of the twin’s parties, through a crowded group, or just to guide you somewhere.

But never had he held your hand for no reason.

Kita just smiled, hoping this would send a clear enough message to both you and the meddlesome boys behind you.

Meanwhile, Atsumu had to stop himself from cackling aloud. Osamu was ready to question his brother over what the hell was that about, but Suna assured him that it was best not to get involved at this rate. Aran simply sighed, but waved goodbye and goodnight to the rest of the team.

Your smile was a mask to your inward screaming, only to be silenced to a blank void. Your mind was comparable to that picture of spilled milk - the only thing inside as if the very act was an enigma. You had no idea what to say, what to do in this situation as you both continued to walk along.

For someone who was an athlete, the skin of his hand was surprisingly soft as it encased your own. You felt your hand unconsciously squeeze his and feared that the act would have him pulling away, as if waking him up from his act. But Kita squeezed back, a fond expression reflected back at you.

The two of you walked home together whenever you had the chance, unless called for by other duties. So this was usually normal for the two of you. Conversation was just easy, ranging from school or recent events, and even if one-sided you had no issues with simply speaking to the captain. And yet today…

Kita and you were both completely silent.

You couldn’t even tell if something else was on his mind, a neutral look on his face as he looked ahead. Was this action to show that he was reciprocating your feelings? You hated being unsure like this, but there was too much vulnerability to simply lay-out what you wanted to say.

Even on the train, Kita sat next to you quietly but still held your hand over his knee. You watched the action, before trying to level your breathing as to not freak out. But Kita kept going about his day, even taking out his phone to check a few texts with the other hand.

It was meant to show this was entirely on purpose.

Only when your house popped into view during something conspiratory popped into your mind - Did one of the boys tell him?

You felt the small seed of hope grow further. Was it just a coincidence that the day Suna and Atsumu found out about your secret was the same day, after literal years, that Kita found out as well? And that maybe if he knew now, was he reciprocating in some way?

You moved to glance at him in the corner of your eye, but he was already looking at you.

The both of you stopped short of the gate, but you hesitated for a second to say anything. There was so much on your mind and stewing in silence was the exact opposite thing you wanted to do. Before you could even think of words to say, your captain made the first move again.

Kita tenderly reached for your other hand, holding both in his much larger ones. He brought them up together and shot you a gentle smile, “(F/N), your hands are so soft.”

It came out like word vomit.

“I like you, Kita!”

SHIT.

Maybe you read him wrong?? If he was going to make a move, why was he looking at you so surprised??

“And here I was, wanting to say something first.” Kita said as he chuckled lightly, his hands gliding the rest of the way up your arms. “I like you, too.”

You didn’t even have time to overthink, Kita wasting no time and pulling you towards him. Quickly raising your hands to his chest, you steadied yourself against him as he held you in the close embrace. His smile was almost blinding - not from the size, but rather the genuine feel behind it.

Your hands slid upwards, folding behind his neck as your faces drew closer together. One of his hands gently carded in your hair, lightly guiding you to him. You closed your eyes in silent anticipation, long awaited joining finally happening with only stars as your audience.

The skin of his lips slotted gently against yours and you silently relished the feel of the prolonged peck. You pulled him closer, silently nudging him to go the step further. Kita smiled in response, making you beam right back at him. It was honestly hard to deepen the kiss further, expressions pulled from your shared grins. You were two idiots smiling at one another, foreheads pressed together as you struggled to deepen your impassioned kiss.

“I’ve waited so long to hold you like this.” Kita whispered against your lips, one of his hands resting around your waist.

“Me too.” You replied in a low vice, eyes still closed as you just felt him.

He watched your cute expression, from your rosy appearance to the way you deliciously leaned your body into him. Kita felt his eyes shutter closed, savoring the feeling of you two finally joined. You moved together in tandem, softly at first, and then with a swift intensity that made you cling to him even further - as if Kita was the only solid thing in this suddenly swaying world.

The world was constantly moving, either too fast or too slow or too much at times. Until finally, in Kita’s arms, it finally felt right.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time.” You confessed.

“I know.” Kita responded simply, “Me too.”

You almost wanted to laugh, but withheld it from possibly breaking the atmosphere. “Is it really that simple?”

“Yes.” Kita said as he smiled, moving to place a light kiss on your forehead. “I was honestly… afraid to say anything in fear of your response. But now we are both aware, right?”

You grinned back and stretched on your tippy-toes to kiss his cheek, “Yes.”

“That’s it then.” Kita stated as he leaned his forehead back against yours, “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

You whispered back, “Sounds like a deal.”

His insistent mouth parted your eager lips, sending wild tremors crawling up your spine, evoking sensations you had never known you were even capable of feeling. And as the swimming giddiness spun you round and round, you steadied yourself to kiss him back just as passionately. With a swipe of his tongue against the crease of your lips, you parted your mouth eagerly.

There was no battle, no insistent fight between your two appendages. There was only Kita, eagerly roaming around your mouth as you sensually rubbed tongues. You openly moaned at the feeling, not even noticing the noise until Kita was smiling in response.

You blushed at the realization, but Kita only complimented the sound. “Make that noise again for me.”

Your smile dropped to a more sultry smirk.

“You’ll have to earn it.”

Kita felt his eyes comically widen before dropping to a half-lid, “Oh?”

“My parents aren’t home…”

“Oh.”

Kita placed a kiss on your forehead just to lean away, one of his hands dropping to grab your own. You hurried along with his pace, suddenly breaking out into a faster walk in the direction of your home.

“Let’s make up for lost time, shall we?”

BONUS:

“No way.” Jisoo commented on the sight before her, nudging Atsumu standing next to her. The twin’s party was ravaging around them, but there was an unlikely and yet very likely couple that had just walked through the door. And while it was normal to see the two of them together, it was the first official time as an exclusive couple.

Walking in was Kita and you, hands clasped together like this was oh so natural.

Akagi greeted the both of you with a smile while Aran waved you guys over to the living, where many of the other team members were playing a game. Kita guided you through the party, joined hands proudly on display for all party goers.

Atsumu held out a hand in Jisoo direction’s, causing her to frown but nonetheless place some lost yen in his open palm.

But seeing you smile and share a kiss openly with the captain, Jisoo didn’t exactly mind losing this bet.

---xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx---

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

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Sick Day, Part 3 - Evening

This is Part 3 for my bby @silverwolf319 💖💖💖 Something soft and comforting for the days you don't feel well. Here’s Frankie Morales making you take a sick day.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Word count: 990+

Rating: soft mature, 18+ only

Outline: Frankie Morales x “You” (gender neutral reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mentions of illness/nausea; food/chicken soup ingredients; tea; the world’s grossest hot drink for sick people (but it works); Frankie being all soft and comforting

You wake up to the music of the end credits of Jurassic Park, and Frankie is nowhere to be seen. There is a note on the coffee table next to your phone that says, “Gone to store. Be right back. DRINK!” You smile and obey orders, sipping down the rest of your lukewarm Gatorade.

You yawn and stretch, and shuffle back to bed. You’re not tired and you can’t sleep any more right now, but maybe a book will do. And when you get into the bedroom you see that Frankie has worked more magic while you were out cold because there are fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed. You feel a little twinge behind your sternum, but you know it’s not a medical issue, it’s just Frankie and the way that he loves you.

You crawl into bed and pass an hour with a good book, and when Frankie returns you hear him unload all of the groceries before he pops in to see you.

“How you doing, babe?”

You smile, “Better. No more nausea. I finished my Gatorade.”

“Good. I got crackers and stuff to make soup. Do you want some hot tea?”

“Yes please,” you put your book down and reach your arms out to him. “But first I need a hug, baby.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed and wraps one big arm around your shoulders. Now that you’re not nauseated anymore he smells good again, clean and fresh and spicy with his usual deodorant and body wash. He’s warm and safe and Frankie, the smells that you associate with your best memories and experiences.

You let him hold you and envelop you until you’re almost drowsy again. And then he releases you and kisses your forehead, murmuring promises of tea with honey.

He returns in a bit with a big mug of hot, minty tea with just the right amount of honey, and a plate with a small pile of saltines. “Nibble these, sip your tea. I’ll be right back.”

And he goes to get his own book from the living room, and comes back and sits next to you in bed. He’s just right at keeping you company, reading one-handed and rubbing your back, only breaking the silence to ask you how your tummy is handling the crackers and tea. And there’s that twinge again, the little flutter that tells you that your body is in tune with Frankie’s love; and not just when there’s sex or passion or romance happening, but real love, all the time, even when it’s quiet.

And then the sun starts to get low, and your stomach growls, and Frankie laughs and gets up, telling you he got the stuff to make soup, and all you have to do is come out when it’s ready. So you lie down again for a quick nap, and listen to him banging around in the kitchen, chopping chicken breast and celery and carrots, mincing fresh garlic and pouring broth and stirring.

The next thing you know he’s shaking your shoulder gently, and his warm brown eyes are hovering over you, and his soft sweet lips are saying, “Hey, baby. Soup’s ready.” And you stretch and do an inventory of yourself: sore throat, sore muscles from laying around all day, but otherwise fine. You nod sleepily and tell him you’re ready.

And you sit down at the kitchen table to the best soup you’ve ever had, because Frankie’s gone all-out, making his mom’s recipe for chicken noodle soup with fresh garlic and a splash of lemon juice, and you could die right here and feel like you’d gone to heaven. And he smiles at you and asks you, “Is it good?”

And all you can do is moan around a mouthful of broth and egg noodles, and nod vigorously and ask for more pepper. And you don’t know how you’re ever going to repay him for this, for showering you with gentle love all day, on one of the worst-feeling days of your life, when all you wanted to do this morning was crawl into a hole and die. And then you realize you don’t have to “repay” him. All you have to do is accept his love and let it wash over you, let him do his thing and care for you. No repayment needed.

And then dinner is over and he takes the plates away and sets a mug in front of you with strict instructions to, “Drink up. It’s gross but it’s medicine.”

“Cold medicine?”

He tilts his head from side to side. “Kind of. More like folk medicine. It’s hot water, minced garlic, lemon juice, and honey. It’s gross, so you’ll probably hate me until you wake up tomorrow and feel human again.”

You wince and take a cautious sip, but other than the strong garlic it’s just lemony and not too sweet and pretty much just like a weird kind of soup. So you shrug and take a bigger sip and tell him it’s actually not that bad. He grins, happy that you think he’s done a good job.

“Can we watch another movie?”

“Of course, babe.”

He tidies up the kitchen while you fold your legs under you and pick a movie. He brings you a fresh glass of ice water to wash down the garlic-lemon-honey concoction, and you snuggle into his side. You’re warm and full of soup, less achy, less dehydrated, loved and supported and content.

Frankie looks down at you and smiles gently, his eyes crinkling up in the way you love. He tilts his head down for a soft kiss and you stop for a moment. He looks at you with a small frown.

“Garlic breath,” you say.

“I don’t care,” he laughs. “I just won’t breathe through my nose.”

You laugh, and let him lay a gentle, soft kiss on your lips. Then you tuck your head back against his shoulder and sip your ice water.

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

My “all fics” tag list (my only tag list, actually):

@quica-quica-quica

@anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

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#pedrostories #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #comfort fic

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years ago

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the exes

lmfao guys i finally checked my taglist form and i've been missing a lot of you sorry :///

warnings: men that might remind you of your ex, brief mentions of sexual content

wordcount: 2.4k we're back to shorter fics unless you guys want to start waiting a month in between them

_______

“I love you, Sophie,” he’d said, and then looked at her expectantly.

She was surprised when she heard herself echoing her first boyfriend, Peter, with an “I love you too,” even though she wasn’t sure she meant it. Her parents always said they fell in love after only two weeks, so Peter waiting two whole months to tell her was a logical next step.

Right?

Peter went to the Columbus College of Art and Design, and they’d met through a dating app after Sophie figured she didn’t want to have to meet another boy that was halfway drunk and put his hands on her waist when he shuffled past her in the dirty college bar. So she settled for the first nice boy she met, that looked halfway decent and kissed halfway decent too. He was two years older, twenty while she was eighteen, and always bragged to his friends about how mature she was, how smart she was for her age.

Her father hated him, but Sophie just figured it was because he was her first real boyfriend. Carter especially hated him, making a clear effort to ignore him and turn a cold shoulder when he’d pick Sophie up from the dorms and take her out to dinner, or on the few mornings he had to pick her up from Peter’s house when Peter would complain he was too hungover to drive the eleven minutes to campus to bring her home.

She quickly learned that I love you wasn’t necessarily love, it was more like an obligation. When she really was too busy with architecture homework, or she had a sorority meeting, he’d ask her to come over with a pleading “c’mon, but I love you,” and she’d huff to herself but pack up her things and go to his apartment for a couple hours. She’d hang out with him just long enough to placate him, then trudge back to her house, work on homework until three am, wake up exhausted, repeat.

She went out with him to the bars, more often than she liked, and he’d get way drunker than her every time. Sophie would sigh and drag him home, then make sure he was well enough to attend church the next day. She went once and was reminded of how her childhood was spent in church, every Sunday in youth group, and hated that feeling. One of the girls in his youth group led a sermon about saving yourself for marriage, sending several pointed glances at Sophie, and she realized he’d probably confessed to them about how she let him touch her. (He didn’t know that she faked an orgasm so he’d quit rubbing what was basically her inner thigh.)

He was never mean, just...boring. Something she had to deal with. She found herself wanting more, playing with the idea of what it would be like to ask out the cute boy in her sociology class, but then she’d shake her head and remind herself she wasn’t a cheater. Besides, he wasn’t that terrible. He’d dote on her and call her princess (which she hated, but figured as far as pet names went, it could be worse).

When he posted photos with other girls on his Instagram story - at a party, in class, out to lunch - Sophie found herself not caring a little too much. She kept waiting for a hint of jealousy, and thought that sometimes he was waiting for it too, but it never came. Julia and Allie would see and question those stories, ask Sophie who those girls were, but she’d just get defensive and shrug it off. (He’s allowed to have other girl friends, she’d say. Even when the photo showed the girl’s head on his chest and arms around his waist and his arm around hers, his hand on her hip.)

When he called her in tears, after five months of dating, she knew what was coming.

“I kissed someone else.”

“Oh.” She paused, gathered her thoughts, then realized she had none. Felt completely neutral. “Okay.”

Peter sounded like he was at his breaking point. She didn’t care. “It’s been going on for a while.”

“Is it Andie?” Sophie asked, growing annoyed. Did they really need to drag the phone call out?

“Yeah.” He let out some ungodly sob and she found herself feeling disgusted, wanting to tell him to pull it together. Andie was cool, a girl she’d met a couple times at the few college parties she’d been to with Peter, where everyone sat around and smoked cigarettes and drank IPAs, and fit the stereotype of art students so damn well it wasn’t even funny. Andie wore Doc Martens and had a buzzcut and gave zero fucks - and clearly didn’t give any about the tentative friendship Sophie thought they had.

She wrinkled her nose. “Did you do more than just kiss?”

Peter had never pressured her - ever - Sophie would tell him sorry with shaky hands, that she just wasn’t ready to go further, then felt gross every time she apologized. But if they went a little too far and she made them stop, he never stayed the night, only napped with her until she was asleep and slipped out just after.

“I’m so sorry, princess -”

She recoiled at the pet name. She’d never liked it but didn’t hate it enough to argue against it. “No, no, answer the question, Peter. Did you do more?”

“...Yeah. We did. I just - I had to find it somewhere, you know -”

“Oh.” She mumbled, her insecurities confirmed.

“Sophie, princess, I’m so sorry. Why don’t you come over and we can just -”

“I don’t think I want to see you again. For a while.” She added, chewing anxiously on her lip as she told him.

Silence came over the phone for a few moments until he finally replied. “Oh.”

A few more moments. “You’re sure? We can talk it out.”

“Um...no. And yes, I’m pretty sure. Okay. Um. Talk to you later, I guess.” She hung up, feeling more disappointed in herself for not catching it than anything else.

(They did not talk later, or ever again. Sophie figured that was best.)

_______

Shortly after Peter, Sophie met Luke. He was sweet, a little boring too, but most importantly, he was easy. Easy to talk to, easy to hang out with, and she didn’t have this lingering fear in the back of her mind that he was going to go hook up with someone else. After a few months, Luke became a little less than easy - he was clingy and would walk her home from every class, he would ask her to come hang out when he studied in the chemistry lab, he would complain if she didn’t spend the night with him. She found herself lying to him that the architecture studio didn’t allow visitors, just so she could get a breath of fresh air.

One night, when Sophie sighed upon seeing Luke’s contact pop up on her phone and went to grab her overnight bag without even reading the text, Allie frowned. “Sophie.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know. Just because he says he misses you. You can be your own person.”

Sophie paused, considering. “I am my own person, just with him. Right?”

Allie hesitated before answering, wanting to phrase things carefully so Sophie didn’t get upset. “I feel like maybe you’re a little different with him. When I met you, you were confident and bold and...I don’t know. I think he’s holding you back.”

(You’re a shell of yourself,” is what she really wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure Sophie could handle that.)

“Oh.” Sophie uttered, quiet. Allie had just confirmed what Sophie had been thinking for months, but she didn’t think anyone else had picked up on it. “You think I should break up with him?”

“I think you need to decide that on your own.”

“Allie.”

She just gave her a look, shaking her head. “Go over there, and say what you need to say.”

Sophie was clearly debating, stuck, until Allie pried her bag out of her hand and grabbed her keys from her desk. “Al -”

“Come on. I’ll drive you.” Allie guided her out the door, her arm slung around Sophie’s shoulders. She drove her to Luke’s house, waited outside while Sophie went in, and texted Julia to get ice cream from the store when Sophie walked back out only twenty minutes later with teary eyes.

Sophie slid back in the passenger seat, drawing her knees to her chest. “I did it.”

“I’m proud of you, Soph.” Allie reached over and hugged her. “You’re better than him. I promise.”

When they both returned to their room, Julia wrapped Sophie in a big hug. She held her tight as Sophie sniffled, quietly, then promptly handed her a spoon for the ice cream as soon as she let go. After a few moments of quiet, Julia broke the silence. “So when are you getting back out there?”

“Oh my god, Jules, give her a break.” Allie rolled her eyes as Sophie giggled through her tears.

“I’m just asking! Maybe it’s time for you to go through your hoe phase, babe.” She reached over and snagged a bite of the ice cream, twirling the spoon around thoughtfully. “Or do you have any guys in mind - oh, remember that cute Delt that’s from your hometown -”

Sophie fixed her with a glare. “If I’m doing a hoe phase, it’s sure as hell not gonna be with Rafe Cameron.”

“Rafe! That’s what it was. Okay, so he’s out. What about the bartender at Varsity Club, he always gives you the extra shots in your drink for free?”

“Can you give the girl at least a day to get over her breakup?” Allie asked skeptically.

“Can I just say something?” Julia asked.

Sophie sighed, nodding. “I know you’re gonna say it anyways, so go ahead.”

Julia gave her a sheepish grin, patting Sophie’s knee. “I never liked him. He made you kinda like a doormat, y’know, and that’s not you. You’re better than that. Plus, he was so needy. I mean, he had to have been good in bed for you to stick around -”

“Jesus Christ, Jules -”

“He wasn’t.” Sophie interrupted them both. “We didn’t do that much, anyways.”

“Oh.” Julia paused, thinking. “Well. I’m glad you broke up with him, anyways. Takes a lot of courage.”

———

The first time Luke called when he was drunk, it was only a week after their breakup. Sophie felt bad and picked him up from the bar to drive him home, and let him kiss her in his room before she pulled away and urged him into bed.

The second time, it was the next weekend, and she did the same thing, but kissed him a little more. She ignored Julia’s knowing look when she slinked back into their room, head down, with her lipstick a little smeared and hair a little astray.

He kept drunk calling and she kept going to rescue him, to pick him up from the bars or a pregame or wherever else he was. She convinced herself it was only because she felt bad about breaking up with him, that he wasn’t all that bad in the relationship. The fifth time he called, a month and a half after the breakup, the girls were all drunk at the bars, and Luke was drinking at a party. When he called, Allie snatched the phone out of Sophie’s hand and tucked herself into the corner of the bar to hear him.

“Luke?”

“Soph - no, wait, Allie?”

“Yes. It’s Allie. Stop fucking calling her.”

“I just - I thought she could take me home -” He started, confused.

Allie huffed but forced a smile and gave Sophie a thumbs up from across the bar. “No. She can’t. And you can’t call her anymore, she’s not your girlfriend. Go find a friend or something.” With that she promptly hung up and blocked his number, satisfied. She’d regret it a little in the morning, but didn’t tell Sophie what she’d done.

____

It took Sophie about two weeks after Luke’s last phone call to follow Julia’s advice to ‘get back out there.’ The first time, she convinced herself it was way too easy - flirted with a frat boy at the bar with a few subtle touches, twirled her hair around her finger, and went back to his room after only an hour of knowing him. It was rushed, awkward, and she was pretty sure the guy came in his pants after a few heated kisses and a couple rolls of her hips.

The second time, she tried a little harder, going after a guy that approached her first with a smooth pickup line and a broad smile. They traded buying rounds for each other all night, until he kissed her around midnight and shyly asked if she’d want to go back to his place. When he escorted her into what she recognized as an off-campus Sigma Chi senior house, she didn’t dare inform him that actually, she was just a sophomore with a really good fake ID. She surprised herself when she took off her clothes first, then kissed him with a newfound confidence she’d pulled out of nowhere.

“I lost it.” Sophie announced with a slight frown when she came back into their room at two am.

Allie woke up from her spot on the futon where she and Julia were watching TV, rubbing her eyes. “What’d you lose?”

“Your...” Julia trailed off.

Sophie nodded, wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not like everyone says. And I thought it would take a little longer. It wasn’t bad, though.”

Allie frowned, getting up to hug her. “Are you alright?”

Sophie accepted the hug, resting her chin on Allie’s shoulder. “Yeah. Just...I don’t know. I kind of hoped it would be a little more special.”

“He didn’t kick you out, did he?” Julia rose too, wrapping her arms around both the girls.

“No. I left.” She paused, sounding both deflated and a tiny bit hopeful. “They can’t all be like this, right? I mean, this is my fourth guy I’ve had...something with, and I’m starting to think there’s a trend.”

“No, no, you’ll find the right person. I promise.” Julia assured her. “Maybe you need to just wait, you know? Take some time for yourself.”

Allie hummed in agreement. “You’re more than just some dumb relationship.”

“I just…” Sophie sighed, quietly. “How am I supposed to know when he’s the right one?”

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe x sophie #mine #college rafe #frat rafe

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tulipjeanohare · 4 years ago

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Untitled

PAIRING: EZ Reyes x OC (Sloane)

NOTES: I wrote this during Season 2 and just never shared it but I’ve been wanting to get back into writing. SO, I hope you guys enjoy and I’d love feedback!

WARNING: Mature Themes.

Credit to the person who made the gif @shadesalvarez

WORD COUNT: 6, 370

It was another typical Friday night at the bar; the place was packed wall to wall, a new band was perched on the stage performing a set list of songs she’d never remember, and the regular unfavorable drunks were crowding the bar top. Just another weekend wasted working behind the bar when she’d much rather be somewhere else doing just about anything other than this. The bar wasn’t that bad, really. But it wasn’t what she wanted. It paid the bills and that was all that mattered to her as a single mother.

There was never time for men and she was fine with that. Her son didn’t need any other men dropping in and out of his life. That much she were sure of. So she lived the monotonous life that she had grown accustomed to the last few years. During the week she worked at a local art museum in an attempt to keep her passion for art alive while she couldn’t afford to actually make any then the weekend came and she spent her nights slinging drinks for every lowlife that decided to slither into the dimly lit hole in the wall bar off the highway.

It wasn’t as bad as it seemed, she had regulars that she loved seeing and for the most part everyone kept their hands to themselves and tipped rather well. The whole single mother thing did work to her advantage from time to time. But every now and then some idiot would come in trying to impress whatever frat friends he had drug along with him and made a pass at her. She could normally handle herself pretty well but when they got too aggressive she defaulted to the gruff, muscular man they’d hired to work security.

Tonight was no exception to any of this.

Earlier in the evening she had dropped her son off at her friend’s house and gave him an extra long hug. Promised him she’d see him bright and early in the morning and she was off. It never got any easier to leave him; he was four now and was the smartest kid she’d ever met, she might be a little biased but it was true. Those big brown eyes of his melted her heart every time he gave her the same sad puppy dog face before she left. She knew he was fine there. He loved her friend, she was like family to the both of them. But she still hated to leave him to go deal with a bunch of overly macho men for hours on end.

By the time she got to the bar the place was already crowded and the band had already started to play. As quickly as she could she made her way behind the bar and dumped her bag and jacket in the backroom before making her way to her first customer of the night.

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

EZ had taken off from the clubhouse almost two hours ago without a plan in his mind of exactly where he was going. All he knew was that he needed some space. He needed to forget the life he’d chosen for just a few hours and pretend he wasn’t the man he’d become. The loud engine of the motorcycle roared in his ears as he passed a big black sign reading ‘Big Al’s Roadside Bar, Next Exit’.

That’ll have to do, he thought to himself.

When he pulled into the gravel lot in front of the building there wasn’t a single motorcycle in sight and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders he didn’t know had been there. Before he headed inside he took off the leather cut with his name stitched on one side and shoved it into the bag on the side of his bike. There was no reason for anyone here to know who he was or that he ran with any club.

His watch read half past eleven when he entered the door. Enough time for him to have a couple drinks and maybe make his way to that motel he'd noticed just up the road. The place was loud and the people were crowded inside like a can of sardines so he figured his best bet would be to make himself at home up at the bar, hide himself in the corner there and get a little drunk.

Once he reached the bar though he was a little more than surprised to see such a beautiful woman behind it. All the bars in Santo Padre either had weathered old ladies behind them or former inmates he’d probably seen in passing during his time inside. The woman behind this bar was far more beautiful than anyone he’d seen back home in a long time. She had thick mess of black hair that fell well past her shoulders, he watched as she pulled it back into a bun at the nape of her neck.

She looked real. Not like the girls who hung around the clubhouse in hopes of becoming someone’s old lady. Her face was bare except for the gloss that created a sheen on her plump lips. Lips he’d pay good money to kiss. The black jeans she had on hugged her every curve so tightly he couldn’t help but stare when she turned to hand another bar patron their drink. The T-shirt she wore had the Virgin Mary printed on the front, exactly like the statue that sat inside the clubhouse in Santo Padre, but he was sure if wasnt some funny pun for her because he’d noticed the delicate cross necklace hanging around her neck. One arm had a smattering of tattoos he couldn’t quite make out while the other seemed bare.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d been staring at her until she turned to him, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face before leaning her palms against the bar top, “you wanna order something or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“Shit, sorry,” he quickly answered.

A laugh fell from her lips, a laugh that rang over the music. It was sweet and soft, no malice behind it. It made EZ’s shoulders relax a little. “S’ok...not the worst anyone has ever done in this bar. Long day?”

“You could say that,” EZ replied.

Without a word she nodded, reached under the bar for a cold beer and popped the top off before sliding it across the table to him. “Nothing an ice cold beer can’t help, right?”

“Amen,” he smiled, reaching in his pocket for some cash.

Before taking it the bartender eyed it for a second, “you wanna just open a tab?”

“Nah, I’ll take it one beer at a time,” he assured her.

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

The rest of the night went off as usual; the same guys sidled up to the bar to grab her attention for a few quick moments before another pushed his way up to her. But there was one thing that was different tonight. The guy at the end of the bar.

He wasn’t like the others. His eyes were kind and he spoke with more eloquence than any man she’d met in her entire life had. He was polite and quiet, a god send on a night like tonight. So she spent a little more time at his end of the bar than any other. Any time he would finish a beer she was sure to be right there with a fresh one and he would hand her another handful of bills.

One beer at a time.

Things were beginning to quiet down at one when it happened.

She was wiping down the bar top at the other end of the bar when a new guy took a seat. He leaned over a little too close for comfort when she asked him what he wanted. Then when she handed him the class of brown liquor he’d asked for he grabbed her hand in his, which she quickly shook herself free of.

EZ took notice of the interaction. He’d been nursing another beer, trying to decide if it was time for him to head to that motel when he saw the guy grab hold of her hand. He felt himself begin to react before she shook her arm free, scowling at the guy before walking back down towards him.

“You alright,” he asked, his voice low so only she could hear.

A smile crept across her lips as she nodded, letting her elbows rest on the wood top while she leaned over it. “I get five of those guys a night...that’s nothing. I appreciate your concern though...I never got your name.”

“EZ,” he smiled, those pearly white teeth of his on full display.

Standing there across the bar from him, a mere few inches from him, she felt like her heart skipped a beat. There’s got to be a catch here, she thought to herself. “EZ? Interesting,” she smiled, holding her hand out for him. “I’m Sloane, nice to officially meet you.”

When he took her hand in his she could feel the slight blush creeping up her cheeks. She hoped to god he couldn’t see it in the dim lighting in the bar. But the rough, calloused feeling of his palm against hers felt nice. A sign of a real man.

And EZ got a rush of electricity through him as he held her hand in his. He could smell her perfume wafting in front of him when she leaned in closer to him. It was like a field of fresh flowers on a breezy day. “That’s a nice name, it suits you,” EZ said softly.

Before either of them could say anything else someone at the other end of the bar was shouting for her. Quickly she gave him an apologetic look before making her way to the person.

Once again EZ was tempted to watch her; the way she moved was so easy, like she was doing a dance every time she’d spin around to grab a bottle of liquor or reach one way or the other for a glass. The same piece of hair kept falling in her face until she finally pulled the hair tie from her hair and let it fall at her shoulders. Somehow it made her even more beautiful to him. The dark mess of hair she’d had pulled back before now framed her face. Every now and then she’d tuck a piece behind her ear before it fell again.

The way he was feeling towards this new stranger in front of him was different. It had been a long time since he’d felt any sort of way about a woman. His mind had been stuck on one in particular and it was becoming more and more evident that nothing was ever going to happen with them again.

She wasn’t Emily but deep down he felt like she might be better than Emily.

Just as he was getting lost in his thoughts he noticed the same guy from before giving her a hard time. But this time he had a hold of her forearm, hard enough that her skin was white where his hand held to her. He gave her a few seconds, waiting for her to pull free of him again or for the bouncer to jump in but nothing like that happened. The guy kept holding onto her and she was getting more and more agitated as the interaction went on.

“Let go of me right now,” she all but shouted at the guy.

He rolled his eyes, leaning in closer to her, “oh come on, stop playing hard to get and just let me take you home.”

Before she was able to get another word out EZ had his hand on the guys arm and was almost chest to chest with him. “Let her go before I make you,” he said, his already deep voice seeming to drop another octave.

Now it was a tangle of arms in the middle of them. EZ holding tightly to his while the guy still kept his hold on Sloane. And the next thing she knew the drunk guy was headbutting EZ and lunging towards him. With her arm now free her eyes darted around the room in search of her back up, the guy that was generally posted up at the end of the bar to keep his eye on her was nowhere to be found. All she could do now was hope it didn’t get too out of hand.

EZ took a quick swing at the guy and landed his fist right on his chin, knocking the guy back a couple steps. But that didn’t stop him from going at her new friend again; swinging with all his might in hopes of landing something. It was clear to Sloane that this wasn’t EZ’s first fight, he knew what he was doing but the other guy was way in over his head with too much testosterone and alcohol running through him to tell him to stop while he was ahead.

A few more punches had the guys lip bleeding and his already wobbly footing worse. By that time the bouncer had made his way back to the bar and quickly grabbed hold of the swinging drunk and started to cart him out of the bar. He turned to yell at the other man that he’d be back for him but she stopped him, “let him be, he was just stepping in to stop that guy. He’s fine.”

The bouncer glanced from his bartender then to the muscular man standing just a few feet from him, not a single bead of sweat on him. All he could do was nod and continue kicking the other man out of the place.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Sloane shook her head, trying to conceal the smile attempting to break across her face.

As much as she hated having anyone thinking they needed to defend her honor she had to admit that it was really hot seeing him land that punch. And his body hadn’t looked bad doing so either.

She pulled another bottle of beer from the ice and handed it to him, “this one's on me, as a thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” he started.

Shaking her head she pushed the money he’d started to hand to her back his way, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

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

The band had long since vacated the stage and people were filing out of the bar by the time EZ had decided it was time to leave. Sloane had been a breath of fresh air for him and he didn’t want to have to head out any sooner than he had to. But he figured she wanted to get the place cleaned and clock out so he’d dropped some cash on the bar top for a tip and started for the door. But soon he heard her familiar voice call out to him.

“Hey,” she shouted, her voice carrying over the soft music playing from above. “How do you feel about a couple drinks...back at my place?”

EZ wasn’t sure he heard her right. Sure, she’d given him a little more attention than any of the other bar goers tonight but he hadn’t even for a second thought she’d ask him back to her place. The room felt a lot quieter as he stumbled with his words, completely caught off guard. “Uh, yeah, yeah...that actually sounds great.”

“Give me ten minutes,” she replied before bouncing off to wipe down the tables scattered around.

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

The two of them fell into an easy rhythm on the drive to Sloane’s place, both of them eager to hear the other’s voice no matter what they were saying. Every now and then she’d catch his gaze lingering a little longer than he’d intended for her to see and it gave her those familiar butterflies from earlier in the night. She was having an internal battle with herself though; this is so stupid...what do you thinks going to come of this, she’d hear the voice in her head ask. But she didn’t care. It had been years since she’d had any kind of relationship with a man, one night would be good for her.

So, a fifteen minute drive later and they were pulling up to the front of her apartment building and he was following her closely up the stairs. To be fair he wanted to press her up against her door the minute they hit it but he restrained himself, he wanted to let the night last as long as possible. He was enjoying himself. Enjoying not thinking about his life back home.

“Place might be a little messy,” she told him, kicking her shoes to the side as soon as she stepped inside with EZ following suit.

While she busied herself in the kitchen searching for the liquor EZ wandered around the living room, taking everything in. The place was immaculate except for a few toys strewn about on the floor; a small blue blanket with cars all over it tossed over the side of the couch hastily, a tiny plastic easel in the corner with a freshly done finger painting clipped to it. Next to it was a larger one with the beginnings of an incredible, vibrantly colored painting.

“You have a son,” he asked, his voice carrying to Sloane in the kitchen as she grabbed a couple glasses.

Biting her lip she nodded, placing the glasses on the coffee table in front of the couch before making eye contact with him. “Yeah, he’s the one guy in my life,” she beamed. “Just turned four last month, he stays with my best friend while I work at the bar on the weekend. Is it weird?”

“Nah, I love kids,” EZ smiled. “Dad in the picture?”

Sloane shook her head, pouring some of the brown liquor into the glasses. “No, it’s probably for the best anyways. We make a pretty good little duo. What about you?”

“Just me,” he said, wincing a little as the hard liquor stung the back of his throat. “Pretty close with my pops...and my brother.”

It was tempting for her to question the little pause he made before he mentioned his brother but she didn’t think it was any of her business having only just met him a few hours ago. She felt so at ease with him though she almost asked, it was on the tip of her tongue to say something but she held back. The smile that lingered at the corner of his lips told her there was good there.

The two of them sat side by side on the floor in front of the couch; the coffee table pushed out a little to give them more room, their bodies turned towards each other so they could talk, the brown liquor getting less and less in the bottle. There had been a handful of moments where EZ had wanted make a move. To rest his hand on her thigh or tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear before leaning in for a kiss. But he wanted to hear more about her and her life and everything about her.

He was enthralled.

And so was she.

She could see the kindness in his eyes. Past the bruise under his left eye and the cut on his cheek there was more to him. When they had left the bar she’d noticed the motorcycle and wanted to ask him about it but she decided not to. There was probably something there she wouldn’t like and tonight she just wanted to have fun. Every time he made even the slightest move the veins in his forearms shifted just the slightest bit and it made her think of how it would feel to have those arms wrapped around her body. Then he’d speak and she was enticed by the deepness to his voice, the diction in the wash he spoke was nothing like she’d heard around there before. The guys there wouldn’t know how to string an intelligible sentence together if their lives depended on it.

EZ was different.

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

Sloane rested her head on the chest of the new man in her bed. One arm of his slung around her waist while his hand gently stroked her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. She let her hand rest on his abdomen before she let her fingers trace lines down the center of his stomach. He was all muscle and she could feel it while he was on top of her, the way his body weighted over her as they moved in rhythm together.

The room was silent except for the heaviness of their breathing. EZ felt chills run up his spine the way she tucked her leg over his bare thigh while they laid there. Her soft skin felt like silk against his and he wanted to stay like this for as long as possible. If he closed his eyes long enough he could still see her silhouette above him in the dark room. He could envision the way her hips moved back and forth as she rode him. His fingers holding tightly to her hips until he finally pulled her down close to him so he could nip and kiss at her skin.

For a second he leaned down and pressed a kiss into the crown of her hair, a simple gesture that spoke volumes, before he spoke. “Ezekial,” he said quietly.

“Huh,” she questioned, turning so she could rest her chin on his chest.

The outline of his face just visible in the moonlight pouring in through the closed blinds. “That’s my name. My full name. Ezekial.”

“I like that,” a smile spread across her face and she wasn’t sure why. She turned her face to nuzzle her nose against his bare shoulder before peppering his skin with a few quick kisses. “Ezekial.”

EZ loved the way his name sounded coming off her lips. The raspiness in her voice and the way he could almost hear her smile as she said it. He’d heard it countless times before but it felt special when she said it.

After a few more silent minutes she got up to use the bathroom and he leaned over to grab his boxers, sliding them on before he turned the bedside lamp on. The bathroom door was left open a crack and he could just barely see her naked frame moving in front of the mirror before she pulled his shirt on over her head. His eyes wandered down her body as she walked back into the bedroom, the shirt of his clinging to her curves and just stopping below her ass.

“You’re incredible,” he grinned, reaching his hand out to her as she moved to the side of the bed.

She couldn’t help but smile back at him. Not because of the compliment but because of the way his face lit up as he said it. The laugh lines next to his eyes crinkled as his smile widened and it made his deep brown eyes even more endearing than they already were.

Thoughtlessly she let him take her hand in his and pull her down onto him on the bed. Her legs rested on either side of him as he let her sit in his lap, his hands resting at the small of her back. If he had it his way this night wouldn’t ever end. He hadn’t thought about the club or his brother or Emily all night and it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Where’d they make you,” she asked with a hint of a laugh in her voice. “You’re...different. Good different.”

He didn’t answer her with words. He simply just wrapped his arms tighter around her and pulled her into his chest before he pressed his lips against hers once more. There wasn’t any hesitation there; her lips parted to allow his tongue to slide across her bottom lip before they let themselves get lost in the kiss. Sloane’s mind wandered back to earlier in the night after they’d finished their whiskey and their bodies had somehow moved closer and closer to one another where they sat. She could see his eyes move to her lips every now and then while they talked and she wanted to beg him to kiss her about a hundred times before he actually did.

And once he finally did they were quickly moving to the bedroom. Her bedroom she hadn’t shared with anyone but her son in a very, very long time. They’d stumbled down the hallway attached at the lips before he finally grabbed ahold of her and pressed her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as they both yearned to be closer to each other.

“Is this okay,” EZ had asked, his lips trailing down her neck while his hands held tightly to her back side.

It had made her smile; it had been a very long time since any man had ever asked her permission for anything let alone this. So she had placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled his attention back to her face before speaking. All she said was a breathless yes before they stumbled their way to the bedroom.

By the time Sloane was able to pull herself back to reality, back from her thoughts Ezekiel had flipped her onto her back and was pushing his shirt up over her chest to let his mouth wander over her breasts. A shiver shot through her at the feeling of his soft lips kissing and sucking at her skin. She let her fingers run over the smooth buzzcut of his as he traveled farther and farther down her body until she could feel his warm breath between her thighs.

Before they had both been so hungry for each other all they wanted to do was get off and quickly. But now they wanted to take their time. EZ wanted to explore her body; he wanted to hear the way she’d moan the first time she felt his tongue on her, he wanted to know how it felt to have her body wrapped around his while they made love. Sloane wanted to hear his gruff voice whispering to her while he was inside her, to feel the weight of his strong body on top of hers once more.

The room had fallen silent except for the sound of the shaky breaths she was taking as he gave his full attention to her core. His tongue lapped at her lips teasingly before she felt his teeth graze the sensitive little nub tucked inside. A whiney moan escaped her, her back arching at the new sensation. His hands held tightly to her thighs with his face buried between them for what felt like an eternity and by the time he pulled back her entire body was shaking on the edge of an intense orgasm.

“Ezekiel...please,” she almost pleaded with him.

A smile curled at the corners of his mouth before he peppered the inside of her thigh with kisses, “be patient, baby.”

And she tried to stop herself from letting out the sound that came next but she couldn’t help herself. The moan was throaty and full of lust, her lips parted perfectly and bright cherry red from how she’d been biting on the bottom lip. Hearing him call her baby was more than enough to encourage her to hold off for him. If she was honest she’d do just about anything for him right now.

Once more his lips trailed her skin but this time he was heading upwards, leaving the spot between her legs he’d made himself at home at and making his way to her breasts. The pink colored skin of her nipples was pebbled and hard from just the light nibbles he was giving her skin. But he hadn’t forgotten about her needs; while his mouth made quick work of her nipples he let one hand slip between her thighs and slipped two fingers inside of her which elicited a sharp intake of breath from her.

Her body writhed underneath him in an attempt to hurry along her orgasm because she knew once she came like this he’d been inside of her. And her body felt like every inch of her was on fire the way he was working her core with just his fingers. The tips of his calloused fingers were gliding over her gspot repetitively while his thumb rubbed back and forth over her clit.

Just as her back began to arch off the sheets below her EZ moved his attention from her chest up to her neck and then let his lips rest against her earlobe before he spoke. “Can you come for me,” he whispered, his free hand caressing her side.

In her head she had a witty line to reply with but she couldn’t get it out. The wires were crossed because her body was in overdrive the way he was fucking his fingers into her. So she settled on a lot of eye contact and a quick, almost pleading, nod of the head.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

At that her legs began to shake and she let her nails dig into his bare back as she began to hit her climax. A few throaty moans broke the silence in the room before he pressed his lips to hers, letting his mouth swallow her audible pleasure as she came down.

For a few short moments the two of them laid there tangled together allowing each other to cool off. But she could feel how hard he was as his erection pressed into her hip. Without a word she slipped her hand between the two of them and slowly stroked him, his hips absentmindedly working in motion with her hand. “I need you,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his temple.

They both knew one of them should’ve reached for a condom. It wasn’t anything new to either of them to use protection but they couldn’t be bothered in this moment. Both of them ached to feel that closeness between the two of them again. They each wanted to feel the slow movements of the other while they were so intimately joined together. Before had been quick and sloppy. But this, this was going to be slow and needy for both of them.

They hadn’t spoken of it but they both knew the other needed this intimacy. He was looking to forget his life back home for a while and she was holding off on reality herself. She wanted to remember what it felt like to have a man’s gentle touch, to be with someone who wanted to be with her.

EZ lifted his head until their foreheads were resting against one another, his nose grazing the tip of hers as he repositioned himself between her legs. He pushed her legs wider with his muscular thighs, his cock grazed her lips for a second before he slowly slide inside of her.

In unison they both let out shaky moans; her hands gripped onto his biceps as he hovered above her, their faces still touching. His eyes studied her face for a few more moments before he began working his hips against hers. The soft sound of skin on skin filling the quiet bedroom. One hand of his slipped beneath her to grab hold of her backside while the other slide up her neck until it was placed just under her chin, the slightest amount of pressure applied.

“Ezekial,” she sighed, her lips curling into a smile at the feeling of his hand around her neck.

He had to clinch his jaw to keep his composure. Hearing his name fall from her lips like that, with the visual of his hand where it was placed was too much for him. And the way her body moved in rhythm with his as he fucked her slowly only made him more sensitive. To keep his mind occupied, to hold himself off as long as possible, he busied himself kissing up her jawine until he buried his face into the crook of her neck. The faint smell of her perfume lingered there.

Sloan let her eyes flutter closed as he allowed himself to rest on top of her, bringing them closer together as they fucked. One leg hooked behind him to keep them close while her hands held tightly to his broad back. His skin was soft to the touch and he smelled like sandalwood, she couldn’t imagine anyone like him ever being in jail but he’d divulged that to her earlier. If it had been anyone else she would’ve ended the night but not with EZ. No, for some reason even after he told her about his past she still felt safe with him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he finally spoke again.

She smiled against his ear, nibbling at the skin, before pressing him back from her and back onto the bed. For a split second he fell from her but she quickly straddled him and guided him back to her core. A shutter went through her at the way she stretched around him. “I could do this all night,” she finally replied, her breathing uneven.

That beautiful smile of his spread across his face and she couldn’t help but smile back. Even in the darkness of the bedroom she could still see how perfect it was, she could still map out the little creases at the side of his eyes that formed when he smiled.

Resting her hands on his chest she began to buck her hips back and forth quicker now. His hands found their way to her hips and held onto her as he watched her from below, his hips working up against her. Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted at the feeling of him slipping deeper inside of her. EZ’s eyes were fixated on the way her breasts bounced up and down with every movement either of them made.

The tattoos that littered her skin on display as she rode him and he wanted to kiss every last one, trace them with his fingertips while they laid naked together. He wanted to know about the little one that sat on her left hip all the way up to the lotus flower at the nape of her neck.

Soon he was pulled from his thoughts when he heard her call out his name once more. This time it was needy; her brow furrowed together as her body leaned down closer to his. Instinctively he placed his hand into her mess of hair and pulled her down even closer until they were chest to chest. Again their foreheads hovered close together as he began to take control.

It was her turn to watch him as he fucked up into her in an attempt to get them both off. Short, choked moans came from both of them as they got closer and closer. She could see the neediness behind those brown eyes of his. And she could feel it in the way he was holding onto her, his fingers digging into the skin of her ass.

Slipping a hand between them she began to work her clit in time with the way he was working into her and it made her breath catch in her throat. The sudden newness of the pressure against the bundle of nerves drove her closer to the edge. And he could feel it in the way she tightened around him so suddenly.

Again they locked eyes as he fucked into her a few more quick times before he felt her tighten against him. Her mouth fell open as she let out the most lust filled moan he’d ever heard. Which only egged him on more, thrusting into her at a punishing pace until he finally released inside of her. Her lips rested against his earlobe as she let out a few more soft, whiny moans while he slowly continued to work into her.

The two of them went at it like this for the next few hours until the sun began to creep into the room through the blinds. He held her close against his chest as they spoke in hushed tones as if someone could hear what they were saying. It took everything in him to finally make himself leave her. But he knew he needed to start home or else he’d have more missed phone calls on his cell.

She pulled the sheets up over chest while she watched him pull his jeans on and search for the shirt of his she’d pulled on earlier in the night. The way his muscles moved under his clothes only made her want to pull them off again but she knew he had to leave. He had a life somewhere else and she had a son she was missing more than she realized at that moment.

“Last night was,” EZ paused, trying to think of the right word to us.

#ezekiel reyes x oc #ez reyes x oc #mayans mc #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes #ez reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes imagine

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years ago

Note

Had the worst idea, but what about “mouth stitched shut” for Anders/Fenris? Perhaps an AU where Anders is captured by the Qunari and made Saarebas and Fenris finds/rescues him?

You both have EXCELLENT taste, this was exactly the kind of thing I was hoping for. I hope you enjoy!!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Anders, Fenris

Tags: whump, torture, lips sewn shut, kidnapped by slavers, pre-relationship

Rating: Mature

“NO! Don’t touch him!! Let go of me you blighted cupis homines, immanissimum ac foedissimum monstrum!” The men holding Fenris laugh as he gives up on common to spit at them in Tevene, but their laughter falters when his brands flare like sunlight and his arms begin to phase through their hands.

That is until Anders makes a sharp, high sound of pain and Fenris freezes, feeling the heat of his blood in anger cooling to ice in his veins. The man - slaver - next to Anders, chuckles, and tugs the needle through the skin of Anders’ lips as blood rushes in a sudden dribble down his chin. Fenris feels the strength sap from his limbs so quickly he looks around in a panic, half expecting a magister to be standing in the entrance to the cave, hands crackling with Entropy.

But there’s no one - just the dogs barking, and the insects, and the other slaves weeping in the next cavern, and the hiccoughing, coughing sounds of Anders trying not to scream as the slaver pushes the needle back down through his upper lip. Anders squeezes his eyes shut, face a terrible mess of pain, and Fenris tries to look away - tries to afford him at least this dignity in all the horror.

One of the slavers grabs Fenris’ ear, pulling it hard enough for Fenris to huff a soft sound of pain as his face is yanked roughly back in the direction of his ally, his friend, his - being mutilated by these --- Fenris won’t call them dogs. He has never known a hound as foul as these men. One of them leans in close enough for Fenris to taste the days-old meat caught between his teeth. “You don’t get to look away from this, pretty. We want you to watch. Or we’ll take it out on your pet apostate.”

Fenris doesn’t doubt it. Anders’ back is a mess of bloodied, fresh wounds layered on old scars, and his arms and chest are lacerated with fresh cuts poisoned with magebane. Both of them are filthy by now, and bruised, but it was Anders who’d consistently drawn the attention of the slavers, Anders who’d picked fight after fight with them until Fenris was sure he was suicidal. Anders who’d admitted, when they were alone together in their pen, that he’d rather play the asshole than watch Fenris be tortured, too.

When Fenris looks back at Anders, on his knees, being held by another three men, the one sewing his lips together is four stitches in and his chin is striped red with blood. Fenris tries to breathe past the broken glass in his chest and watches as the needle breaks the skin again. He feels the sandy stone beneath his knees and hears the way Anders’ whimpers turn into a long, low keen as the slaver wiggles the needle against his upper lip until it pushes through, tightening the thread and crushing his bloodied lips together. Fenris watches as snot and tears and sweat run down Anders’ pale face, mixing with the blood. He watches the way Anders’ toes curl until they’re white every time the needle goes in.

Twenty seven stitches.

When the slaver’s done, he ties it off and spits in Anders’ face. Anders just shuts his eyes, crumpling to curl around his chest, shaking hands and broken, purple fingers blackened with bruising coming up to cover his face as he shakes and sobs.

Fenris barely notices the slavers letting him go. He barely notices them shoving him towards ‘his apostate’, hardly hears the jokes about Saarebas, the suggestions of collars and chains and electric rods. He’s thinking, with a sound like the ocean roaring in a cave ringing in his eardrums, that he is going to hold each of their hearts for twenty-seven beats in the palm of his hand as he crushes them, slowly. Fenris is thinking that he is going to rip out their tongues, and feed them to their dogs. He is thinking that he is never going to let anything like this ever happen again.

Then he gets to Anders’ side, and reality returns to Fenris like a wave, hitting him in the face with warmth and the putrid smell of the caves and the thick taste of salt and copper in the air with the fresh blood muddying the sand on the cavern floor beneath his knees.

As carefully as if he were handling Orlesian china, Fenris sets his own bruised, reddened hands on Anders’ shoulders. Anders flinches, violently, and Fenris finds his voice. It feels rough and unused in his mouth, as abrasive as sandpaper against his aching throat. Fenris realises, distantly, that he’s been crying.

“Anders. Look at me.”

Slowly, like a frightened, beaten cat or a small child, Anders uncurls. His eyes are bloodshot and red rimmed with tears, his nose an angry red too beneath the sick green of where it had been broken, which runs in a long stripe across his face. His mouth is an angry inflammation of swollen red skin and cherry red, drying blood. The thread is pink with the same blood, and when Anders looks at him blood and spit blows in tiny bubbles from between his lips as more tears fall from his eyes. Anders swallows, and makes a low frightened sound, and Fenris tries to remember how to breathe.

“It’s alright, amatus. It’s alright.” Unthinking, Fenris wets the cloth he’s wearing and wishes for anything clean in this blighted cavern. With a strange sense of deja vu, he damps the wet cloth against Anders’ bloodied mouth, trying to clear away the worst of the drying blood. More bubbles up as he does so, every time Anders lips move, and after a moment Fenris pauses, sitting back. Anders watches him, eyes wide and panicked, and Fenris tries to push away his own horror and pain and be the rock they both need him to be to keep from drowning.

He takes off the rags the slavers have given him for a shirt, and folds the cloth into a pillow. “Here, lie down.” Gently, cradling his head like a baby’s, Fenris guides Anders to lie down. That does something for the bleeding. With a scream of his aching knuckles, Fenris tears a strip off the fabric and spits on it to dampen the cloth.

Fenris pauses over Anders’ face, and takes a moment to push a hank of greasy, bloodied hair back from his face. Anders’ skin is cold and damp with sweat, but Fenris rests his hand there, stroking his thumb gently across one of the few unbruised patches of his cheek until Anders’ breathing eases, somewhat. Then he begins, again, to try and clean the wounds.

#dadwc #bad things happen bingo #fenders #fenris #anders #midnightprelude #my fic #anon #dragon age 2

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.1]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 2k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla," sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia's hands.

____________

Loosely connected chapters about you and Childe finding happiness. Maybe.

Notes: Part 2

Masterlist

***

childe? what a problematic asshole i hate him i- *trips* *thousands of pictures of childe spill from pockets* fuck those aren’t mine i swear i’m just holding them for a friend i- *slips on a pile of pictures* fu ck no they’re not mine i hate him i just- *more pictures fall out as i fall to my knees, desperately trying to pick them up* hang on a sec jUst LISTEN

Chapter 1

A cold gust of icy wind drives you deeper into the sheets and you swear by the name of Her Majesty Herself once you get up and find Alexei, you’ll smother him with a towel for leaving a window open in the middle of the night.

Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. Fine, not dead of the night then, but no one cares for technicalities like these when sleep is involved. Especially after a night like this one, when Alexei fucked you into oblivion and back, you need every minute of shuteye you can get before another day of exhausting missions in the Chechnaya Taiga of Snezhnaya claims your last strand of sanity.

It’s peaceful mornings like these that make it all worthwhile though—the quiet during the early golden hour when people slowly wake up to a brand-new day and get ready to do their chores, their factory work. The sheer number of possibilities stretching out before their hands, and hope rekindled every morning despite the harsh cold waiting at their doorsteps. You love how everything stands still, how even the uncaring universe seems to grant people a sliver of peace, allows them to be soft and vulnerable. To be kind to themselves by indulging in a freshly brewed cup of coffee or tea. Nothing can spoil this for you, nothing and no one—

An awkward cough sounds from the door. You close your eyes, willing him to disappear by simply ignoring him, but his eyes burn into the back of your head like two smouldering coals and eventually, you turn around to see Alexei standing in the door frame, shifting from left to right. “There’s someone out there who wants to talk to you,” he says.

Turning around, you try to disappear into your pillow. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they can wait until it isn’t such a damn unholy time.”

Alexei clears his throat. “It’s uhm … it’s someone from the Fatui.”

Your eyes snap open. Suddenly the warm, cosy blankets feel like a snake’s tight hold around your body, and you struggle out of its grip, grabbing for the dressing gown you carelessly threw around the back of your chair last night.

The sun hangs low in the east, painting the city of Kerch that stretches outside of your window a sheen of dusky gold. When the red-brown bricks of the dacha cottages come into view, you think of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child every year in celebration of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of the Zapolyarny Palace.

Cold already seeps into your bones even though the robe is tight around your body. You hiss when your bare feet hit the icy floor but can’t find your slippers. Time to die like a woman.

You brush past Alexei, who’s scratching his head, still just in his underwear and you think him crazy for walking around half-naked like that even though it’s minus 58F outside and the heating systems inside your barracks only start to work once outside temperatures drop to minus 75F.

Maybe what they say is true. People from around Noyabrsk in the north of Snezhnaya regularly dip into frosty rivers and you do remember him mentioning ice swimming is his hobby. It was one of the few things you thought attractive about him. Actually, it was the only thing you thought attractive about him.

Light streams into the floor from the kitchen, flickering once, twice in dangerous foreboding. It’s time to switch the lightbulb. Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure, because that isn’t important right now. What’s important is Tartaglia sitting at your table, leaning back in a chair, both feet crossed on top of the table, and eating your leftover mayonnaise sandwich you saved up for breakfast.

His eyes slide lazily toward you, taking in your form—barefoot, shivering even though the fur from your bathrobe is of the finest white wolf fur obtainable on the market.

Tartaglia finishes your sandwich, smacks his lips and licks mayo off his fingers. He doesn’t even like it, and you know from time to time he can’t handle dairy all that well. He just eats it because he knows how it infuriates you.

“Alexei, huh,” he says in lieu of hello. “Didn’t know you’re into himbos.”

Behind you, Alexei makes a sound like a kicked puppy. You glare at him over your shoulder, then jut your chin towards the front door. “Out. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly fast for a guy this big, he bolts into your room, gets dressed in record speed and leaves your little one-bedroom apartment without so much as a Goodbye or “We’ll hear from each other,” and you prefer it that way. It saves stuff from getting messy.

Speaking of messy, you really wish Tartaglia would have sent you a note before coming. The smell of icy wind and snowy forests clings to his clothes. He must have come straight from a mission, not unusual in the slightest, yet in most cases he sends a message your way just to make sure he doesn’t run into one of your one-night stands and it doesn’t get ugly.

Like right now.

“I thought you had a little more class than that,” he says nonchalantly. His feet keep wobbling from left to right until you make your way over and push them off your table. Not that you actually sit there to take your meals, no. But this is your home, you have to assert dominance.

“Well, I’m not picky,” you say, taking the empty chair opposite from him. “The nights of Fyrva’snezh are really fucking cold.”

“I’m sure Fire-Water will do the same trick.” He’s sulking, yet he has no right to it and knowing Tartaglia, that’s why he sulks even more.

Your relationship can be summarised with one word: complicated. Which is funny, because besides martial arts classes (taught by a teacher that is a real ball of sunshine who could easily snap your spine like a twig) and infiltration tactics courses (led by a grumpy teacher who once woke you all up in the middle of the night to do a spontaneous quiz about infiltration steps and everyone who failed or fell asleep had to run a marathon through the forest in their underwear) you had to take at the Fatui military school of Zapolyarny, they also teach mathematics and molecular physics, and that shit was complicated.

Growing up in a small seaside village—bless little Morepesok; how much you miss babushka Katya’s refreshing botvinia soup—with only a handful kids your age, gravitating towards Tartaglia was the natural development. He loves ice-fishing, you love eating fish. You gag just smelling solyanka, he wolfs it down like it might be his last meal on earth. Opposites attract each other, as they say, and how true it is for you two—you, the morning person and he, the night owl; his will of iron and your nerves of steel. Your bow, his sword, even though Tartaglia is a masochist who likes to make it hard for himself by trying to switch weapons solely because you’re better at it than him and he is a sore loser.

His worship of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, your fear of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

“I don’t think you came all the way here just to call me a slut,” you say. He is in no position to do so anyway, because Camilla from the ptychy’moloko shop down the road that leads to the Sarov church didn’t shut up about blowing him for weeks until you sent her a liver of a pig and claimed that was the leftovers from the last girl that thought she could put a leash on the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Camilla quickly moved on to an inconspicuous merchant who sells matryoshka dolls for a living and all is well that ends well.

“What do you want?”

Tartaglia starts tapping a gloved finger against the wooden table, a nervous tick you don’t know he’s aware of.

“I’m leaving for Liyue first thing tomorrow.” His tone is low when he speaks, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a sense of urgency.

“Okay.” It isn’t the first time he’s leaving Snezhnaya by order of the Tsaritsa, but every time he does, something inside you leaves with him. “So, you want me to keep an eye out for Teucer and the others?”

“He’s really unhappy I’m leaving again already.” Tartaglia doesn’t mention the reason he was sent away just a couple of months ago to Inazuma was because he accidentally blew up an artillery factory belonging to a nobleman that secretly shipped orders to Fontain. The fallout from that was easier to handle with him not being anywhere nearby. Tartaglia is like a pair of hot tongues; no one is sure where to put him or how soon he would cool off, but if they just drop him, he might light the world on fire. Kid gloves are put on and a careful perimeter marked out.

“And what excuse did you make up this time?” You knock your foot into his leg, lingering on his calf just a second too long before withdrawing again. “Another business trip to promote your toys? You can’t hold up this charade forever, you know.”

“Why, your eyes feast on Snezhnaya’s greatest expatriate toy seller, now extending to the Liyue Branch of our Institute for Toy Research.” Tartaglia’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “You wouldn’t be so cold to break a little boy’s heart. That’s not you.”

You want to remind him that you have no problem to put an arrow between a man’s eyes, or rip out his fingernails, one by one, to get the information that you want.

“You owe me, toy man.”

“Put it on my tab.”

Tartaglia looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but as always, he decides to swallow those words even though they must hurt like swallowing needles. You know that feeling, and so you help him sort out his tightly entangled yarn of emotions by figuratively pushing him off the cliff.

“Don’t forget to bring condoms. I hear the women of Liyue are beautiful.”

Tartaglia goes a sickly grey colour, like the ashes of a dead fire, but he’s been the leading role of this play too long to fall out of character now. He gets up and stretches like a cat getting comfortable in a spot of sunlight. His jacket rides up, showing a stripe of skin, and you quickly turn your head away before giving into leaning over the table and mark him with your teeth.

Patting his left pants’ pocket, Tartaglia says, “I’m always prepared.” He carries a grin that is dry, humourless, and for a brief moment, you two lock eyes, trading a look that feels like a dare. You allow yourselves to imagine how he picks you up and carries you to your bed where you two would proceed to fuck without abandon through the whole day and the following night, leaving the bed only to get food until Tartaglia leaves for Liyue and you’d send each other love letters until his return. What an idea. What an utterly stupid, naive, wonderful idea.

“Well, lucky ladies,” you say, not bothering to hide the jealousy in your voice because jealousy is easier to handle than regret.

“Lucky indeed,” he agrees and dons his easy-going smile, one that he’s perfected after hours upon hours in front of the mirror until it accomplished what he wanted: to mock people, infuriate them.

On his way out, he stops to ruffle your hair in an affectionate way, one typical for childhood friends, but the distance between you is like the ocean separating Snezhnaya from Liyue.

It was on the very first day of your conscription into the military organisation, Number Six of the Ten Laws that the Fatui abide by: Any physical or romantic relationship between Fatui agents is prohibited. As thou would not exchange flesh with thy brother or sister, so thou shalt not with your comrade, for he or she is thy brother or sister in arms.

And everyone knows Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s word is law, and though the law is hard, it is the law.

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia #reader #reader insert #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you

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bokuroo-squeals · 4 years ago

Text

Of rough time, marriage and fears

Daichi x reader

Genre: Requested angst to fluff

Summary: After a year of being happily married, trouble seems to appear at paradise when Daichi starts growing distant.

Note: This is not the best, and I don't think I took it the right direction but it was fun to experiment with this. Let me know if there's any orthographic or grammar mistake ,and thank you for reading!!

Marriage is more than a pretty wedding and golden rings, more than a cozy house with nice plants to water. Marriage is way more than all that, so it's not surprise to have though days, fights and disagreements are not a foreign concept, but nothing of this was enough to break you and Daichi. Or so you thought.

One year into your spouse life started like a dream. Even when the road had potholes in the way, you two were mature about it and faced them together. Every morning you woke up next to the love of your life, and he held you close as if you were the most valuable thing in the world, and for a while, you thought you were to him. But months gone by taught you otherwise, because now the space between you was unbearable, like ice left too long on skin. And how it started you don't know, but you wished you did.

The first sign was Daichi growing distant, the second one was him getting in contact with an old friend, a past 'almost something' he knew since high school. And then, it was him spending more time with friends, with her, and you left alone at home to play the loyal housekeeper, the cute spouse that cleaned and cooked but couldn't enjoy dinner with the husband. So it hurt, the feeling of being left behind was slowly filling your lungs until you couldn't gasp for air normally, until the sensation was too much to handle.

The night was as normal as it could go, with you sitting on the couch, waiting for Daichi to come back home from work. Dinner had grown cold, and the clock's hands had moved so much for you to remember how long have you been waiting. Alone in a house meant for two, you couldn't help but feel lonely without Daichi, and you stop to thing briefly, maybe it's your own fault.

It's almost midnight when you hear the door open, then the shuffle of his shoes against the floor. He comes to through the frame, notices your figure and walks your way with heavy steps, Daichi's weight pulling him down in every movement of his legs shows how tired he is.

"It's late, you shouldn't have wait for me. I was out with Suga and the rest after work" he explains briefly after he collapsed next to you on the couch, finally giving into exhaustion.

The conversation ends like that.

Next time is not as peaceful

"Where are you going?" You asked again, the third time already on the week. You're tired, tired of not feeling like you still matter to him, exhausted of feeling him escape through your fingers even when he is right there in front of you.

"Another class reunion. Yuna-san..."

Your blood rushes with anger and you don't let him finish, you can't. It's too unbearable, the feeling of fury.

"Yuna-san? Another reunion? Daichi, please. You're rarely home this days, please, can you just stay with me this time?" Is not easy or possible for you to mask how exasperated you are at this point. Your husband notices the trembling of your body, coming closer to you with a tired sigh.

"We talked about this. Don't do this tonight, Y/n" with how hard he mutters it, it comes out like a warning, one that you're willing to ignore in favor of your feelings. This time is different, any patience or consideration have been thrown to the drain by you, and you are finally ready to explore.

"No! We haven't talk about this, we never talk, and that's the problem! Is always just you asking me to drop it, to leave you alone, to swallow everything inside me, and honestly, I'm not doing that anymore" He stares at you with brows knitted together tightly, a clear sign of him not approving what he takes as a tantrum for his attention.

"We'll talk when you have calmed down. Until then, I'm going out" Daichi turns to walk out, about to leave the scene like nothing, like your marriage was nothing.

Tears you didn't know were there start falling out of your eyes, dramatic style out of a lame romantic movie.

For him, it started with jokes and teasing from the team, making fun of him for a few laughs. It wasn't anything too malicious, a few comments here and there over his marriage life, how he was an old man now and how they were getting ready to not see him anymore at reunions or parties. Daichi could handle that, even laughing along with them, until Yamamori Yuna arrived back into his life.

There was a school reunion that he decided to attend after months of being stressed by work, just going out for some drinks and catch up with their past classmates, a night to refresh those records left in their memories from their youth. Everyone was chatting animatedly, the same jokes Daichi was used to were repetead, which he responded with an equally happy laugh. But the girl next to him frowned, her hand discreetly sneaking in a smooth motion all over his arm to get to his shoulder.

"Doesn't it bother you, Sawamura-san? They're making fun of you. " The seemingly troubled expression on her face was enough to cut his laughter.

"It's alright, I'm having fun out of it too"

"Well, it's not fun for me as your friend. Ever since the wedding you have been so engrossed on your partner, that it looks like have forgotten to be your own person, and now you're the joke of your friends". Yamamori's frown deepened even more, her pretty face painted with fake consern. She was so immersed in the little act, in her own selfish intentions, that every word sounded like authentic worry.

That conversation stays engraved on his mind more than it should've.

It's not like he doesn't love you, because he does. The band on his finger is the proof of his adoration towards you, but the fear of losing himself is powerful and big enough to overthink. Daichi starts going out more, because after thinking about it, he was closing off his friends, going out less, not answering texts, missing calls and updates from his friends.

Yuna seems to have all the answers for the questions plaguing his mind, so naturally, he hangs out more with her and his friends. Getting loose and enjoying himself with other people that's not you, because he thinks it what he needs.

He's told you before that she's hanging out with the boys and him lately, he's talked about her when you ask where he was or what was he doing. It's not like he's hiding the fact that he's been in contact with her, yet you still feel like trash when the ghost of doubt makes it's way on your heart.

When he returns, he doesn't expect you to be awake, thinking that you'd be on your shared bed, passed out after calming yourself. But you're as awake as you could be, with bloodshot eyes and dry tears over your sad features, and his heart pants with pain at the view. Is heartbreaking, seeing you as equally heartbroken, and us even more heartbreaking knowing he was the cause of your suffering. So he holds you, close to his heart to comfort a little what he has hurt.

"You don't love anymore. You're gonna leave me for her, Yuna" your words are tainted by anguish. An uncomfortable affirmation from your part, one that's not even close to the truth. His breathing stops and for a moment, he swears his heart does too.

"Don't say that, don't you dare say that again. I love you so much, you don't even understand." He opens up his heart with you.

Fifteen minutes is how much it takes him to explain to you all what has gotten to his mind ever since the first reunion. How he was afraid of not being him anymore, of being forgotten by his friends, of hovering over you too much.

"I'm awful, I'm the worst. My selfishness is the worst. I know, now I know. But please, you're the only one for me, I'd never cheat or leave you. The only one on my mind is you. At this point, you've ruined everything for me; love, sex, even religion. No-one can come close to whatever you do, to whatever you make me feel, I can't be tempted by anything that isn't you".

You belive him, you do. The way words spill so easily, flowing like water, can't be faked, neither can be the sparkle in his eye which you hadn't seen in weeks.

Daichi's path to redemption begins with being home early after work. Coming to your arms as soon and fast as he can, welcoming your warmth deep in his soul. Once again in your embrace, is hard for him to think just how much has he been missing out.

Is the kisses and hand holding, is your voice and your love what makes Daichi feel safe.

"Daichi, you have to shave" you tell him between giggles, his facial hair caressing the skin on your neck making you itchy.

"Later" he murmurs while he inhales your scent. It calms him down, it relaxes him.

Right now, he has to hold you close, love you as much as he can to make up for the bitter days he had made you suffer. Right now, you feel as safe and as happy as possible, between his arms that are your real home, beside him where you belong.

Marriage is more than just a pretty house and golden rings. Marriage is failing and hurting, with the promise of fixing whatever it needs to mend together.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#sawamura daichi #daichi x reader #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi fluff #daichi headcanon #haikyuu fanfiction

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hanamiyaaaa · 4 years ago

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ONE PIECE HCs: Jealousy Headcanons

This has been done over and over and over and oveeeer again, but here *pushes hcs towards everyone* please have them!! Also, I missed writing stuff huhu. I tried my best so I hope you like them!!

Monkey D. Luffy

Pre-TS Luffy would be jealous whenever he noticed that you're paying more attention to something/somebody else. He'd jump right into your bubble and do stupid stuff so that he could be the most interesting person in your life again. Like a little kid, his jealousy is harmless. He'd be upset for a while, but once you’ve you given him what he wanted, he'd be smiling again and would leave you in peace. Lucky for you, Pre-TS Luffy is pure and easily distracted so you probably could handle him quite easily. This is mostly cute, but probably could get real annoying especially because you’re not allowed to pull the exact same shit on him. He’d be annoyed lol. Pre-TS Luffy is a child, definitely not yet mentally and emotionally ready for a relationship.

Post-TS Luffy is a whole level different. Even though he's still our bhabie, he matured and has calmed down. He won't be jealous over something like you talking to somebody else, or you reading a book (than watching him run around) anymore. He probably wouldn't be even feel threatened when you get close to other guys. He just have so much trust on you that you cheating on him wouldn’t cross his mind. But, of course, he has his limits. You're his. You swore, you promised to be only his so when other people start getting a little bit too touchy and you’re allowing it, he would snatch you away and he’d make sure that the fact that you're his s/o is known. There would be arguments, but he wouldn't be upset for that long. If you tried to make him jealous, you can just apologize and he'd accept it but wouldn't get why you'd want him to get jealous.

Roronoa Zoro

Despite being known to be straightforward, Jealous!Zoro is probably going to be the one to give you the cold shoulder/silent treatment mostly because he tends to bottle up stupid feelings like these. He'd try to be chill about it, but seeing you way too friendly with swirly brows (or someone he doesn’t like) will get him worked up but since he doesn't to appear like a pathetic loser in front his you and the others, he'd be like 'meh i'm cool yo'. BUT NO, HE'S NOT. He wouldn't be able to completely hide the feelings of scorn and envy. No matter how hard he tries to hide it, his irritation will bleed through his exterior in the form of spicy words, sarcasm and silence that would initiate arguments. Since he's already frustrated, things would heat up right away and the whole thing would just explode into a full blown fight whether it's in a form of verbal exchange or uncomfortable silence.

Making up is casual? It's weird because no one needs to apologize. Zoro would just walk up to you and start a conversation, and he'd know that you guys are okay if you properly replied to him, and vice versa. It's usually Zoro who'd break the ice first, regardless of the who was in the wrong, but just know that it wouldn't be anything like "I'm sorry about earlier," but be more like "Do we have still have sake around?". It's not like he'd never apologize verbally, though. He just saves it for things that are actually meant apologizing for (petty, childish fights don't qualify).

Yellow ranger Vinsmoke Sanji

Okay. So, we can all agree that this one would be the most jealous out of these four, yes? Sanji's basically like Pre-TS Luffy but a tad more reasonable. He wouldn't get mad if you indulge in your hobby more than you spend time with him, but he would get upset if you talked too much or acted too friendly with other men. Unlike the marimo, he'd be open about his feelings. He'd rush to your side right away, take you away and let the other guy know that you're taken by him. He'd be very clingy to you and would be showy as well. Definitely, he's not embarrassed to hold you in public and he's also not afraid to do more than shoot daggers at people who looks at you funny (sometimes it's just Sanji's imagination really). Most of the time, he'd be angry at those people but when it comes to you, he'd just be sad and disappointed at most, which only ever happens if he figured out you made him jealous on purpose ...or not, if you're the 'polite' type who flirts back unknowingly or something like that idk. He'd never treat you the way he treats those garbage trying to get your attention like ever.

If a fight broke out between the two of you, Sanji would always be the one to apologize first, usually accompanied with gifts like flowers and jewelry. He'd make up to you even though he's not at fault. You're the most important person in his life and he'd be willing to swallow his every ounce of pride for you. Sanji definitely is that one friend of ours who we give advise about his toxic love life but doesn't ever listen or that one friend who gets back with his ex after a pathetic apology lol. He's just like that so please take care of this baby.

Usopp

Usopp probably thinks he's no good for you. I feel like he's filled with insecurities which he hides beneath his jolly exterior; these insecurities blind him from seeing his worth causing him to feel undeserving of you. Usopp is strong; he's got his own game and he plays it real good, unfortunately butterflies don't see their own wings. Like any other man, he'd get jealous if he sees you being questionably chummy with some other guy who he views as a much better fit for you. He'd actually be really sensitive about it, and the one who's prone to overthink. He won't get upset, but he'd get really sad. He'd laugh it off, shrug it off but it's not like it's your fault if you find someone else interesting right? Despite being known as a liar, I don't think he'd be able to hide his feelings from you completely, but he wouldn't voice them out either. However, you'd easily see through him. You'd have to be the one to bring this up because Usopp would never do it. I mean he probably would try but he'd be like "You know this guy you were talking to... uhh well, umm nevermind haha," and yeet himself out of that awkward situation. But even when you confront him, he'd initially play it cool but you know that it's not okay- he's not okay.

He wouldn't argue with you about this matter even if you try to lure him into one. He'd probably be irritated if you continued to push this topic, but sometimes insisting to talk about it might be the best choice even if it hurt the both of you. After all, Usopp can't always run away from his feelings and insecurities. He'd want to apologize first, but there would be moments where you both do it at the same time and it's just the cutest and probably the calmest way to end an argument right? He'd need reassurance from time to time so make sure to be patient with him okay? He'd be more confident in time just trust him and don’t stop loving him!!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece jealousy headcanons #monkey d luffy headcanons #roronoa zoro headcanons #vinsmoke sanji headcanons #usopp headcanon #one piece x reader #strawhat pirates headcanons

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wingsofkpop · 4 years ago

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Hiraeth - I.IX: Bloodborne

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatural!AU, Dark Magic!AU, heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting, blood and gore, some satanic themes, mentions of trauma, etc.

word count: 6,5k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

“—so once Youngjae channels enough power from the blood moon tonight, he’ll be able to lower the veil between the Other Side and the physical plane long enough to resurrect your spirit into a mortal body.” You explain, glancing over your notes at the unusually quiet figure sitting on your bed. Something about his expression seems distant—almost sorrowful.

After your return from the hospital, and after the long chat with your roommate convincing her that your absence all night was due to a last minute work emergency, a certain ghost phased into your bedroom. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be this concerned, but during his visits, Jackson usually never shuts up. If you were all alone with no one to talk to, you probably wouldn’t either.

You lower your notebook and shake your head, “You haven’t said one word since you showed up. What’s wrong?”

Jackson purses his lips, as if nervous to relay the thoughts swirling through his mind. Another brief moment of silence passes before he finally murmurs, “It’s the witches. They’re starting to get suspicious again… I don’t know how long I have before they figure out I’ve been crossing over to this plane.”

“Then we’ll just have to bring you back before they find out.” You grab your phone from your desk, checking through your notifications to see if a certain siphoner has yet responded to your dozens of texts and calls. No dice.

You haven’t been able to reach Youngjae since yesterday morning, which is odd considering the guy is the type to respond within three seconds of receiving a message. It would be one thing if he let you know that he’s busy, but it’s complete radio silence. It’s not like Youngjae at all.

“You’re worried about something.”

Your eyes dartup at Jackson’s observation, discovering his concerned gaze focused on you.

“It’s Youngjae.” You sigh, “I haven’t heard from him, but I’m sure he’s just busy brewing potions or something.” You expect to earn at least a chuckle from the ghost, but his silence remains along with the blank expression along his face. His same distant demeanor also lingers, and this time, your concern grows to panic. “What is it, Jackson? What’s going on?”

“I didn’t want to say anything cause I was sure it was all in my head, but I feel that something is… weird.”

“Weird?”

“It’s hard to explain.” He continues, “But as a ghost, I can feel things around me… like right now, the universe just seems off—” His voice cuts out as he frantically shakes his head, “Anyway, I just want you to be careful. Mark used to tell me that disrupting the balance of nature is like opening Pandora’s box.”

“Yeah. We will be doing none of that.” You set your phone down before crossing the room to kneel in front of Jackson. A grin lifts to your lips as you hum to the ghost, “So what do you feel when you’re around me?...”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you feel things around you… Do you feel anything special when you’re with me?”

You’re surprised at the eagerness that swells in your chest as he takes his time to think over your question. The inquiry was supposed to be a joke to lighten the mood, but you’re actually curious about your companion’s ghastly perceptions. After maybe a minute or two, Jackson sends you a small smile:

“I feel… light.”

“Light? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You have this aura around you.” Jackson affirms, mindlessly reaching forward thumb at your cheek. You obviously can’t feel his touch, but something in your gut tells you that if you could, you would feel nothing but warmth. “I feel powerful when I’m with you…”

“Is that a good thing?”

He grins, “I think so.”

You continue to stare at one another for a moment, almost attempting to read the depths in each other’s eyes. It’s not until a harsh knock resonates from the front door do you finally break the gaze, offering Jackson a final hum, “I’ll bring you back as soon as I can. I promise.”

Jackson nods, “I know you will. But like I said, please be careful.”

“I will. See you soon.” You wait for Jackson to disappear completely before exiting your bedroom, cursing Sana for leaving you to deal with whoever is incessantly banging on your door. It’s probably the old lady from across the hall wanting to borrow another cup of sugar. You roll your eyes at the thought and open the door, ready to politely decline your neighbor’s request.

Your words die on your tongue—definitely not the old lady from across the hall.

“Mark? What are you—?”

“What? Not expecting to see me?” Mark’s hostile growl takes you by surprise, as does the furious expression etched along his features. “That’s not surprising since you’ve been ignoring me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Oh. I’m sure.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You wanna know what my problem is?” Mark takes a step closer to you before pointing a finger in your direction, “The fact that you not only lie to me, but you go behind my back and then deliberately avoid me for days on end.”

“What are you even talking about, Mark?”

“I’m talking about you and Youngjae playing God and resurrecting Jackson.”

Your muscles instantly freeze, as if Mark had taken a tub of ice water and thrown it over your head. The annoyance inside your chest shifts to guilt, and your once cold features cannot help but soften.

You shake your head, “Mark, I—”

“Do you know how dangerous it is to bring someone back from the dead, (Y/N)?” Mark lowers his voice, but his tone remains as frigid as his gaze. “Do you know the consequences that happen when you fuck with the balance of nature?”

“I get that, but—it’s complicated, Mark… There’s things you don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand!?” He scoffs, “Last I checked, I’m the goddamn witch here, (Y/N)! You know nothing about magic and its sacrifice!”

“Maybe not, but I do know that there is a chance I could bring Jackson back!” You shake your head again, “Please, just give me a chance to explain—”

“No. Because it’s not fucking happening.” Mark interrupts, furiously shaking his own head. “I forbid you to do this.”

It’s like a switch goes off in your mind. Your guilt immediately transforms, but this time, it configures into rage:

“You forbid me!? Who the flying fuck do you think you are!?”

“I won’t sit back and allow you to get yourself killed—!”

“And last I checked, you don’t have the right to control what I do and the decisions I make!” You seethe, stepping further back into your apartment. “This is my choice. I’m resurrecting Jackson whether you like it or not.”

“Fine! Get yourself fucking killed for all I care!” The witch raises his hands in mock surrender. “At least then I won’t have to deal with your reckless, moronic ass!”

“Fuck you, Mark.” You don’t allow the witch to say anything further and slam the door in his face. Your chest remains unbearably heavy, both physically and mentally, but you ignore the sweltering emotions and begin to traverse around the apartment, gathering your bag and other assorted belongings.

A confused and rather concerned Sana emerges from her bedroom a few seconds later. “Are you okay? What was with all that yelling?”

“Don’t worry about it,” You huff, shoving your arms through the sleeves of your jacket. “Just Mark being a douchebag, as per usual.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find Youngjae.”

“Isn’t it kind of late?”

“I’m an adult, Sana.” You snap before throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Similar to Mark, you don’t allow Sana the chance to question you further and sprint out the front door, praying that Youngjae will be up to bringing Jackson back in the next few hours.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Mark has never exercised the greatest control over his emotions. It first began when he was twelve, after his dad walked out on his mom. He found himself sobbing his eyes out some days, and beating the shit out of other kids on others. His mood ranged from intense rage to extreme depression. There was no in between.

In an effort to help, his mom enrolled him in a program designed to teach teens how to handle their emotions. But to no one’s surprise, the therapy didn’t do shit and Mark continued to initiate fights and cry himself to sleep most nights. He never understood why he felt this way—he still doesn’t, to be honest. His dad and him were never close, nor did he ever really care about his sudden departure. Maybe he was just an angry kid with depression. Maybe it was something else.

It wasn’t until his mom was killed did Mark begin to pull his life together, which also happened to be around the same time he met the too-friendly, homeschooled kid with an ego the size of Jupiter, Jackson Wang. Sure, the two of them butted heads every so often, but with Jackson being a werewolf, Mark learned the importance of managing the chaos within. ‘Emotion is like a loaded gun,’ he remembers Jackson once said, ‘If you let yourself pull the trigger without first aiming down sights, then you risk sinking a bullet into someone you love.’ Those words remain with him—remind him what means to stay in control.

But when it involves the people he loves, Mark can’t always regulate the ticking bomb counting down in his soul.

An ache settles in his chest as he recalls the passionate fire in your gaze. There’s always been some parts of you that reminds Mark of his past friend, specifically your stubbornness and inability to think before you act. He’s never found himself hating those parts of you until now—and he shouldn’t, Mark knows that, but he’s so fucking angry and so fucking scared of losing yet another one of the most important people in his life.

He’s experienced his fair share of loss, but losing you… It would break him. Completely.

Mark tries to push the intrusive thoughts from the forefront of his mind and focus on navigating his way through the dark maze of headstones and crumbling tombs. Right after you slammed your front door in his face, he received a text from Youngjae summoning him, Jisung and Lia to an emergency meeting at the edge of the cemetery. He’s still mad at the siphoner for assisting with your reckless scheme, but he won’t allow his pettiness to interfere with the safety of the coven.

A sigh falls from his lips—he does regret ever saying those ending words to you though… because what if they’re the last ones you hear from him.

‘I’m so sorry, Jackson…’

Mark’s misery is forgotten when he notices a group of people up ahead. He recognizes Lia, Jisung and Youngjae flocked together inside a chalk-white circle surrounded by lit torches. For a moment, Mark wonders if they’re in the middle of performing some type of seance, but his curiosity dwindles into confusion when he grows aware of the panic present in each set of their features.

He breaks into a sprint to cover more distance, approaching the strangely placed trio in no time. At the sight of him, Lia immediately bursts into tears, furthering the anxiety bubbling at the back of his throat.

“What the hell is going on!?”

“Hyung! You have to get out of here right now!” Mark notices the swollen, angry flesh of Youngjae’s bottom lip as he speaks, along with the ugly bruise underneath his left eye.

“What happened?” He ignores the siphoner’s warnings, attempting to reach inside the circle and grab Lia’s arm. However, his hand is met with resistance—a boundary spell. “Who did this to you?”

Lia sobs, “Just go, Mark! Before he hurts you!”

“Before who hurts me!? What are you—” His demands die in his throat as another figure appears from behind a large, marble gravestone. He immediately recognizes the newcomer, which sends even more confusion through his veins. “Seo Changbin? What the hell is this?”

“It’s an emergency meeting, hyung.” Mark feels his entire body freeze when the familiar, conniving voice enters his ears. “You had me a little worried… I almost thought you wouldn’t show up.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Mark whirls around to face a smirking Minho cockily leaning against the wall of an empty tomb. “What kind of game do you think you’re playing, Minho?”

The younger witch shrugs before pushing off the wall to pace around the area. As he draws closer and closer, Mark can spy an ancient, navy blue ring sitting heavily on his forefinger. He’s never seen any piece of jewelry like it before, but something in his gut told him it wasn’t just a simple ring—and that he’s definitely in some kind of trouble.

“Mind explaining to me what we’re doing here? Or are you just going to continue pacing around the place like a cocky bastard?”

“Tonight is a special night, hyung… You wanna know why?” He watches Minho point to the night sky, “In just a few minutes, the moon will drift into the Earth’s shadow and the light of the sun will reflect across the moon’s surface, thus causing a blood moon… It’s actually pretty cool—”

“For Christsake, Minho—get to the goddamn point.”

“You know, for years I had to deal with all your bullshit excuses and justifications of putting our coven in danger—it was only a matter of time until one of us ended up dead, don’t you think?”

A bitter memory of Nayeon’s corpse resurfaces, but Mark remains silent.

“Everyone was too fucking blind, but I saw right through you.” Mark doesn’t move a muscle when Minho suddenly approaches, crowding his space until his nose is mere inches from brushing his own. The younger witch’s harsh glare bleeds into his soul as he continues, “You’re a poor fucking excuse for a leader, hyung—a leader who can’t even protect his own people.”

“And you think you can do better, huh?” Mark growls, glaring his own daggers into Minho’s gaze. “You have no fucking clue what it takes to run this coven… Admit it, you’re just pissed they chose me over you.”

“And look where that got them.”

“You need to cut out whatever petty bullshit this is and let Youngjae, Jisung and Lia go.” Mark murmurs, “Whatever problems you have are with me, so let’s just talk it out, okay?”

“Oh, Mark-hyung…” Minho’s gaze is unwavering from his own as he lifts a hand to rest on Mark’s shoulder. It’s a second too late that Mark realizes it is the same hand in which holds the mysterious ring:

“I’m over talking it out.”

Youngjae’s screams and Lia’s sobs echo in his ears along with the words that spill from Minho’s lips—they’re foreign, but Mark recognizes the spell right away. He tries to squirm and fight against the perpetrator’s grip, but another pair of hands keep his body in place—Changbin.

Bit by bit, Mark feels the buzz of his magic lift from his veins like a flock of doves. His limbs grow weak and his head fuzzy. Soon enough, his own knees no longer bear the strength to hold his weight. Once both Minho and Changbin release him, Mark collapses to the ground—empty and unable to rise.

“What did you do to him!?” Mark hears Jisung’s voice for the first time, although his brain is not fully able to comprehend the inquiry.

“I took his magic. He won’t be needing it anymore.”

Mark manages to find enough strength to reposition his body in a way that allows him to watch both Minho and Changbin approach a makeshift altar composed of an old, concrete coffin. Through the blur of his vision, he catches the witch stirring some kind of crimson mixture—likely blood. Minho looks to the moon, which is slowly brightening to a shade of maroon, before resting his gaze on his companion:

“It’s time.” He offers the mixture to Changbin, “Once you drink this, I can begin the transformation.”

“And you’re sure this spell will give me everything I need to take down the Primes?”

“One hundred percent.”

Take down the Primes?… Fucking hell.

“Minho! Don’t do this!” Mark can’t make out his own voice between the ringing of his ears and the beating of his heart, but he can only hope they’re audible enough for his audience. “The transformation—it won’t work!”

Youngjae shakes his head. “I don’t understand… What are you talking about, hyung?”

“He’s going to try to recreate the spell I used on Jackson on Changbin.” With a huff and a puff, Mark pushes himself to his hands and knees. He attempts to crawl forward, but the spinning of his head sends his body sprawling along the ground once again. He abandons any more thoughts of movement and speaks to Minho directly, “It will kill him—do you understand me!? You can’t—”

“You failed because you couldn’t draw enough power to complete the transformation.” Minho doesn’t even bother to look in his direction, “It will work—I know it will.”

Understanding there’s no possible way to convince the witch, Mark looks to the werewolf instead, “I’m warning you, Changbin! If you go through with this, you will die!”

“Don’t listen to him. Just drink the blood.”

“No! For fucksake, this is suicide!”

“Think of Jackson.” Minho murmurs to a torn Changbin, reaching across the altar to place a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Do it for him.”

“Changbin, don’t—!”

Mark watches in horror as Changbin throws back the mixture and downs its entirety in two gulps. His heart shatters like the glass vial the werewolf launches to the ground. He peers to his left, discovering the same shocked expressions across Youngjae, Jisung and Lia’s faces, and shakes his head in defeat as Lia begins to sob again.

“Filia maximo… Filia maximo… Morsus, morsus—” The wind begins to screech as Minho chants, tearing at Mark’s hair and nudging at his clothes, as if pleading for him to stop the spell. But there’s nothing he can do. For once, Mark is powerless. “—morsus… Advenio donec duo est revertus mors…” With a loud scream, Changbin collapses to the earth. He squirms and writhes in pain underneath the flaming light of the moon—and Mark can’t help but attempt to block out the snaps of his cracking bones.

The scene seems to last for hours until Changbin eventually grows silent. Mark takes the time to catch his breath, unable to control his lungs over the anxiety, fear and nausea lurking through his veins. He wants to look away from the still werewolf, but his gaze is as frozen as the rest of his body.

His eyes burn with tears of rage—Changbin is dead. Another person died because of his own fucking stupidity. Mark should have known this would happen again. He should have stopped it. He should have—

His thoughts disappear as Changbin suddenly gasps for air. For a moment, he claws at the earth as if attempting to ground himself, before he finally, albeit shakily, climbs to his feet. Minho cautiously approaches the wolf, peering down at the shorter male with a gaze full of concern.

“How do you feel?...”

“I feel…” Changbin flexes his fingers again, before closing them into tight fists. The moonlight illuminates the crimson glow of his irises and the sharpness of his long, black fangs as he faces the witch—a malicious smirk spreading along his lips as he chuckles, “I feel like kicking some ancient Prime ass.”

Mark can’t find the strength to watch anymore and allows his head to lower to the earth. Just before his eyes flutter shut, he swears he spots the movement of shadows from behind a nearby headstone. But before he can confirm his suspicions, his head takes one final spin and the world grows dark.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

June 13th, 1769 — As much as I enjoy the atmosphere of Paris, I believe it is time to progress onto another part of the world. Some of the townsfolk are beginning to grow suspicious, considering I appear twenty years younger than my supposed age. Nevertheless, I will not mind a new start elsewhere. Jaebeom, on the other hand, will be a terror to convince. As he claimed last time I brought the idea to light, ‘There will never be a place more beautiful than Paris.’

But I know he is not through playing with his newest toy—Tzuyu.

I set sail for the newlands tomorrow at sunrise. Whether my brother decides to accompany me or not is solely his preference. It would be pleasant to spend some time apart—to spend some time in peace—but I know, with many complaints and reluctance, Jaebeom will board the ship tomorrow. Wherever I traverse, he follows, and vice versa. We are family, after all.

I will miss Notre Dame the most. I have grown used to visiting the Cathedral and repenting my wrongdoings to the high priest. Of course, I am forced to erase his memory of our talks each time, but it is nice to confess. It lifts a weight off of the shoulders, takes away a small portion of the guilt. If there is a god, he would never allow a creature like me to walk amongst his heavens—but at least I can salvage the lingering hope left inside of my soul. Speaking of hope, I thought I saw a woman that resembled Irene during my daily visit to the church. I find it amusing that after all these years, my heart continues to yearn for her presence. She was truly special—I wonder if she ever thought the same of me.

I’ve heard some of the sailors refer to a shore in the newland that has yet to be claimed. It may be the perfect location for Jaebeom and I to start anew. I can only hope it is as beautiful as people say. Maybe I will construct a place of worship as stunning as the Cathedral.

Isn’t that ironic?... A vampire who believes in faith.

Jinyoung finishes the entry with a sigh, welcoming the nostalgia that spreads through his thoughts like an old friend. It seems just yesterday that he recorded his first thoughts about the land that would become Moon Dye Bay. He shakes his head, carefully setting the old journal back on the bookshelf.

He never did build that church.

“Reminiscing again, brother?” The moment is ruined when a certain hybrid’s snicker reaches his ears. Jinyoung rolls his eyes as Jaebeom takes residence beside him, dragging his fingers along the spines of Jinyoung’s other diaries. “We did have some great times back in the 18th century… Remember our battles during the French Revolution? I rather enjoyed King Louis and Marie Antoinette’s executions.”

“You enjoy anything that involves bloodshed.”

“Don’t be so resentful, Jinyoungie. It’s not my fault that the queen had you in her interests.”

Jinyoung shakes his head before retreating to his desk to fix himself a drink. “The woman was as shallow as a poor soul’s ego. She was taken with any man who’d pay her the time of day. It was a miracle her death came as quickly as it did.”

“Careful there. You sound like me.”

Jinyoung deliberately chooses not to respond to Jaebeom’s comment and proceeds to pour two glasses of bourbon. He ignores his companion’s wide smirk as he hands him one of the drinks. Both the vampire and the hybrid simultaneously take a sip, peering at one another over the rims of their cups. Jaebeom is the first to break the silence with a pleased inhale and a hum:

“You returned pretty late last night. I hope you used protection during your time with (Y/N).”

“Mind your tongue, hyung.” Jinyoung warns, “I brought (Y/N) to the hospital after the attack—I trust you took care of Tzuyu?”

Jaebeom smirks. “Of course. She won’t be alive long enough to target your newest Maria Antonia again.”

About to inhale another sip of his bourbon, Jinyoung pauses to mull over the answer. He lowers his glass to his side before delivering Jaebeom a confused expression and a murmured inquiry, “What do you mean she won’t be alive?”

“Tzuyu and I got into an argument and, well, she pissed me off.” Jinyoung watches Jaebeom down the rest of his drink.

“Please tell me you didn’t bite her, Jaebeom-hyung.” He curses at the widening of Jaebeom’s smirk, slamming his glass back down on his desk with enough force to crack its exterior. “When I told you to deal with her, I didn’t mean condemn her to a fate of pain. If you wished to kill her, you could have at least been merciful and done it quick.”

“Last I checked, you said it yourself not to be kind.” Jinyoung follows Jaebeom as he pours himself another drink and collapses onto a brown, leather sofa. He tips his glass toward him with a smile before continuing, “I thought the punishment fit the crime, and we wouldn’t want to put helpless, human (Y/N) in danger again, would we?”

“You turned it off, didn’t you?” Jinyoung realizes, “Does holding onto your humanity wound you that badly, hyung? That you have no choice but to wish it away?”

“If I remember correctly, I’m not the only one that can’t hold onto their humanity… How many people did you kill in the ‘20s alone? One thousand? Maybe two?”

Jinyoung shakes his head, “I’m not that person anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” In the blink of an eye, Jaebeom is in front of Jinyoung—his glass in pieces on the floor beside him. He leans in until Jinyoung can taste the alcohol of his breath on his tongue, then whispers darkly, “You can lie to yourself all you fucking want, Jinyoung. But deep down, you’ll always know what you are… let’s just hope (Y/N) never finds out, hm?”

At the mention of your name, Jinyoung’s anger expands. He suppresses the urge to take the table beside him and smash it over the hybrid’s head, and instead inhales a deep breath. Jaebeom is only trying to provoke him—and he refuses to be a pawn in his foolish games.

“You will remember what it was like to feel human again.” Jinyoung sighs, “For your sake, I hope your remembrance comes sooner rather than later.”

Jaebeom tsks, “Being human is overrated.”

“He said the same thing about fate.” Both Jinyoung and Jaebeom whirl around at the appearance of a third voice. Jinyoung feels his blood begin to boil at the sight of the familiar vampire in the doorway, once again, suppressing his desire to launch a piece of furniture in her direction. “Ironically, fate and humanity are a package deal.”

Jaebeom growls, “What the fuck are you doing here, Tzuyu?”

“I came to try and convince you to give me your blood.” Tzuyu coughs, and Jinyoung swears he can hear the rattle of her bones. “But judging by your attitude, that’s obviously going to be harder than I thought.”

“You have courage for showing your face again.” Jinyoung crosses his arms with a dark hum, “Especially so soon after you nearly killed (Y/N).”

“It wasn’t my intention to kill her. I just wanted to send a message.”

“Is that so?” With a malicious glare, Jinyoung steps forward and tilts his head toward the vampire, “And what kind of message was that?”

“For (Y/N) to stay away from Jaebeom.” Another violent cough wracks through Tzuyu’s thin form, causing a light stream of blood to splatter from her lips. She wipes her mouth with a ragged breath before continuing, “Look, I did it for her own good. We all know his track record at keeping humans alive.”

“You did it to protect her!?” Jaebeom cackles, “Wow! That’s fucking priceless!”

“Say what you will, you both know I’m right.” Tzuyu says, propping herself up against a nearby bookshelf. “It’s either she ends up dead or is turned into a vampire—then again, there’s not much of a difference between the two, is there?”

“I would die before I allow (Y/N) to come to any harm.”

“The only issue with that is you can’t die, Jinyoung.” Jinyoung doesn’t take his eyes off Tzuyu as she grabs a bottle of brandy from the top shelf. It takes her literal seconds to unscrew the cap and down a good portion of the container. She licks her lips and says, “I’m sorry I attacked (Y/N), okay? I went too far. I won’t do it again.”

“You think an apology is enough to save your life?” Jaebeom snickers before snatching the alcohol from the vampire, “Think again, sweetheart.”

“What do you want from me, Jaebeom? Does seeing me die a slow, painful death bring you joy?”

He shrugs, “No one mourns for the wicked.”

“Is he always this much of an asshole?”

Jinyoung chuckles, “Pretty much.”

“Great.” The vampire breathes out a sigh and cards her fingers through her hair. After a brief moment of silence, she directs her attention back to Jaebeom and pleads—her voice packed with desperation and fear, “What can I do to convince you to let me live? Please, Jaebeom… I don’t want to die.”

“You should have thought about that before you touched what I told you not to.” Jinyoung remains quiet as Jaebeom lifts a hand to grasp Tzuyu’s jaw. The dying visitor remains unphased, proceeding to glare at the hybrid with hateful, yet oddly sorrowful eyes. “I suggest you show yourself out before I end your life sooner.”

“You’re going to lose everything one of these days, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu shakes her head sadly, wiping away a layer of cold sweat from her forehead. “You’re going to lose everyone, even your brother, and you’re going to be alone. For an eternity.”

“Save the monologue.” Jaebeom waves dismissively, taking a sip of the brandy before returning it back to its shelf. “Petty isn’t a good look for you, baby.”

“Fuck you, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu goes to stomp out the door, but something—someone blocks her path. The atmosphere changes when Jinyoung notices your panicked form, practically gasping for air and cross-eyed, standing in the doorway. He immediately speeds to your side without hesitation, grasping your hands in hopes to ground you.

He stares into your eyes, “What is it, (Y/N)? What’s wrong?”

“You and Jaebeom have to get the hell out of here! Right now!”

Jaebeom shakes his head in confusion, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know what exactly happened but Minho turned Changbin into this dark werewolf creature or-or something… I do know, however, that Changbin is on his way right now to kill you both.” Jinyoung steps back at the intensity of your explanation, unable to think of a response over the roar of his thoughts. Through his peripheral vision, he can spot the same type of speechlessness across Jaebeom’s face.

Not again…

“That’s stupid… You realize nothing can kill them, right?” Tzuyu scoffs.

“This is different.” You urge, “I saw Changbin—he wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before… The spell that Minho used, it was-was—”

“Dark magic.” Jinyoung finishes blankly, “The spell was dark magic.”

“Yes… which means you and Jaebeom need to leave town as fast as you possibly can before—”

“I don’t think anyone is going anywhere, (Y/N).” Jinyoung’s entire body grows stiff as a new voice echoes throughout the study. He cautiously turns his head, discovering none other than the young werewolf in question resting among the shadows. His eye also catches the open window a few inches away, and he curses himself for ever wanting to feel the nightly draft.

Changbin’s smirk is as dark as his eyes.

“What?... Not going to offer me a drink?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“(Y/N)! Get out of here! Now!” Jaebeom hears Jinyoung scream as the werewolf suddenly launches forward, knocking his brother into the bookshelf behind him. The wood completely splinters beneath the impact, raining down an array of books and planks on Jinyoung’s body. Changbin turns to Jaebeom next, but the hybrid is ready—and pissed off.

Jaebeom speeds toward the intruder and delivers a swift kick to the gut. Changbin flies back at the force, crashing back through the window with a loud growl. Sensing the urgency in time, Jaebeom quickly throws Jinyoung’s immobile body over his shoulder and urges both you and Tzuyu out the study door.

“Come on! We gotta go!”

“Jaebeom! What the hell is happening!?” He ignores Tzuyu’s fearful ask and proceeds to lug Jinyoung through the maze of hallways and down the staircase, you and the female vampire hot on his heels. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going, but he makes his way to the parlor where he props Jinyoung up against a nearby chair before turning to you:

“You need to leave. I will deal with this.”

“No way. I’m not going anywhere.” Jaebeom curses your stubbornness inside his head, sending a stern glare in your direction. Your expression remains fixated, and he can’t help but wish your presence in any other situation but now.

“I can’t protect you right now—”

“And I can’t sit back and watch you get yourselves killed!” You shake your head indignantly, “I’m staying!”

“Fucking hell, (Y/N)! Get your ass out that door before I throw you out myself!”

“Jaebeom, watch out!” At Tzuyu’s cue, a wooden branch comes soaring in through the window. Jaebeom immediately throws himself against you, effectively forcing your body to the ground to dodge the projectile. He can feel your fear through the trembling of your limbs and hurried breaths, but it only brings him more determination to tear apart his attacker.

He shakes his head in surrender, “You stay on the fucking ground, understand? Don’t you fucking dare move a muscle.” He doesn’t bother to wait for a response and pushes himself back to his feet.

Tzuyu is huddled in a corner, and Jinyoung has yet to awaken from his crash landing back in the study. Jaebeom tries to focus his senses on detecting the werewolf, but he can’t seem to hear anything past the beating of his own heart. He carefully makes his way over to the incapacitated vampire, attempting to force him back to consciousness.

“Now is really not the time for a fucking nap, Jinyoung.” He hisses, “I swear to god, if I have to save your ass one more time—” Another wave of tree branches come crashing through the windows. Unfortunately, Jaebeom is not as quick and one catches his shoulder at just the right angle. He feels the wood sink into his flesh, painfully carving into his bones. With a low groan, Jaebeom manages to grab the makeshift stake and remove it in one hefty pull.

He tosses it away with a yell, “You gonna hide like a little bitch!? Or are you gonna come out and fight like a man!?”

“Be careful what you wish for, asshole!” Jaebeom turns just in time to discover the werewolf emerging from a shattered window. His blood boils when he notices the sadistic grin along the young kid’s face—he wonders how those teeth will look strewn across the parlor floor.

Changbin comes at him fast, much faster than Jaebeom could have predicted. He manages to dodge a set of jabs, but he’s not so lucky when Changbin lands a heavy hit against the side of his face. Pain erupts through his jaw as he collapses to the floor, but Jaebeom doesn’t have the chance to dwell over it and rolls out of the way just as the werewolf attempts to stomp his nose.

Jaebeom tries to speed away again, but like before, his counterpart is faster. Changbin manages to force him to the floor for a second time, pinning his body down with his own. Horrified, the hybrid watches as the werewolf’s eyes glow blood red and large, pitch black fangs emerge past his parted lips. Once again, he attempts to break free, but it’s no use—Changbin is too strong.

Just when he believes the wolf’s fangs are going to sink into his neck, another form knocks Changbin away. Jaebeom hurriedly props himself on his arms in time to watch Tzuyu deliver a series of hits and kicks to the perpetrator, eventually slamming his head into a nearby armoire. Taking advantage of the moment, she turns from Changbin to Jaebeom instead:

“Grab Jinyoung and (Y/N) and run!” She screams, “Get the hell of here!”

Unable to move, Jaebeom remains as Tzuyu attempts to fight off the wolf. But with the combination of his ultimate strength and her weakness from Jaebeom’s venom, her defeat is inevitable. He watches in terror as Changbin sinks his teeth into the vampire’s arm before yanking her head forward and effectively snapping her neck. Jaebeom feels his insides practically soar with rage when the attacker tosses a comatose Tzuyu across the room like a useless toy.

“I’ll kill you…” He sneers, allowing his own supernatural features to overtake his face. “I’ll fucking kill you…”

Changbin shakes his head with a smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

Using the little agility he has left, Jaebeom grabs one of the branches and speeds toward the wolf. Due to Changbin’s movements, he misses his chest, but manages to stab the weapon in his stomach. Changbin releases a pained groan, allowing Jaebeom to take advantage of his surprise and land another array of uppercuts to his face. Just when he finally thinks he has the upper hand, his opponent blocks one of his hits and pins him against a wall with a hand around his throat.

“Any last words, Prime?”

“You really think you can kill me?” Jaebeom growls, squirming against Changbin’s hold.

“I know I can… Have fun rotting in Hell—fuck!”

Shock spills through Jaebeom’s veins as the point of branch suddenly appears through the center of the wolf’s chest, splattering red across both of their bodies. Changbin’s grip releases, allowing the hybrid to quickly speed out of his reach. Once he’s a safe distances away, Jaebeom looks to his savior, discovering the one person he never expected to see—

You stand over Changbin’s body—chest heaving and bloodied hands trembling. Your eyes are glassy when Jaebeom meets your gaze, and for some reason, he feels the urge to go and pull your form into a tight embrace. Your voice, however, returns his mind to reality:

“Did I… Did I kill him?”

“I don’t think so.” Jaebeom answers, nursing his wound with his own shaky fingers. “We need to get out of here—get somewhere safe.”

“Good idea.” You trudge over to where Jinyoung is still unconsciously laid across the chair. Jaebeom follows your lead and hurries over to a lifeless Tzuyu. “I know somewhere we can go… but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“(Y/N)... There is an immortal, unkillable super wolf out to kill me and my brother currently in my living room…” He snorts, maneuvering Tzuyu’s body into one arm and assisting you and Jinyoung with the other.

“Trust me, anywhere is a hell of a lot better than here…”

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