#but she had pulled the same stunt he did and she got thrown into a rift as a result right when he got to the top of Mt. Coronet

[loki-ioki]

Happy (almost) New Year, have this drawing that has nothing to do with it. Volo and his daughter, Oro, can be happy. Once.

[marauroon]

Hellooo! Marauders are taking over my heart my body and my life as well so could I maybe request a fic with James (or poly!marauders whatever you like) with a reader who is avoidant of relationships so once they realize they are loved they try to run away but James wont let her go and patiently convinces her to give them a chance? Thank you so much!

S E L F - S A B O T A G E — POLY MARAUDERS!

poly!marauders x fem!reader | h/c | 4.0k | masterlist!!

the marauders had thrown their hearts at you like it was effortless. and you just couldn’t return the gesture.

cw— relationship avoidant reader, mild miscommunication, mini argument, reader gets anxious and overwhelmed

a/n— thanks for the request ml, this one may require a part two <3

When exactly did it start? All four of you could give a different answer.

Sirius wagers it was the first potions class of fifth year, where you’d been unceremoniously wedged in between him and James as a part of a stupid boy-girl seating plan to stop ‘distractions’.

It didn’t work evidently, and James had managed to talk your ear off almost every lesson since, a familiar glint in his eye that Sirius knew all too well.

Remus would say it was closer to the end of that same year, when they’d somehow managed to invade your table in the library to study for their OWLs and Sirius had managed to get distracted—and distract you—within ten minutes of sitting down, spending almost a whole hour talking at you before Remus had to step in to make sure you both got an ample amount of revision done.

James would probably argue it was the first time the three actually spoke to you, finalised in the way that Remus looked at you as you slid a healing balm across the desk for his increasingly scarred hands with only a mutter that they “looked like they hurt,”.

And you? Well…

You’re not exactly sure.

It was so gradual yet so sudden and now you’re walking down the hallways with three borderline guard dogs at your tail like they’ve collectively decided you were a part of their pack.

And you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

It was endearing to a point, a genuine, unconditional affection shared between the three boys and spread onto you with no request for yours in return, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel almost suffocating.

You were almost constantly in the presence of at least one of the boys, languidly smothering you in unbridled affection like it was second nature to them.

Whether it was Remus slipping you notes for classes you weren’t paying attention in, Sirius insisting on carrying your bag down the hallways, or James sneaking compliments into every sentence he spoke to you, the casual fondness they showed you was never-ending.

And if you were being honest, it was beginning to be a bit too much.

“Here, love,” James passes you a pitcher over Sirius’ breakfast. “You’ll dry out your throat, we need that pretty voice in tact ready for the match later,”

You take the pitcher from him with a raised eyebrow, hoping your fluster isn’t too apparent in your tone. “the… match?”

“The Quidditch match doll,” Sirius takes it upon himself to pour your drink for you, taking the pitcher from your hands like you’ll shatter if he’s not careful enough. “We’re versing Slytherin, it’ll be a sight for sure,”

Oh.

Right.

“Damn right, I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when we take the cup for the fifth year in a row,” James hits Sirius’ arm lightly in his enthusiasm, stealing a slice of toast from his plate. “You are coming right?” James blinks at you slowly, honey-brown eyes big and round, like he’s silently trying to hypnotise you into agreeing with him.

“I- yeah,” You give him a half-stunted nod, letting your words speak before you can make up your mind and ultimately pull out of it. “yeah…”

“Excellent,” James clasps his hands together with a satisfied nod. “I’ll dig out a spare jersey for you,”

“Who said she was wearing your name?” Sirius turns to him with a raised eyebrow, and it starts a lighthearted debate that you quickly tune out in favour of the dull ringing in your ears.

The way they were talking made everything sound so final, so… concrete. Like you’d just completely melded into their routine through no input of your own.

“You don’t have to,” There’s a soft nudge against your left side, joined by what’s almost a whisper from Remus. “I don’t go to all of them,”

He’s giving you an out. Or at least trying to. You know that if you suddenly pull out of wanting to go that James and Sirius’d be disappointed, even if they pretend that they’re not.

“It’s alright..” You shake your head with a small smile, attempting to reassure both Remus—and yourself—that you really do want to watch the boys play.

James wins his and Sirius’ debate apparently, and a few hours before the match is due to start he hands you a folded up Quidditch jersey with a smile etched onto his face.

“Here you are m’love, look forward to seeing you in it later,” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, winking as he pulls away. “Gotta run for some last minute practice, wish me luck,”

“Good luck…” your hands curl in around the jumper almost instinctually as you stand stationary watching James run out of the common room waving in your direction, and once he’s out of sight your eyes drop to the clothing in your arms.

You hold it up to let it unfold, signature red and gold stripes adorning the fabric and a large embroidered ‘POTTER’ covering the back where it’d meet your shoulder blades.

Well, James’ shoulder blades. It would probably cover most of your upper back.

You spend the next hour staring at it in your dorm room, left draped over the end of your bed as you internally fought with yourself over whether you should actually put it on.

It was taunting you the way the gold embroidery thread caught the overheard lighting, forcing your focus towards the surname like an ultimatum.

If you put on that jumper, you were committing yourself to whatever you’d been thrust into.

And the thought made you almost physically nauseous.

It was like the boys had handed you their hearts on a silver platter, expecting you to shield them inside your ribcage, nestled against your own until they stop beating.

Like they were giving themselves to you wholely, nothing left behind until it was piled up so high that you couldn’t dig yourself out of the iron hold they’d captured you in no matter how much you tried, slowly asphyxiating yourself under the ever constricting grasp of the cage they’d trapped you in until you turned blue.

It terrified you.

You didn’t go to the Quidditch game.

God knows if you did it would end in nothing less than tears, if not you literally collapsing from hyperventilating at the first sight of any of the three of them.

Instead, you burrowed yourself underneath your satin sheets to seek a dull solace, no comfort found in the way you curled in on yourself, but no growing anxiety either.

You knew you’d have to leave it eventually, face the three boys and force out an excuse whilst desperately hoping they didn’t see just how horrifically anxious they made you.

It was horrible really, they’d done nothing but extend their kindest hands to you, treat you like you painted the stars in the sky and gifted them the oxygen they breathed.

And here you were, dreading the thought of so much as glancing at their blissfully oblivious faces.

“Sweetheart,” Marlene enters the dorm almost cautiously as she edges the door open, still clad in her full quidditch gear, sweat glistening against her forehead. “The boys are outside for you,”

“I’m not here,” You muffle your words into your duvet as you pull it up and over your head, and you can’t faintly hear Marlene sigh as she treads over and pulls you from your cocoon of self pity through dragging the quilt out of your hands.

She raises her eyebrow down at you questioning it, but you can see the concern swirling in her irises.

“Just tell them I’m asleep?” You furrow your eyebrows in silent pleading, echoed through your words as you exhale heavily. “Please?”

Shes clearly not very happy with your request, but she bites her tongue and gives you a small nod anyway, brushing stray hairs from your forehead with a sigh. “Whatever this is about, you should talk to them,”

“Yes mum,” You roll your eyes with a feigned sigh of indignation, pulling the duvet back up underneath your chin.

As she turns to leave, expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, you catch the jersey draped against your bed-post in the corner of your eye.

“Marls,” You point to it almost pathetically. “I really don’t want to face them right now,”

She practically snatches the jumper from the end of your bed with an almost scolding expression, and you flash her a guilty but grateful smile.

“I love you,”

“My love for you is dwindling,” She throws the jumper over her arm with an over-dramatised exhale, but she shoots you a flying kiss across the room nonetheless, and it leaves you with a small smile as the door clicks shut.

Although it doesn’t last very long.

You’d given her the jumper to return for you because you didn’t even want to consider what James’ face would look like when he got it back.

But of course your mind pictured it anyway.

The way his hazel eyes would pool first in disappointment before slowly turning to worry, a small, almost imperceptible frown pulling at the corners of his lips and his eyebrows furrowed just enough that it caused a line to form above the bridge of his nose.

You honestly didn’t know if you seeing it in real life or the picture your brain had unceremoniously forced onto you was worse, but what you did know was that you could not face him now.

The minute that boy saw you—any of them really—you knew that the impending conversation that followed was going to be one you didn’t want to have.

You jinxed yourself pretty hard with that prediction.

You’d managed to avoid the three at breakfast the next morning to no credit of your own, slept in so late after running your mind into the ground the night before you’d basically missed the whole thing, but you didn’t even make it down the hallway towards your first lesson before a pair of running feet crescendo’d in your direction.

“Hey—”

Shit.

“Sirius, morning,” You stop dead in the middle of the hallway, most definitely to the begrudgement of the rest of the students trying to get to class; And whilst you regret it almost immediately, Sirius doesn’t have a care in the world for diverting the foot traffic, concern written in the way his eyebrows knit together as his attention stays devoted to you.

“Are you okay? You didn’t make it to the match yesterday, we were worried about you,” His tone conveys less disappointment that you didn’t go and more genuine concern that something might’ve happened or gone wrong.

“Yeah, sorry,” You reply half awkwardly, fiddling absentmindedly with the cuffs of your sleeves. “I’m alright though,” You echo the end of your sentence with a nod, lips pressed together in a line, a mimicry of a smile.

“You’re sure?” He reaches out his hand to press the back of it against your forehead. “Because if you’re ill Moony’s got a bunch of stuff from Madame Pomfrey, I’m sure something’ll—”

“I’m fine, Sirius,” You don’t let him finish his sentence before you’re gently pulling his hand away from your face and back down to his side. “You really don’t have to worry, I just fell asleep,”

“Alright,” He most definitely picks up on the traces of defensiveness in your tone as he takes a step backwards to give you a little more personal space, and you’d have half the mind to feel guilty if you weren’t so constantly overwhelmed by him and the others.

“I’ll uh,” He presses his lips together half-awkwardly. “Let you get to class then,”

“Don’t you have potions?” It’s genuine curiosity, edged with a small amount of concern that Sirius’ll be late for his own class now that he’s followed you half way to yours. On the opposite side of the castle.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first,” Sirius gives you a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Let me walk you?”

You shake your head slowly, gently pushing on his shoulder. “Go to your own class, Sirius,”

He lingers for a moment before turning to head back in the direction he came from, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering guilt.

__

Your day is largely uneventful until lunch, the smell of parchment still lingering in your nose as you wander out towards the courtyard instead of joining your friends in the great hall.

You knew they’d be there. Of course they’d be there.

And after this morning with Sirius, which he’d definitely told the other two about, you were finding yourself wanting to be in their presence even less.

So you take your lunch to the courtyard instead, settling on a bench farthest from the entrance to avoid any potential encounter. The peace is short-lived, however, as you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

“Thought you might be out here,” James' voice is gentle, his expression a mix of concern and relief as he takes a seat next to you.

You tense up, trying to muster a smile but failing. “Hey, James.”

“Hey,” he echoes, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “You missed breakfast this morning.”

“Yeah, I—“ You search for an excuse, but nothing comes to mind. “I wasn't really hungry.”

James nods slowly, as if he's trying to decode the underlying meaning behind your words. “Is everything alright? You seemed a bit off yesterday.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the anxiety bubble up in your chest. “I'm fine, really. Just needed some time to myself.”

“Time to yourself?” James repeats, his tone soft but probing. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

You wanted to curse James Potter sometimes.

How could he be so confident in himself that he could throw his heart at you with no fear of it shattering in your palms?

How could he be so sweet yet so painfully ignorant?

“If this is about you missing the quidditch match yesterday, Sirius and I aren’t—”

“It’s not about the quidditch match James,” You cut him off with a sigh. “Or— It is, but it’s not just about that—”

You stand to release yourself from James’ proximity.

“James, it's everything.” you finally admit, unable to hold back any longer. “I cant so much as breathe without one of you attached to my hip and I can’t do it anymore—”

James' face falls, the concern in his eyes deepening. “We're just trying to show you we care, but if it's too much, we can give you space.”

“It's not just space,” you say, your voice trembling. “It's... even thinking about you three is suffocating me...”

James's face contorts in confusion and a touch of hurt, but he quickly masks it with a forced understanding. "I... didn't realize it was that bad," he says quietly, his usual confident demeanor faltering for the first time in your memory.

You swallow hard, guilt gnawing at your insides, but you can’t take back what you’ve said. You don’t want to. It’s been building inside you for too long—the overwhelming presence of James, Sirius, and Remus in your life. They were everywhere, all the time, and while their company had almost become a comfort, it quickly spiralled into a cage.

“I’m sorry, James. I know you all mean well, but it’s just… too much,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, though the motion seems more for his benefit than yours, as if he’s trying to force himself to understand. “I get it,” he says, though you can tell he really doesn’t. “I guess I never thought about how it might feel from your side. We just… we wanted to make sure you really felt like one of us,”

The way he says "one of us" stings, a reminder of how you were a part of their tight-knit group—no, how they had made you a part of it, pulling you in whether you liked it or not.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You hadn’t really been given a choice. You had been absorbed into their world, expected to fit perfectly into the space they had carved out for you, without ever considering whether you wanted to be there in the first place.

“I know you didn’t mean any harm,” you say, trying to soften the blow. “But I need to figure out how I feel without… without you all hovering over me all the time.”

James winces at that, and you can see the pain in his eyes. “We never meant to make you feel like that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… We— thought, you… We were trying to prove how much we care…”

The tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over, but you blink them away. “I don’t need you to prove anything, James. I need to breathe.”

He looks down at his hands, clasped tightly together in his lap. “If that’s what you need, then we’ll give it to you,” he says finally, though his voice is tinged with reluctance. “We can give you space, we can— leave you alone if that’s what you need. We can wait until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

James doesn’t really know how to respond to that.

“I— Why wouldn’t you ever be ready..?”

“I don’t know if I can do this, James,” It hurts, coming out of your mouth, echoing back into your ears. But it’s true.

“I— I know being with three people at once can be overwhelming but—”

“It’s not that James,” You shake your head with an almost imperceptible sigh. “I don’t think I’d even be able to date one of you without being overwhelmed,”

James’s eyes widen in surprise, his expression shifting from hurt to confusion. “Are you saying... you don’t want to be with any of us?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears and regrets. You glance away, struggling to find the right words to convey the complexity of your feelings.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” you say slowly, trying to articulate the intricate emotions swirling inside you. “But I can’t… give myself to you, I can’t— hand you three my heart on a silver platter like you did to me. I just can’t.”

James's expression shifts from confusion to a mixture of frustration and sadness. He clearly hadn’t expected this level of honesty.

“I get that you’re overwhelmed,” he says, his voice quiet but determined. “But can you give us a chance to show you that we can handle it? That we can adjust and give you what you need without pushing too hard?”

You meet his gaze, seeing the earnestness and vulnerability in his eyes. It’s clear he’s invested in making this work, not just for himself but for all three of them. You can see him struggling to reconcile his own desires with your need for space and clarity.

“It’s not just about trying, James,” you reply, feeling the weight of your words. “It’s about whether or not I’m ready to be a part of this—whatever this is. And right now, I don’t even know what I want, let alone if I can handle being part of something with all three of you.”

James nods, absorbing your words. “I understand that you need time. But maybe instead of pushing you away entirely, we could find a middle ground. We could— take things slower, give you room to breathe while still being here for you in a less overwhelming way. If you don’t want us all together then… maybe it’s just one of us you’d be open to starting with? Even if it’s just as friends—”

Your heart softens a bit at his suggestion. The idea of easing into something less intense seems more manageable, though it still doesn’t completely resolve your concerns.

“You can get to know us properly— as people, and let us show you why we care about you.” There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, one that’s mirrored in his irises, swirling in his gaze amidst the sunlight reflecting off of his pupils. “Just… give us a chance,”

You take in James’s earnest plea, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. The desperation and hope in his gaze pull at something within you, a flicker of longing for a connection that feels genuine and real, even amidst the confusion and overwhelming anxiety.

“I... I can try,” you say slowly, the words feeling both heavy and hopeful as they leave your lips. “I can try to get to know you better, as individuals, and see where it goes. But I need you to understand that this isn’t going to be easy, and it might take longer than any of us expect.”

James’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. “That’s all I’m asking for,” he says, a small but genuine smile forming on his lips. “We’ll take it slow, no pressure. Just... let us show you that we can be what you need, one step at a time.”

You nod, feeling a tentative sense of hope as you look at him. “Alright. We’ll start with that. But if at any point it becomes too much, I need you to promise me that you’ll respect that.”

James’s smile widens, his eyes reflecting a mix of joy and determination. “I promise. We’ll be patient and understanding. And if you need space, we’ll give it to you. Just... let us try and convince you...”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the tension easing slightly as you both come to a mutual understanding. The path forward is still uncertain, but the willingness to try and the promise of patience create a small but significant shift in the dynamic between you.

You give him a soft nod. “Thank you, James,” you breathe out shortly, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

James gives you a warm, encouraging nod. “Anytime. We care about you, and we want you to be happy. Just remember, we’re here for you.”

And so, the next chapter of your ‘relationship’ began. Starting in a place that preceded even the beginning.

[http-barnes]

tease me || tasm peter parker

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: teasing and taunting can only go so far, until Andrew snaps.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: peter parker!andrew garfield x fem!reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: hmmm 4

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut

[idea for this scenario by @lipstickbisous]

Your and Peter's friendship went back many years, that consisted of him being the goody-two-shoes, and you the person he would always have to apologize for to get you out of trouble.

"I'm sorry miss we were playing and she meant to throw eggs at my house but yours is so similar! She just mistook them..."

You were 8 when he got you out of a pickle for the first time, and from then on it was just something he delegated himself to do: take care of you secretly.

Of course, the fact that he was so nice and never wanted to get into trouble like you earned him a lot of teasing (mostly from your part).

As the both of you aged, your friendship remained the same, and your mentalities stayed the same. Even after he told you he was spider-man, you still mocked him as if he was just a flimsy dude that was too scared to steal a beer from the corner store.

Sure, Peter Parker could fight a giant lizard, but that didn't mean he could handle all the stunts you constantly pulled.

You rested your legs on his lap as you laid on his couch, throwing his popcorn at his face.

"Are you gonna stop that Y/N?" He asked, turning his head to face you.

"No." You replied, paused, then threw another popcorn at him.

You loved to get him riled up. Peter didn't get mad or annoyed easily, but you had a talent.

He gripped your legs and pulled on them, so your face would be closer to his.

"Stop leaving popcorn on my floor Y/N, I'll kick you out." He warned, as he bent over, so you were face to face.

You pouted and stood up, collecting all the popcorn you had thrown at him.

"Fine, dad. You're no fun!" You mocked.

"I'm fun!" Peter exclaimed, earning a snort from your other two friends who happened to be in the room.

Both of them had no idea he was spider-man, which made him seem a lot less cooler, 'cause you could at least recognizer he was a little cool for being a super hero.

"Hey! Come on guys I do fun stuff with you."

"Peter it doesn't count as doing fun stuff with us if you don't actually do it."

"Yeah, I stay behind to clean up your mess to make sure you don't get us all arrested."

You sat on Peter's lap, facing him, and approached your face to his.

"That's because you're a goody-two-shoes, you're so innocent... It's actually adorable how much you haven't changed." You said this as you tilted his chin up with one finger.

Peter gripped your wrist and pulled your hand away. You smirked when you saw him try to hide his blush. You loved the grip you had on the man.

"Y/N I'm a grown man, I'm neither of those things."

He was aware you pretended like you had no idea he was spider man, that you ignored all that just to tease him, but deep down you knew he could do whatever he wanted to, you were just too used to the chemistry of your friendship. You got off his lap.

"Alright then, we heard that old lady down the street has a bunch of dead animals in that little shack behind her house," you paused and looked over your shoulder to stare at Peter "wanna come?"

The thing is, Peter didn't want to. Although he has superpowers and was no longer afraid, he still didn't want to do a bunch of the things his friends did, and he especially had no curiosity in seeing a bunch of dead animals, and he had no interest in going to jail for trespassing, but he wanted you to see Peter as more than just that little scared boy he was when you were 10, not only Spider-Man.

"Fine..."

You jumped and clapped your hands as if you were an 8-year-old after their parents said they could get McDonald's.

Peter landed you one of his hoodies and the four of you went off on your little adventure. It was dark outside, which was good because if it went to shit at least the neighbors wouldn't be able to identify you.

The old woman was a widow, whose husband had died almost a decade ago. She lived alone and she rarely ever saw the light of day, which was already creepy enough for Peter to want to stay away, but unfortunately for him, his best friend was a girl who thrived on doing shit like that.

The old wooden fence creaked as you jumped over it and landed on the woman's backyard. The backyard by itself was already creepy, with mostly dry dirt, grass that somehow looked like it hadn't seen a drop of water in weeks (even though it rained almost every day), and dry sticks lying around.

You smiled widely at the atmosphere, as Peter gulped nervously. He too was glad that it was pitch black outside, so you couldn't see his nervous face.

Peter stuck close to you, your hands brushing past each other several times, unbeknownst to each other, you both desperately wanted to hold the other's hand, but afraid of the other party's reaction, neither of you made any advances.

"It has a lock!" One of your friends whisper-yelled.

"Good thing I brought this." The other said, holding a pair of bolt cutters.

"Why the fuck did you bring that?" Peter asked.

"I came here before to check out the place." The man replied as he placed the bolt cutter in place.

"Of course you did..."

The old door fell open immediately, the lock was probably there because the door was too flimsy to even hold itself closed without a little help.

The four of you used your phones' flashlights to look around.

"Oh this shit's grim!" Peter said, disgusted.

There were about four tables and in each of them there was an animal pinned down and opened up. Against the wall in the back, there was a shelf full of taxidermy animals.

As you looked around, disgusted, you heard a sound.

"Who the fuck is there!?"

You turned off all lights you had and turned around, to find the old lady whom the animals belonged to, coming in the direction of the shack.

Before you could react, you felt someone pull you down. Peter hid under one of the tables, and pulled you down to hide with him before the lady saw you. When your best friend pulled on your arm he just meant for you to hide under there with you, but the extra strength you ended up falling on his lap, cuddled up to his chest, afraid to be caught, and he couldn't complain.

Peter held you tightly, and you heard his heart beat fast as you saw the old lady's feet pass right by the table you were hiding under. She scouted the room with a dim flashlight, and when she found nothing she just turned around and grunted.

"Aw shit, fucking kids breaking my lock again." The woman said, as she inspected the broken lock by the door "Gotta go get a new one."

"Let's go!" Peter told you, as he grabbed your wrist and dashed out the door.

You were pretty sure the other two had already managed to sneak out, as the only thing you heard in the street were the footsteps and giggles that belonged to the two of you.

Once you got to his front porch, you laid on the grass, you on top of him, laughing and breathing hard from the running.

"Okay fine, that was fun. Creepy but fun."

"See?"

Peter held your hips, as you looked each other in the eye. You often did things like that, and if a stranger saw you he'd assume you're a couple, but you never went past slight touches for some reason.

"So we can stop calling me 'innocent' and 'goody-two-shoes' now?" He asked.

You tapped your chin with your finger.

"Hmm, goody-two-shoes maybe, but innocent... Nope."

You got off of him and ran inside, before he could pin you down and punish you with tickles like he usually did.

"Come on! Why not?" He asked, as he followed you inside.

You stopped in your tracks, and turned around. You slowly walked towards Peter, and with every menacing step you took, Peter took one back, until his back was against the wall. You got closer and closer, until your noses touched and your tits were pressed against his chest.

Peter and his dick were very aware of your closeness, and if you were any other girl he would have pushed your face against the wall and fucked you into a good girl, but it was you, and for some reason you had always had a power stance over him, even when he got taller, stronger and bigger than you, and even when he started climbing walls.

"Because you always blush when I toy with you... You're so innocent and pure, it's cute." You whispered, as you traced his jawline.

You could see the way he gulped, and your thigh between his legs was definitely making it a lot harder not to say 'fuck it' and fuck you dumb.

His adorable nervousness was irresistible, and the words that left your mouth were unexpected, but deep down they were simply voicing something deeply hidden in you.

"Shit, one day I swear I'm gonna take your virginity or something, Parker..."

You both looked a little shocked by your one liner, you had teased him before, but never went as far as actually admitting to something. You tried giggling and playing it off as a joke, but Peter wouldn't let go of it so fast.

You were staying at his house for the week. Since you lived far away you no longer saw eachother as often as you wished, so whenever you got a week off, you spent time at his house.

The next couple of days were filled with very obvious sexual tension. Whenever you slept, you'd make sure to press your ass against his crotch, always earning breathy moans from Peter, whenever he passed by you, his lingering touches became cheekier, as his hand would slide down to your ass and stay there a second too long for a friend, and you always left your hand too high up on his thigh.

You were both playing it as if it was a game, unsure if either of you wanted more than just some light hearted teasing, a way to push each other to the limit.

"What are we gonna watch, Parker?" You asked, as you handed him the popcorn, and then bent your ass right up on his face, to grab the remote on the coffee table.

"I was thinking," he set the popcorn by his side, and pulled your ass (that was about to take a seat in the couch) onto his lap "you could choose a movie today, I'm out of ideas". "

You wiggled your ass to tease him, pretending you were adjusting yourself on his lap.

You nodded to his suggestion and picked a random movie, whose biography seemed good enough for a Wednesday afternoon.

The atmosphere became less tense as the two of you focused on the movie, and you became used to his hands that trailed up your shirt and drew mindless shapes on the skin of your stomach.

That is, until a sex scene came up. You had purposely chosen that movie to tease him. You pressed your ass harder against his semi-hard cock.

At some point, the main character was giving another character a blowjob, and you found a new idea to toy with Peter.

"Someone should show you what head feels like."

"Then do it."

His words echoed in the room, as you processed them. Peter couldn't handle the tension and teasing anymore, and in the heat of the moment, those words left his mouth without thinking.

You looked down at your lap, a little embarrassed that he actually retorted this time.

"Aw, what's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

He paused, and one of his hands gripped your neck so you'd look straight ahead.

"Where's all the teasing now? You're all talk, aren't you, princess?"

"I am not!" You defended.

"Well then," Peter said, rolling his hips up so you'd feel his rock hard cock against your ass "you know what to do."

This newfound Peter, confident and controlling, did something to you, it made you want to obey to every of his orders.

You climbed off his lap and got on your knees for him. God he loved the view, the confident, brave Y/N, his confident, brave Y/N kneeling in front of him, ready to do whatever he wanted.

You laid your head on his thigh, as you traced his hard cock with your index finger, before slippigg your hand inside his sweatpants and bringing it out.

You licked a long stripe from the base of his dick to the head, earning a deep groan from Peter. His hands formed a makeshift ponytail with your hair, holding it firmly in one hand, so he could see everything you did.

You took more and more of his length as your head bobbed up and down, with the aid of your hand that squeezed his length. You hollowed your cheeks and by the sound of it, Peter was enjoying it.

"Shit look at you, being so good for me..."

You felt the wetness between your legs spread,

Peter took off his shirt, and tugged on your hair, so your mouth would detach from his cock. Your breath was heavy and a string of saliva connected your lips to his cock.

"Who knew you could look even prettier..."

You blushed at the compliment. Peter tapped on his thigh and you sat down on him.

The man grabbed your jaw and pulled you towards him, so you could kiss him while he worked on removing your clothes.

Once you were fully naked, he parted from the kiss completely and ran his hands up and down your sides, as he admired all of you.

"So pretty, and all for me..." He said, as he kissed your breasts.

"Shit, Peter please!" You begged, as your hips needily rocked against his thigh.

"Well, since you've asked so nicely."

Peter flipped you around, so your face would be buried in the pillow of his sofa. He grabbed your wrists and held them togehter, behind your back.

He held his cock and ran it up and down your folds, collecting all of your juices.

"Shit-Peter don't tease me..."

He bent over so he could whisper in your ear.

"I should have you on your knees begging me to fuck you dumb. You're lucky I wanna fuck that pretty pussy right now."

Without uttering another word, he slammed into you. Your screams and moans of pleasure echoed in the house, as well as the dirty sounds of Peter fucking into you.

"Such a good girl, taking all of me so well."

Every praise got you closer and closer to the edge, and the impossible pace he trusted into you made it harder to contain yourself.

I'm gonna fuck you so well the next time you open that pretty little mouth will be to beg me for more, got it?"

"Shit-yes, yes Peter! Fuck you feel so good!"

Peter spanked your ass harshly, and that was all it took to send you over the edge. Your walls tightened around him and you came.

Your best friend came right after, shamelessly spilling inside of you, and then fucking his cum into you so it wouldn't spill.

He was breathing hard, and so were you. Peter picked you up and set you on his lap, so you could breathe properly and sit more comfortably.

"You OK? I might have been a little harsh..." He asked, kissing the spot under your ear as he fixed your hair.

"Don't get sappy on me now Parker, it was perfect."

[haleyhunwritess]

you have to make a part 3 to that mob!bucky. Okay so Natalie cheated but Bucky should’ve have lied to reader and why didn’t they get a divorce? honestly reader should’ve thrown in bucky’s face that he is still married and she had the right to date

Trust (Who is she? Part 3)

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟭 / 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮

warnings: mafia!james x reader, natasha x steve

a/n: here is the update <3 i missed writing dark fics LOL, i kind of have a taglist for this but if you'd like to be added then let me know <3

Trust is a weapon. It is the most expensive thing to exist in this world. It could take years to build but through one simple mistake, it only takes a few seconds to lose it.

James was a loyal man. Despite what he did for a living, he was a loyal man to those he loved. Once you were in his life, you were either with him or against him. Those against him never survived. If you were with him, you became invincible against the darkness. It's part of the reason why Natalia loved him as much as she did. But it's also what scared the hell out of her. If anyone crossed him, he'd bury them. And, she'd really fucking crossed him. Betraying him with his assistant, in the same bed they shared. On his favourite sheets.

She knew he was going to kill her the second he caught her. The minute she looked into his eyes, she just knew she was seconds away from dying. She quickly pulled away from the girl and covered herself up with the sheets. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming. She didn't bother apologizing or begging for forgiveness, not because she was afraid to say anything but because she knew it was no use.

She flinched when she heard the door slam. She opened her eyes and noticed that he left. He left without saying a word. She looked outside her window, and saw James getting into his car. He drove away and didn't return until late at night.

She'd kicked out the girl by then and was waiting for him in the living room. She knew he was either drinking with Steve or trying to get back at her by sleeping with someone else. She knew she deserved it, especially after what she'd done.

She quickly got up from the couch when she heard the door open. She expected James to walk in but instead it was Steve. She sighed, walking back over to the couch.

"I know I fucked up, Steve. I don't wanna hear it from you."

"I'm here with a message from James. He said..." Steve looked down, already feeling bad about what he was going to say, "...he said leave, and if he ever sees you again he won't hesitate to shoot you this time."

Natalia looked outside her window one last time before starting to make her way upstairs. She wasn't oblivious, she knew it wasn't the storm that was making all that noise. She knew he was going to confront her after the stunt she'd pulled.

"You know you really should keep your back door locked. It's dangerous to leave it unlocked like that, especially with this weather." It was like deja vu. She was waiting for James but Steve was here instead. He really hated her.

"Well I knew James would come here, so I thought I'd leave that door open for him. Didn't want him breaking down any doors, my new neighbours are already kinda nosey." She grabbed the kettle off the counter, and started filling it up with water, "Why are you here? Where is he?"

"He's on his way. He uh, he doesn't know I'm here..." She looked up at him, confused by his confession. Surely, he wasn't here to warn her, was he?

"Did you come here to warn me or something?" She put the kettle down on the stove, turning it on high. He quietly nodded, taking a seat at the table.

"Look, I don't want him to hurt you. I know you still love him, but you broke his heart. And he was doing better with–"

"With that naive girl? Is she actually as innocent as she looks or are the doe eyes just an act?"

Steve ignored her question, "She makes him happy...and she really loves him."

"Does he love her? I don't care about her, does he love her?" She sighed, grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard. She placed tea bags in both of them, and filled them up with hot water.

"I think so..." He mumbled, looking away from her.

"I...I didn't come back to be with him. I don't love him anymore." She handed him one of the mugs and sat down at the table with hers "I'm just sick of not being able to move on with my life because he can't even face me. I just want him to sign the papers and I'll leave."

"You'll actually leave if he signs them?" He raised his eyebrows at her in disbelief, while slowly drinking the tea, "No mind games or any bullshit like that, you'll leave?"

"You have my word." She smiled, sipping on her own mug.

"Okay. I'll talk to him." Steve put down the empty mug, and took out his phone out to call James. He unlocked his phone and searched for James's contact as his vision started to blur a bit. He rubbed his eyes but continued to phone James. The first call didn't go through so he tried again. Soon, he couldn't even sit up straight at the table and looked up at Natalia. "What did you do?" He mumbled as he slowly closed his eyes and slumped back down in his chair.

"Hello? Steve?" She smiled, listening to James's voice as he finally picked up. She took the phone out of Steve's hand.

"Hi Sweetheart, don't bother coming over right now. I'm not sure you want to see Steve like this.

"Natalia...What did you do?"

"Nothing yet, he's alive don't worry. Come over tomorrow morning with your girl. I know you won't hurt me with her around. You wouldn't want her to see you for who you really are. This way I can be sure you won't try to kill me, plus i have Steve here as double assurance. Tomorrow morning, 8am. Do not be late."

Trust really is the ultimate weapon. Steve trusted Natalia. Unbeknownst to him, he trusted a version of her that was no longer there. After all, she knew James wasn't the only one responsible for killing the woman she'd been in love with. Natalia was the one who cheated, not her. She didn't deserve to die. Someone had to pay for her death. Lucky for her, it seemed that James had finally found someone that could pay the price.

[charliethomascoxuniverse]

William Hurt's Stunt Double Saved Charlie Cox From Drowning On The Set Of Moby Dick

By Witney Seibold  Dec.12, 2022 (X)

In Herman Melville's original 1851 novel "Moby-Dick," not much was known about the vengeful Capt. Ahab beyond his obsession with finding the story's titular whale. In Mike Barker's 2011 miniseries, Ahab (William Hurt) interacts with his on-screen wife Elizabeth (Gillian Anderson). Ethan Hawke plays Starbuck, Raoul Trujillo plays Queequeg, and Charlie Cox plays the stalwart narrator Ishmael. Cox has recently been getting a great deal of attention from Marvel fans for his performance as the superhero Daredevil in his own show, and for guest spots on "She Hulk: Attorney at Law" and in "Spider-Man: No Way Home." This author first noticed Cox for his performance as Lorenzo in Michael Radford's 2004 adaptation of "The Merchant of Venice." His appearance in "Moby Dick" would immediately be followed by 23 episode of the hit show "Boardwalk Empire," putting the actor on the map.

Filming on "Moby Dick" took place in Malta in 2009. As its story demands, the miniseries features many scenes at sea. There are many moments when multiple characters are gathered in small rowboats. Then — again, as the story demands — many characters are thrown out of said rowboats and into the ocean. In the December 2022 issue of Total Film Magazine, Cox was interviewed about his worst on-screen experience, and he revealed that filming "Moby Dick" included a moment that might have killed him. Those cursed rowboats, it seems, almost offered Cox the same fate as many members of the Pequod.

Luckily, William Hurt's unnamed stunt double — unnamed, but most likely uncredited industry veteran Tomas Ereminas — was there to rescue Cox.

Thwarting death

Charlie Cox was lucky when the day came to shoot the rowboat scene. William Hurt, it seems, did not want to get into the rowboat with his co-stars. Cox cited Hurt's age at the reason for refusing — Hurt was 61 at the time — although it could be just as likely that the star sensed danger that day. Or he simply wasn't in the mood. Regardless, one of Hurt's stunt doubles stepped in. When asked what his worst day of shooting was, Cox recalled:

"I had a stunt go wrong on the TV show 'Moby Dick.' Nobody's fault. I was meant to be on the rowboat with William Hurt but he had said he didn't want to do it. In his place was a stunt double. Anyway, we got pulled, the boat flipped, and my leg was stuck underneath one of the benches. This stunt guy got me out. With all due respect to the late, great Bill Hurt, being the age he was and not being a stuntman, I don't think he would have thought to do that. So this stunt guy potentially saved my life."

The benches Cox referred to are called, in nautical lingo, thwarts. They are ordinarily removable, but in this case, seemed to be locked firm.

The 2011 "Moby Dick" miniseries aired on August 1 and 2 of that same year, and was met with positive reviews, despite its notable changes to the novel's story. Herman Melville's novel, incidentally, has been adapted to film and TV multiple times since its first cinematic iteration in 1926. The 2011 version was the most recent direct filmed adaptation, but both the 2014 miniseries "The Whale" and Ron Howard's 2015 film "In the Heart of the Sea" adapted real-life events that served as inspiration for "Moby-Dick."

~*~

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"We Match!" The Ghost/"Mitch." X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Ay yo week three of the fantastic @the-slasher-files Bloodfest! I hope you alllll enjoy this one! This is the first thing I have written for The Ghost or “Mitch” from The Haunt (2019) a movie I watched a few days ago! I ended up loving it and this guy sooo much and the inspo hit so here we are! I dunno if I will write him again but we will see, for now, enjoy this new piece!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2K. The Ghost/ "Mitch" X FEM! AFAB! Reader. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings: Blood. Gore. Fear. Cutting. Banter. Teasing. Vaginal Sex. Spanking. Talk Of Death And Murder. Unprotected Sex. Dirty Talk. Mask Kink. Glove Kink. 

—

You always loved Halloween, always dressed up and always, always, always went out and did something. This year was no different, you went out with friends, some drinks, some dancing and partying, consuming candy and general reverie but it wasn’t enough. When you all departed from the club there was excited talk of not wanting the night to end just yet, wanting to finish strong and on a high note. Many things were thrown back and forth until the idea of a haunted house was brought up and that was what was enthusiastically decided on. 

It was pretty fucking cheesey honestly, total cornball. To start at least. Somewhere along the way it got really real and very intense. One your friends getting separated and apparently murdered before your eyes, another one getting seriously injured, the group splitting up further still, it had you scared and majorly on edge, until you came across another scare actor. He was dressed in a mask, bone white and black and some yellow, long off white, bordering on almost grey and  dirty looking robes, clearly the costume he was going for was a ghost and it was pretty good. You could see some chains wrapped around it to really elevate it to sell the vibe. It fit the theme, everyone else you had seen went for more vintage style costume choices and masks. 

You and your friends were freaked the fuck out but this guy, “Mitch” as he told you, reassured you, said he’d help get you out and that the murder you witnessed was an act that they did, that your friend was outside and most likely wondering where you all were. 

It was a relief. 

You all just got too caught up in the moment, it was late and you got swept into the situation and the spirit of the season, Halloween is all about getting scared and you fell victim to that, who could blame you? Eventually, your friends went a different route in search of the first aid kit Mitch directed them to and by doing that left you alone with him. 

There was a section you had passed through earlier, the back of one of the scare exhibits you had all participated in. It was a medical-like room with x rays on the wall and holes that encouraged you to reach through, the one you had reached into had a tray filled with peeled grapes to mimic eyeballs. What your friend experienced however was not so innocent and she ended up getting stuck shoulder deep in hers and cut with razor blades. One the back side of it there was the table with the trays, you were currently leaning against it, waiting on your friends and just killing some time with Mitch. 

“So you been doing this for long?” You asked, glancing over at him and he let out a hum, a tilt of his head, “A few years now. Going on three years doing this.”

“With the same group?” You inquired and he gave a nod, “Yeah they are a good group, we click really well. Part of why this-” He said with a wide gesture of his robe to the still bloody razor blades scattered upon the table top, a mere foot of space away from where you leaned, “-is so jarring to me. I have no idea who could have done this.” 

“Yeah, must be pretty scary thinking you know someone only for them to pull a stunt like this.” You admitted and he took a step closer, speaking in a more hushed tone, as if worried someone would overhear while you were clearly alone. 

“There is this new guy who joined up this year, I’d hate to think it but maybe…”

You shuddered at the thought, “Ugh, I hope not!” 

“Me too.” He sighed and you knew this must be hard for him. You felt bad and you wanted a way to maybe lighten the mood, break the tension, so you said. “I love your costume by the way.”

He seemed a bit taken aback by that, but it worked and changed the subject as he looked down, holding his arms out but the mask was looking back up at you, “Thanks! I’ve always been a fan of the classics.”

“Yeah, same here, but you know, a modern twist.” You gestured down to your own costume. You too went as a ghost. But one where the material was long enough on the sides to cover your arms with some extra past that but the rest of the hemline was cut criminally short to show off the thigh high fishnets and garter belt you wore along with the tall black heeled boots as accompaniment. 

“I dunno about modern, doing a sexy version of a staple is a classic in itself I’d say.”  He asserted and you had to agree. “You make a fine point there Mitch.”

“Thank you.” He said easily and you continued, “And points for calling it sexy and not slutty. Cuz it totally is but still smart move.”

“Oh you flatter me far too much.”  He laughed and you liked the sound. “I think you are far too trusting too.”

“And why do you think that?” You asked and he took another step closer, “I mean when you lay it out, you, stuck in a haunted house, separated from your friends, and alone with a total stranger who’s face you’ve never even seen? Could spell trouble.” 

“Well one. You haven’t seen my face either.” You said with a point before saying next, “And two, are you inferring that you’re planning on killing me?”

“I think I’m more implying it and I’m not. I’m simply making an observation.” He said with a shrug and you got an idea. 

One of the things about Halloween that you have loved to indulge in since becoming of age and really partying is? Hooking up with a stranger and this holiday so far, you have not crossed that off your list and you weren’t the type to break your streak on such a long standing and fun tradition on your favourite night of the year. There was something about this guy, a quality that you just liked. You felt you clicked with him, he was funny, plus the idea of fucking this guy when you have never seen his face and never will? Leaving afterwards hopefully satisfied and unsteady on your heels with some fun new memories and a good story? A truly perfect capper to this night before getting back together with your friends and toddling back home to collapse into your bed to sleep. 

Time was of the essence though. You didn’t need this to be long, you needed it to be dirty and quick, so you had to gauge his reaction. 

“Awe damn shame.” You pouted, not like he could see your face but you hoped it came across in your tone. “Enlighten me?” 

He prompted and you filled in the blank, “If you were planning on killing me then maybe I could sweet talk you into giving me a last request.” 

“Intriguing. Perhaps if you share that last request I might just indulge you, even without the killing.” 

“What a gentleman.” You praised before standing upright and turning, you bent at the middle, laying your stomach on the solid wood table and in the process that super short hemline rose up and showed off the spectacular view of your ass. The underwear you chose was lacy and cute and now totally on display, the thin straps of the garterbelt helping to really sell it and frame your assets. “Too bad I’m not looking for a gentleman.”

“No, what you are looking for is quite obvious.”  You hear him come up behind you, feel his hand on your ass, the smooth gloves? Very nice, loved that you couldn’t even feel the most basic part of him, you liked the extra layer of separation. 

“So are you gonna indulge me?” You asked with a look over your shoulder and in response you received a spank with a good amount of force behind it, a short moan spilled out, surprised by the initiative he took along with the small jolt of pain accompanying it. There was a firm squeeze, enjoying the feeling of you in his grip as he said, “I mean you are about to die. It would be cruel to deny you this small kindness.” 

You bit back a laugh, of course a dude who is years deep into being a scare actor would get into the roleplay you laid out. 

So when your frankly skimpy underwear is ripped midway down your thighs and you feel him press against your already slowly leaking hole you welcome him along with the slight burn of the stretch of him slipping inside with a low groan, “Yesssss-”

You didn’t need much warm up at all, within two minutes any of the mild ache subsided, replaced with low simmering and steadily building pleasure. Your nails are digging into the wood of the table, moving back as much as you could to meet him in the middle as he drove forward, his hands on your hips as he fucked into you. When pain gave way to pleasure and you weren’t wincing, instead moaning, not super loud, still mindful that you might get caught, he took that as the cue to slam his hips harder into yours. 

During that you noticed, through the haze, a different sort of feeling, something unusual and when you questioned it, he paused his pace. Hips flush against your ass, a hard grind, hands gripping tighter he said, “I might have something extra-” And he pulled out, slowly, much slower and you feel it, the rim of your hole catching on what had to be some pretty impressive piercings. 

You tried to place what you think it could have been but he picked up his pace, another spank, much harder as he quickened his thrusts and all thoughts left your head in short order. 

It felt fucking great, you were panting, pleasure slowly building, moaning out, “Oh fuck-Goddd! Mitch don’t stop-”

He let out a breathy laugh, falling forward, you could feel his chest to your back, his mask next to your ear, harder thrusts as he said, “You know Mitch isn’t-”

You cut him off, rushing out with a half-laugh-half-moan yourself, “I fucking know your fucking name isn’t Mitch and I doooon’t carrrrre.” 

The hardest hit of the night, landing on the same spot, a choked moan as you clenched around him, walls of your slick cunt hugging his shaft tightly. He groaned, head tipping forward, “Fuck. You know, you’re right.”

You let out a small questioning hum, much more concerned with your building climax than what he was saying and he responded, a hand coming around and gripping your throat through the thin sheet of your costume. “I shoulda called you slutty from the start.” 

Yeah he should have. 

This was so hot, you felt so powerless to him, all alone, his body covering yours, he was so much stronger and you were so vulnerable. A man who you didn’t know, whose face you haven’t seen and never will, a guy who’s name you didn’t know who was currently balls deep, raw, in your clenching and slick hole, how much dirtier could you get?

This guy hasn’t seen your face either, doesn’t know your name, he hadn’t even kissed you before he stuck himself inside of you and you got off much, much too hard at the very idea, let alone the fact you were actually doing this.  

As you started to get close, lost to sensation and the fervour of your illicit hookup you could only muster one thought and that thought? God you loved Halloween. 

[todoscript]

SEQUEL TO  “don’t forget it”

SYNOPSIS: One week after accidentally blowing you off on your date, Bakugou Katsuki seeks your forgiveness.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff, very little angst

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: none really accept maybe a character sustaining an injury

author’s note: hellooooo this is a very very very late part 2 of my don’t forget it drabble that many people asked for! i hope this lived up to your expectations and was worth the wait!

Since the events that led you to leave Bakugou’s room in a fit of bitterness after attempting to penetrate that thick head of his, he hadn’t been able to speak to you for a week.

It goes without saying he did his best to chase you down the hallway from his room and toward the elevator the moment he realized his faults. But at the stink eye you shot him through the minimizing slit of the elevator doors sliding into place, he knew he had no right to reconcile with you after pulling a stunt like that. Nor did he think you’d want to spare him any more words to begin with. It was clear you were done arguing with him.

“C’mon man, it’s probably best to let her cool down before you try to make up with her,” was the advice Kirishima offered when Bakugou returned to his room, disgruntled as he heavily fell back into his seat next to the desk. He did the bare minimum to acknowledge his friend’s words with a grunt before resuming tutoring the redhead, his method of teaching suddenly harsher than how it began thanks to his soured mood. He lapsed the day away by pounding Kirishima with problems upon problems against that hard noggin of his, both literally and figuratively.

At the very least, Kirishima earned himself a passing grade on their exam as a result of his hard work and their rigorous tutoring sessions. But what followed Bakugou’s and your relationship was still undetermined.

Days later and you were relentless in giving him the cold shoulder.

Bakugou was met with nothing but empty glances and blatant disinterest whenever he crossed your path. It felt like the wall you slotted between him grew another layer at each encounter, your defenses so impenetrable, it could give Kirishima’s quirk a run for its money. He couldn’t so much as utter a word in your direction without you effectively dodging every possible interaction in favor of joining another conversation nearby.

At first, Bakugou shrugged it off, calling your “childish attitude” unwarranted for something he thought was incredibly trivial. In his eyes, it was just an ordinary date at some run-of-the-mill restaurant he just happened to suggest to you because he took a liking to their spicy food. Not like it was some fancy dinner reservation serving caviar on dry toast beside a pretty, city night skyline. To him, it was nothing special.

However, as the week continued to roll by, it became clear to him how much he hurt you due to his selfishness. In a hangout with the Bakusquad, he learned that you apparently told Mina, along with the rest of the girls, everything during one of your girls’ nights. Which included the events prior to your heated argument in Bakugou’s dorm. And Mina, being just as peeved as you were at how Bakugou stood you up that day, had to let the blond know of the damage he’d done.

.

.

“I swear, Bakugou Katsuki, I know you can be an asshole sometimes—”

“Make that all the time,” Sero quietly adds in the middle of Mina’s rant while he lounges backward on Kaminari’s bed. If it wasn’t for his current dilemma, Bakugou would have elbowed him in the back of the head.

“—but this is crossing the line!” she finishes. Her arms are thrown exaggeratedly over her chest. The amber surrounded by the black scleras of her eyes points a beady look at the ash-blond crisscrossed on the floor between Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Poor girl sat there for hours waiting for you, only to find out she got blown off because you couldn’t even properly check your reminders!” She paces back and forth in the room, feet excessively stepping across the floor as she’s engulfed by the emotions she feels for her friend. “What’s worse? She comes back and finds out you’ve been doing your own thing with Kirishima the whole time!”

“Hey! It’s not like we were playing around! We were actually having a very serious study grind, thank you very much,” the redhead immediately clarifies. Though his explanation doesn’t alleviate Bakugou’s case in the slightest, who pounds his palms against the surface of the table they’ve gathered around.

“Look. I fucking get it, Ashido. I screwed up, okay?! Now what the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” he exclaims, anger overpowering his voice, but it does little to deter Mina.

“Fix it, obviously!” she quips back with equal fierceness, leaning in eye level with Bakugou.

“And how do you propose I do that, Raccoon Eyes? Hah?” Repositioning his elbow to rest on the table, he leans his cheek against his hand. “Y/n won’t even let me within five fucking feet in front of her and you still expect me ‘fix this’?”

Despite the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders, no immediate answer is bestowed upon him. That is, except the obnoxiously loud crinkle of a chip bag popping open next to Bakugou that cleaves into the scene like a record scratch. As if unable to read the mood in his own room, Kaminari fishes a chip to throw in his mouth, stirring the awkward silence into tension.

“Wow, Bakugou. I know you’re bad with girls and all, but you really messed up this time,” he remarks. His voice is slightly muffled as he munches his chips, continuing to wrinkle the bag for more. It incites a vein to swell on Bakugou’s forehead. He amasses all the willpower within him not to blast the bag of chips to ash, and the boy alongside it.

“If you dunce faces are just gonna sit here and throw salt in my wound then I’m outta here.”

“No, wait!” Kirishima catches Bakugou’s wrist before he fully lifts himself off the floor. “Come on, Bakugou, I’m sure we can think of something! We just need to put our heads together! Right, guys?” he assures. Finding it hard to deny his friend’s hardened conviction, Bakugou gives Kirishima the benefit of the doubt, albeit with slumped shoulders and a tentative raise of his brow as he slowly sits back down.

“Right! Everyone, let’s get some brainstorming done!” Mina yells encouragingly.

The atmosphere of Kaminari’s room is consumed by moderately thoughtful silence for the next ensuing minutes. A few hums pass, followed by an exchange of contemplative looks as four of the five rack their heads together to uncover a solution. The one in need of help only hunches in his seat, waiting with mild disinterest.

“Oh hey, don’t we have hero training with All Might tomorrow?” Sero is the first to comment, scooting to the edge of the blond’s bed.

“Yeah. So?”

“He said we were going to work on group exercises this time around. You know, teamwork and stuff,” he explains further.

At that, Mina snaps her fingers, the work of a brilliant idea flickering in her head. “Sero, that’s it! Tomorrow, during training, we’ll just form a group together with Y/n! After all, she’ll have to talk to Bakugou if you two are on the same team!” She claps her hands in front of her, her enthusiasm rippling through her body and shown energetically with each raise of her voice. “Then, while the rest of us ‘split up’ to cover more ground, that will be your chance to make everything better with Y/n! It’s genius!”

“You missed one fucking crucial detail, Pinky,” Bakugou gruffs. “That will only work if Y/n doesn’t join another group. The moment she sees I’m on yours, she’s not even going to hesitate making a u-turn.”

“Worry not~ I’ll just text all the girls except Y/n about the plan later and ask them to help sort everyone out!” She solves the problem with relative ease—quick as a click of her phone lighting up and finger sliding open to her messages.

“Uh, another thing though.” Kirishima raises his hand to spare his concern. “All Might says we’ll be splitting into groups of five at most, but there’s already five of us here.”

There’s a brief moment of deadpanning until Mina speaks casually. “Oh, that’s right. Kaminari. Take one for the team and make sure to join another group, ‘kay?” She settles without batting a lash.

Kaminari almost chokes on a mouthful of chips. “H-Huh?! What?! Why me?!!” he sputters.

“Because you’ve been eating chips this entire time and haven’t contributed to anything.”

“Hey, I offered the room, didn’t I?!” He tries justifying but is inevitably rejected by Mina’s wagging finger.

“Ah-ah, no complaints! Besides, it’s only one day of training. If we want this dilemma between Bakugou and Y/n fixed then we all have to play our part, got it?” Mina finalizes with a firm point of her finger nearly grazing the tip of the blond’s nose as he leans back to avoid it, eyebrows scrunched in discontent at the role he’s been reduced to.

“Alllllright!” Kirishima springs from his seat with outstretched arms and tightened fists. “Operation: Get Y/n to Forgive Explosion Boy is underway!”

“Dude, that’s a terrible name!” Sero laughs but rises from the bed to join the redhead’s cheer alongside Mina, the group already in high spirits.

Despite rolling his eyes at their swell of confidence, Bakugou does not object to the state of things. As crazy as it sounds, one could almost decipher the cusp of a grin pulling the seams of his lips as a possible sign he’s actually all for this extravagant little plan. Quite a first for Bakugou, but then again, there’s not much else he can do in this situation except rely on his pack of chumps.

Meanwhile, Kaminari grumbles something beneath the salty grit between his teeth.

“Alright, can you all get out of my room now?”

.

.

The scowl etched on your face carries a strong air of disdain that dampens the mood around your teammates considerably. Well, no one should be surprised. With Bakugou standing across from you, staring into the void of your expression, it’s to be expected that you wouldn’t be happy with this outcome.

No, “unhappy” doesn’t quite do your circumstance justice. You are beyond livid.

You feel your eyebrow twitch as you try quivering your lips to form a tinge of a smile. Unfortunately, all that quickly falls apart when you suddenly recall the disaster of last week, triggered by an accidental glance at Bakugou’s mug.

Trying to simmer down, you release a mental sigh amidst the turmoil boiling inside you.

Okay, maybe you’re over-exaggerating. Maybe you’re still just a bit too bitter for your own good and letting your emotions get to you. But in a class of twenty or some students, how did you end up in a group with the one person you were actively trying to avoid?

The moment All Might gave everyone the go-ahead to form their teams for today’s training exercise, you swiftly made a beeline toward two particular star students. Midoriya and Todoroki.

It was simple really. Your experiences throughout the school year told you Bakugou planned on staying away from his rivals when it came to teamwork, regardless of whether you’re there or not. He’s a competitive ass whose goal is to beat anyone he deems a threat in his climb to be the number one hero. It’s only logical you partner with people he adamantly dislikes to evade him.

Yet it seems fate has other plans for you today. By the time you found yourself pacing over to the two students you had in mind, they’d already gone and picked their own group members, forming teams before you could even ask.

Your nose wrinkles like you’ve taken a whiff of something rancid. Or, to be more specific, something fishy. Hooking an arm around Mina’s elbow, you drag the pink-haired girl off to a corner somewhere while tilting your head back at the three other boys.

“Ex. Cuse. Us.” Your words sound as stiff as cardboard. It comes out in practically a hiss when your eyes cross Bakugou. Once you’re positive you’re out of earshot, you whip your head at Mina.

“Mina, what the hell? When you dragged me over here to form a group with you you didn’t tell me he’d be there,” you groan. Childish and petty as you may sound, you just couldn’t fathom the idea of confronting the boy so soon.

Mina holds her hands out, ready to rationalize the whole ordeal. “C’mon Y/n, this is actually an advantage for us! With us four plus you on our team, we’re sure to knock the rest of the other guys out during training today! I mean we showed pretty good teamwork together at the sports festival, didn’t we?”

Steadying your gaze, you hold a finger below your chin as you slowly buy into the explanation. The reasoning is there. It’s hard to argue against a case like that, fully aware that being on the same team as explosion boy will easily snag good results for you and your party. ‘Cause as much of an arrogant jerk as he is, you have to admit Bakugou Katsuki knows his way around hero action like the back of his grenade gauntlets.

“Besides it’s not like you could avoid him for the entire school year. I mean, you two are in the same class. It was only a matter of time before you had to—”

“I know, Mina,” you interject, not wanting the rest of her sentence about the inevitable fall to your ear. “I just… Agh, you know what I mean!” You ruffle your hands through your hair in confliction, unsure how to piece your thoughts together.

Tilting your head over Mina’s shoulder, you sneak a glimpse at Bakugou, watching him as he’s cast to the side with the others. He’s fending himself from Kirishima and Sero’s combined jokes, that usual look on his face sending glares at the two and yelling something you could almost pick up on if you honed your ears a bit more. Surprisingly, when his eyes meet yours for a split second, he stands there looking nonchalant again. Both of you immediately avert your gazes.

Mina pats your shoulder, bringing you back to the conversation at hand. “I know, I know, but after this, I’m sure you can go back to ignoring his ass. After all, it’s just one training exercise, right?” she says. As her words deliver some relief to your ill-timed situation, you give in with a sigh.

Unbeknownst to you, turning your back to Mina and striding toward the rest of your teammates again, you miss the small glint in her yellow eyes, along with the subtle gestures she aims at the three boys, waving her pointed thumbs over your head secretively.

“So I take it you’re on the team with us, Y/n?” Sero asks when the two of you return. You nod in reply and the boy flashes his pearly whites in a wide grin that Kirishima mirrors. He nudges Bakugou at his sides which you subtly catch in the far corner of your eye.

You raise a brow suspiciously at their fidgeting, wondering why having you on their team warrants such enthusiasm, but you’re thankful for their energy at least. Someone has to lift the atmosphere for this not to be a complete drag and Bakugou surely isn’t going to be the mood maker of the group.

The blond scoffs. “Yeah, well, if you dumbasses are going to form a team with me, you’ll follow under my leadership, got it?”

The three readily agree. Though you roll your eyes, you don’t challenge his position, considering no one else is that much up to the task as he is. You’ll simply have to deal with the fact that you’re forced to tread through the day under his leadership. So with no objections, the five of you walk back to the class, gathering around the entrance of today’s battlefield.

Jumping into the activity, All Might goes about explaining today’s lesson to the four sets of teams—consisting of a group exercise to heighten teamwork. The name of the game? Capture the flag.

In short, each team will be split off into different sections of the labyrinth where their assigned flag is stationed. The objective is to not only protect your flag from being stolen but also try and steal an opposing team’s flag from their base and escort it safely to your home field. Nice and simple.

Not long after All Might’s explanation, the gate to the training grounds opens and you all scatter off into your teams, navigating through the twists of the maze to locate your flags. Once your group situated themselves onto your home base, you assemble in a huddle to devise a strategy before the game starts.

“So what’s the plan?” Kirishima asks, eyes darting around his teammates until they rest on Bakugou—the team leader. The ash-blond crosses his arms, a confident sneer plastered on his face as he’s already thought of his plan of action the moment All Might announced the mission.

“Easy. I’m going straight to the front-lines to swipe one of those dumbasses’ flags. You lot are gonna stay here and guard ours until I come back.” He delivers the strategy in a matter-of-fact tone that you quickly don’t take a liking to. Your fist curls in irritation.

“What kind of a plan is that?” you question audaciously, your voice louder than you intended. “So you’re just going to do all the work while we sit around and wait for you?”

Bakugou grits his teeth, leaning further into the huddle to direct his senseless logic. “Look, it’s the fastest and most surefire way to snag our victory without sacrificing anyone,” he says. Playing over his words again, he finds it surprising he even chooses to offer his reasoning. Because if it were anyone other than you he was arguing with, he’s certain he’d leave it at that.

Knowing the current tension between you was a result of his misjudgment, it feels only right for Bakugou to make an effort in communication. He ignores the antsy expressions belonging to the others who signal from behind you to follow along with their original plan.

You don’t seem to catch the hint, nor do you buy into his ridiculous strategy. “Oh, so you’re that confident you won’t get taken out by the other team then?” you quip. As a result, Bakugou’s brows tighten at your noncompliance.

“I know how to take care of myself. You of all people should realize by now that no other nerd in this whole damn class can outmatch me.”

“And what about an ambush? How do you know they simply won’t anticipate your strategy and see you coming?” You fire another counterargument and the boy purses his lips, beginning to find this quarrel spiraling into a headache rather than a step in the direction of reconciliation.

While Sero and Kirishima stand there, shifting their heads back and forth throughout the fiery exchange, Mina speedily reacts. The gears of that cunning mind of hers click into place again.

“You know what, Y/n’s right. Why don’t you two go together then?” she proposes boldly. Her suggestion catches you by complete surprise. You veer in her direction with an incredulous look blown in your eyes.

Before you can open your mouth to protest, the two boys standing beside her immediately back her up.

“Hm, Mina has a point. The chances of you falling into a trap wouldn’t be much if you two work together,” Sero remarks.

Kirishima follows, “Yeah, you guys can watch each other’s backs while going to collect the flag! It’s safer to go in a pair than by yourselves I’d say.”

The three seem adamant about the idea, sharing equally content expressions, and with all that said, you find it hard to dig yourself out of this situation. In a way, you practically volunteered yourself after questioning Bakugou’s plan and doubting his abilities. The group only feels it’s right you come along as his support since you clearly must be worried about his well-being.

Pushing your objections down your throat, you reluctantly agree to tag along with the blond. What you find exceptionally shocking is how Bakugou doesn’t oppose these new conditions. Given his hard-headed temperament, you thought he would’ve scoffed and turned his back at being paired without notice, but no such things were happening here.

...Odd.

“Tch, whatever. Let’s get going then,” is all he gives, starting in the direction into the urban area of the training course.

You trail behind him. “Coming, Boom-Boy…” you mutter the last bit but don’t suppress the urge to let your words be known. Bakugou turns his head and gives you a look akin to an uptight six-year-old you just offended at your local playground. You shrug in response, a corner of your lip pinched upward. He doesn’t pick a fight over the nickname, but his eyebrows remain fiercely slanted, and coupled with his heavy steps and the excessive swinging of his gauntlet-clad arms, it tells you of his emotional constipation plain as day.

.

.

The journey toward the other teams’ flags is cloaked in strained silence and the physical gap between you two does not encourage any of you to speak up. At this point, both of your levels of annoyance for each other have mellowed out. Now it just feels... awkward—strange. You don’t see his expression, nor does he see yours. It feels like you’re being left in the dark, having only the back of Bakugou’s head to stare at the entirety of the way, and though you supposedly have his back, Bakugou feels precarious in this state as he trudges along at the front, not daring to turn his head to cross your eyes.

The ambiance is reminiscent of the ancient Greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Where Bakugou walks through the depths of the underworld, seeking you out in hopes you’d join his side once again. If he turns around now and spills his thoughts to you too soon, he fears that your forgiveness would be whisked away, thoroughly beyond his reach, and replaced with your promises of retribution.

That was the eloquent version of the situation anyway. To put it bluntly, Bakugou was just impatient as hell to say something to you. The silence suffocates him to the point where the words are nearly about to be squeezed out of his throat, but he bites his lip to snuff out the urges.

The more he keeps them in, the more fidgety he becomes, hands itchy and mouth trembling with grit between his teeth. The idea of not letting his voice be heard was something Bakugou detested. Mainly because it was already such a challenge to even keep his mouth shut, given his fiery attitude and lack of patience.

Man, what the hell am I hesitating for? he asks himself, that outspoken side of him spurring him on.

Ah, screw the uncertainty, he thinks. If he doesn’t say anything now, then he won’t get to say anything ever.

Bakugou stops in his tracks, turning his head. Here goes nothing,

“Hey, Y/n, I–”

“Katsuki–”

Words collide into each other, jumbled and incoherent, which take you two by surprise as you meet each other’s furrowed gazes. It’s quiet as you both piece your way through this, eyes trained like you haven’t seen each other in months when the reality is that a week of bitterness has somehow made you act like strangers. The bewildered look crossing his features is foreign to you; you’ve never quite seen Bakugou as taken aback as he is now.

“You first,” you grant before Bakugou could mix up your words again. Even being given permission, the blond still isn’t sure what to say, his thoughts lost on him the moment his voice clashed with yours. He takes a deep breath, calming his senses and steadying his mind for what he wants to convey.

“Look, Y/n, I don’t know how to put this as nicely as I can,” he begins, tone consistent yet wary, assessing your expression, “but I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there all by yourself. I shouldn’t… have blown you off like that and forgotten about you.” He delivers this bluntly—honestly—as open as a boy of his nature can muster with arms spread out, willingly exposing him to his faults and your reprisals.

Looking at you, he finds your eyes are cast to the floor, assuming to be reflecting on his words carefully. After some deliberation, you come across the vermillion in his eyes.

“Frankly, I haven’t entirely forgiven you just yet. But I will say that despite how I’ve been acting, I’m not as mad at you as you think,” is what you give, and Bakugou would be lying to himself if he didn’t achieve relief at your statement. He mentally releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding throughout the exchange. However, you aren’t done yet.

“I just want you to understand what moments like those mean to me. It’s during that time where I can share my feelings and learn more about you—understand who you are,” you say. Bakugou latches onto every word. “And it goes both ways, you know. It’s hard to want to stay in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make an effort to make time for you.” It’s obvious you aim that comment at him as Bakugou’s eyes soften slightly hearing it. His calloused, glove-clad hands wrap into his palms. Man, he really was a jerk.

“Still… I know you’re making an effort to be sincere and that you’re genuinely sorry for what happened, especially considering how the others seem to have set this whole conversation up, right?” Bakugou winces over the Bakusquad’s ploy coming to light and makes a note not to follow along next time unless those dummies can scrape up a more elaborate plan.

Despite that, he presses on, “So, what does this mean?” A smile settles on the curve of your lips, sensing his impatience as his voice hastens you along.

“Well…” you begin, speech drawn out in anticipation as you step toward him to where Bakugou follows your movements. That is until he catches a few shadowy figures shifting around atop the small building behind you. Before you can open your mouth to continue, his instincts flare to life.

“Hey, look out!” he exclaims, already acting on his warnings by lunging forward to push you out of the way. Your breaths draw back into your lungs, your body thrust abruptly into the opposite direction. Landing on your butt, you wince at both the shock and the pain, but your whines desist when you witness Bakugou taking a force to the head as a result of coming to your aid.

“Katsuki!” you yell, immediately getting off the ground to rush to his side, but he can’t find it in himself to respond. Afflicted with a substantial blow to the crown of his head, his whole being throbs and his vision spins.

Fuck, is Y/n, okay? is the first thing on his mind, ignoring the liquid trickling down his forehead. His question is answered upon turning his head to meet your anxious expression—your eyes wide and lips quivering as they move to say words he can’t exactly make out beneath the pounding sensations consuming his mind. As he feels a set of arms wrap around him, he tries discerning his surroundings to form a reply, but can only capture bits and pieces.

“—tsuki! ...old… n!”

“...god—! I’m so dead!”

A sputter of words tangling together is the last he hears before his vision fades to black.

.

.

The next time Bakugou awakes, his eyes slowly sever open to come face-to-face with a blurry white ceiling. The lights assault his vision as his senses take time to adjust, unraveling the environment to realize he’s laying on a bed—a hospital bed to be precise.

He attempts lifting himself but is met with retaliation in the form of his pulsating head which he immediately flinches at. His hand goes to rub his scalp to soothe the ache and he finds bandages wrapped tightly around him. “What the hell happened?” The last he remembers is traversing the urban area with you for the capture the flag mission before finally confronting the subject that had been plaguing your minds for a week now. After that, he caught sight of some object descending toward you and before he had even realized it, his feet had moved on their own. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up in the nurse’s office with a headache from hell.

Wait, what about you? Were you okay? Surely, he had to have pushed you out of the way in time, right?

His head moves quicker than it should’ve, revealing the other hospital bed in the room to be unoccupied, vacant. He sighs and his relief is further bolstered by the door to the nurse’s room opening to unveil you unharmed with only your heavy look of concern troubling him.

“Katsuki, oh thank god, you’re okay!” you say, quickly pacing over to his side with a glass of water in hand. You leave it at his bedside, sitting before him. Gauging your appearance up and down, Bakugou tries making out even the smallest details.

“You aren’t hurt?”

You’re appalled he would ask this despite clearly being the one patched up in a hospital bed right now, and likely sporting some serious head trauma.

“Of course I am, you’re the one that lunged forward to protect me,” you tell him. Bakugou looks down at his lap, figuring that was what happened, but hearing it from you comforted him more than he thought. However, his comfort is wretched from him by the intense pressure persisting in his skull. Seeing him in pain, you urge him to lay down and rest.

“How the hell did I end up here anyway?”

You fidget with your fingers, hesitating on answering. At that, the blond lifts a brow, suspicious.

“Mineta… accidentally dropped a rock on your head.”

“...You gotta be joking, right?”

Bakugou leers hard, finding the reason he was out of commission to be a damn pebble hitting his head a detriment to his pride. And because of Mineta of all fucking people. Still, if he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did, you would’ve been the one to meet his fate instead, and he weighed this outcome to better than the former.

Then you explain how the teachers had temporarily intervened to bring his unconscious body to the nurse’s, where the old lady went about tending to his injury. Said she did her job and all he needed was to rest and let her quirk take fuller effect within that time.

“So did we win the game?” He switches the topic to today’s mission of capture the flag that was cut short on his end.

You shake your head, but at least grant him the benefit of knowing Mineta’s team ended up placing last. At that, his eyelids shut and he crosses his arms behind his bandaged head. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my intention to win anyway.”

You give him a look. “...Liar.”

Bakugou cracks an eye open at you. “Hah? What do you mean I’m a fucking liar?”

“I know you, Katsuki. I dated you, after all. And the Katsuki that I dated is an arrogant, competitive jerk who thinks of being the best above all else.” Bakugou scrunches his nose, wondering what you’re implying through your... overly frank descriptions. “Still… he’s sweet and caring at times… and reliable when he needs to be,” you continue, tone softening that draws Bakugou in, “And the kind of guy I want to give a second chance to.”

Absorbing your words, Bakugou blinks. “S-Seriously?” He doesn’t mean to stutter, but the offer catches him off-guard. He replays what you just said. That’s what he heard, right? A second chance?

You giggle at how uncharacteristically astonished he sounds. “Yes, seriously.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for what happened last week?”

You hum between pursed lips in playful contemplation. “Well, maybe you can redeem yourself by going on another date with me then?”

Hearing your proposal, a wide grin arcs his lips, edging into a smirk.

“That’s it? Well, I can definitely fucking do that,” he states, confidence rejuvenating his body at the new, hopeful chance before him.

“Oh, just one more thing though,” you suddenly add.

“What?”

“We are not going to that Chinese Restaurant again.”

[ana-swritings]

Kinktober 2022 - Day 19

Day 19 of Kinktober

Kink: Massage

Fandom: Supernatural RPF

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x OFC (Lydia)

Words: 964

T.W.: N/A

Summary: Rest and Relaxation

Lydia’s shoulders had been bothering her for a couple of weeks now. They had been training a stunt and during that she got thrown onto a table, shoulders first. It was a surprise to her how she didn’t dislocate them when she landed.

Immediately after, they hurt like hell but now, a few weeks in, they are still sore and every once in a while, depending on the movements she would make, she would actually cringe in pain. It even happened during another stunt fight with a vamp extra.

Lydia was sitting in the living room, going through an old book on physical rehab, hoping she would find something that would ease the pain, when she felt a sting on her shoulders. The pain was so strong that she yelped, making Jensen look at her with a confused look on his face. She had been trying to keep it from everyone, but it was getting harder to do it, especially when the pain and discomfort was that strong.

Jensen knew she was in pain, why she wouldn’t just ask for help, was beyond him. He heard her yelp and looked at her, confused at why she did that. Taking a closer look at her face, he realized that it was her shoulders again. She was definitely in pain. He had to do something. If she was too stubborn to ask for help, then he would just have to take matters into his own hands.

Getting up, Jensen walked over to her and pulled her up from the couch. She asked him what he was doing, a confused look on her face, but he didn’t answer. He knew if he told her what he was thinking of doing, she would flat out refuse, so he just guided her back to his room.

They got to his room and Jensen told her to take off her shirt and to lay down on her stomach. He could see the blush on her cheeks and how flustered she got, but he dismissed it. Retrieving her body lotion from her backpack that was still in the living room, he came back into his room and she was still standing by his bed, with her shirt on. Telling her that he was just gonna massage her shoulders to help alleviate the pressure and ache, she quickly argued with him, saying that she was fine. He just lifted his eyebrow and, with his hand, signaled to just get it done.

Lydia knew she wasn’t gonna win that fight, so she didn’t even try. When he wants too, Jensen could be incredibly stubborn. It wasn’t like he had never seen her in her underwear, but still… Doing as she was told, she removed her shirt and laid on her stomach. She felt the bed giving in to his added weight and him straddling her waist. The cold from the body lotion on her skin felt like he had just dumped a bucket of icy-water on her back, making her shiver. “Shit, that’s cold.”, she thought, before feeling his hands starting to rub the lotion all over her shoulders and back.

Jensen knew where the pain was more prominent, but he also knew that just rubbing her shoulders wouldn’t be enough, the pain would just spread to her back. Spreading the lotion all over her back and shoulders, he started by applying a little pressure while massaging her shoulders. At first, she would contract at the pressure, mostly due to the pain, but she quickly relaxed. Massaging her back, he increased the pressure the more he massaged her.

Lydia had to admit: sure, at first, she was tense, and the pain she would feel at the pressure he was applying wasn’t helping, but now, hell, now it felt incredibly good. He sure knew what he was doing. The more he would massage her, the more relaxed she felt, not being able to control the small moans of pleasure that would escape her lips, making her blush every time she would do so. Jensen didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t seem fazed by it.

A couple of hours later Jensen was done. Lydia never felt more relaxed and, the best part was, there was no pain whatsoever. She felt Jensen get up, and she wanted to do the same, but she was so relaxed that she couldn’t even move. She felt her eyes heavy and heard Jensen telling her to just relax and try to get some rest, that she was gonna feel better once she got up. Saying a very sleepy thank you, she let herself fade off to sleep.

Jensen closed the door behind him and made his way to the kitchen, finding Jared there. His first question was if he had given her the famous “Jensen’s post-stunt treatment”, to which Jensen simply replied with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders. Jared had been on the receiving end of a few of his massages, so he knew how good he was. Jensen heard Jared chuckle and say that they would only see Lydia the next morning, which Jensen hoped he was right. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well because of the pain and discomfort, it was clear due to the dark circles under her eyes, so he was hoping that she would get a good night's sleep out of it.

Checking in on her a few hours later, he saw her in the same position he had left her in. Smiling, he walked over to her and pulled a blanket over her. He was sure that, by morning, she would feel like a new person. “Another satisfied client.”, he thought, with a chuckle, while moving back to his guest bedroom, turning in for the night.

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[starshipsofstarlord]

Princess | JJ Maybank

Warnings; jealousy, mentions of drugs, and use of drugs.

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She was rising through the ranks on figure eight, and soon, she would overtake the one, the only, Sarah Cameron. It was infuriating, no one had heard of this prissy girl in a while, and here she was, already beginning to replace the blonde.

“Uh.” Sarah groaned, noticing how even her brother was flocking over you, even Topper had returned to the dark side after his helpful stunt.

“What’s wrong Cameron?” JJ asked her, following her eyeline, and carrying his gaze along it, until he found the centre of her irritable - a group of kooks, her own.

“The princess is back in town.” She groaned, noticing how you walked through your entourage, oblivious to any of the pogues that resided on this side of the island. It was as though you didn’t hold a grudge against their species, but that was her thing, you were just trying to copy her actions.

Hell, for all she knew, you’d hook up with a southsider too, and attend the parties at the boneyard as though you were one of their own.

She knew her attitude towards you was petty, but she just couldn’t help it. You now had everything that she had lost, she was even stared down by her dad and step mother, both of whom were mildly disappointed in the side that she had taken within the whole ordeal.

“I thought that was you.” JJ noticed how her mood had turned sour, and he was aware that it was his duty to cheer her up. If John B returned with their drinks, and saw that his girlfriend was displeased, he would be the one to take the blame as it was his company that was keeping her from boredom.

“That girl.” She pointed you out, JJ’s eyes scanning every dip and curve, each mark and mole, upon your body, memorising every inch of- “is the kook. Used to have the mantle of princess before I did. Don’t dirty your hands with her Maybank, she’s a spoilt brat, and whatever she wants, she gets.”

“A kook? Not my type.” He assured her, the whole form of your beautiful being crumbling in his eyes, all because of what you essentially were. A golden finger, in the dirt of his home.

🏹

The Cameron’s house was large, but you smiled, knowing that you lived in one with a bigger foundation, and more floors. Material items were value on the island, it gave way to status.

“Hi Mr Cameron.” You greeted him, with a pristine smile that would knock him dead. Rafe was beside you, content with your obliviousness to the things that he had done.

His father had told him to find a rich, pretty thing. They were the least suspecting ones, too occupied with spending cash and dolling themselves up. It is what he himself had done, after he had worked his way up to kook status, but the wife he now had, well she was as devious and power hungry as him. They fit perfectly.

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve heard a lot about you, not only from my son but practically the whole island. Is it good to be back?” He shook your hand, noticing the small smile slip onto his son’s face.

“It’s great, nowhere is quite like home.” The hierarchy on Outer Banks was its most predominant feature, no where else quite had an order that lacked most of itself in the same way.

“I need to talk to Rafe here for a moment, would you mind waiting here?” He expectedly asked, and once more, you could only plaster on a false expression, and happily nod.

“Not at all.” Was your reply, and as soon as they had disappeared, you were left awaiting for their return. You plucked at the skin around your nails, and tapped your foot, trying to reduce the enveloping silence that made you feel small and anxious.

Another person entered the room, making you slowly spin to greet them. It was Sarah, and a look of worry crossed over her face, it was quite amusing. The Sarah Cameron, was concerned for you.

“Rafe isn’t a good guy.” She spoke slowly, thinking that you were interested in her older sibling. It made you quirk your eyebrow in surprise, you had never expected her to talk about her family to you, or at all in general. “You can do a lot better.”

“Don’t worry Sarah, I don’t want him, nor do I want to be the so called ‘princess’ of this wealthy establishment. I hate figure eight, it sucks. It’s boring, it’s just parties here, and parties there, but they’re all sophisticated and you have to dress nicely. Sure, the luxury is great, the expectations of washing your hair every day, wearing perfume that literally burns my eyes, and having to dress so- ugh, it’s just gross. You can take the throne back if you want, it’s not too comfortable, it squeezes me in all th wrong places.”

Your paragraph of speech left Sarah in shock, you had been faking it all along. The laughs were all pretend, the smiles were all forced, and she no doubt had one thing left on my mind. “Then why, out of all the kooks, are you hanging it with my brother?”

Nonchantly you shrugged, a sparkle flaring in your eyes. “He thinks he’s gonna get laid, and so until he realises that he isn’t, and he can’t touch this hot bod, then I get free weed.”

“Well played y/l/n, well played.” Nobody had used Rafe and had to give nothing in return, yet you had found the perfect trick.

“He also thinks I’m a virgin, sooooo, my contract is going to last a while, I suppose.” She almost laughed at that, she wondered how you had given him that impression in the first place. Before you had moved, she had seen you makeout and consentually grope countless guys, leading them to dark corners and your empty car.

It wasn’t something that she had ever admit, but for the first time in her life, she thought that you’d make the perfect friend. You sounded just like a pogue, but instead you were living the ‘high life’, and rolling in the cash and smokes that were thrown your way, with no charge.

🏹

JJ on instinct, creased his face up at the sight of Sarah leaving John B and the others at the boneyard, only to walk over to an intruder. She had told him that she didn’t like her, however her stride and smile supposed otherwise.

“Who’s that?” John B leant over his friend’s shoulder, watching his girlfriend interact with a stranger.

“The kook princess.” JJ informed him, spitting the name out of his mouth, glaring at the kook that had the nerve to once again, walk onto his side of his island. And not only that, but to invite herself to the party.

“She got a name?” John B asked, and that was when JJ realised, that he didn’t know it. Before you had moved, you kept to your side of the island, but the times were changing, with relationships and friendships between pogues and kooks beginning. All you wanted was to be accepted, and if they didn’t like the fact that you were born a kook, then that was most definitely their problem.

“Hey, I’m so glad that you could make it.” Sarah greeted you, you shyly smiled, still not familiar with her being so polite to you. You’d notice her cast you the stink eye on more than one occasion, and how she would speak about you at school in the time prior to your move away.

“I still don’t understand why you invited me.” You honestly said, uncertain by her intentions. If she had other motivations, then you could deal with them, she wouldn’t be the first one to try and challenge you for your position. And either way, you didn’t want it, it were only a weight on your shoulders, but some kooks wanted you to remain their royalty, and so by their reputation, you did.

You pulled a blunt from your shorts pocket, and lit it, inhaling slowly and awaiting an answer from the relaxant. It calmed you, and made the thoughts of being the only kook here, excluding Sarah, go away.

“I want you to meet my friends.” She spoke, and you nodded, more entertained by the smoke that rolled out of your mouth than her intentions. Her hand grabbed your own, and she began to drag you through the sea of people, until she reached a small fire pit, where four people were sat.

You already knew of them, John B being the one on your side of the island the most. It of course was because of Sarah, and her successful attempts to seduce him, and sneak him into her room.

“This is y/n.” She told them, and you didn’t notice the way JJ focused on the weed that hung from the clasp of your fingers. He was surprised by the consumption you had of it, and watched intently as you went in for another puff.

You weren’t just a kook, you were a stoner. Perhaps the two of you had something in common after all, maybe you weren’t this spoilt brat entirely.

🏹

“Pass me the goddamn lighter J!” You beckoned at the blonde, who held the red automatic match out of your reach. On instinct, you crossed your arms, and poured, causing the boy to laugh.

“Don’t do that, you look like a spoiled kook.” His words only earnt himself a glare, and so he reached down, plucked your blunt between his fingers, and lit it. He took a puff before placing it between your own lips. “Technically we just kissed.”

“Geez, I really am spoilt.” You rolled your eyes, as the pair of you stood out of the chateau, where it was the two of you alone. Everyone else was inside, watching a movie, and they didn’t want to get high off the fumes, instead they’d rather remember the ‘cinematic details’, as Pope put it.

“It was a joke Princess.” He rubbed your head, messing up your hair, but he knew that you didn’t care. Appearances weren’t your most entailed feature, you only dressed up to the nines to please your parents. But here, with him and the rest of your friends, you could be yourself. You weren’t a kook or a pogue, instead you were just y/n.

“You need to stop going on about kissing me Maybank, otherwise I might think that it’s something you actually want to do.” You smirked, noticing how his cheeks reddened slightly, and the normally confident male gulped.

“Well...” before he could say more, you lightly pushed him, but he soon grabbed you, and the blunt out of your mouth. “Maybe I do.”

“Maybe I want you to as well.” You flirted with him, eyes darting between where he was licking his lips, and the blunt that was gently held in the pads of his fingertips. “Tell you what, if I gift you with a kiss, I get my property back.”

“Princess you gotta stop that, you can’t call me your property, I’m a person too babes.” You groaned at that, he knew full well what you were speaking about, but he had to be a tease in every conversation that the pair of you had.

“Shut your mouth pogue.” Your words weren’t what shut him up, instead you grasped the fabric of his baggy, sleeveless shirt, and pulled his mouth to your own, your tongue instantly prying its way towards his own, breaking through the seal of his lips.

Distracted, he dropped the blunt, and cupped both sides of your face. He was in heaven, finally he had given into the kook, and vice versa. He was glad to have learnt your name, and everything that you had to offer.

[byunbaekby]

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. 

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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[yandere-dark-cupid]

If you’re requests are open can I get a Yandere Zuko x fem reader where after the war he looks for his darling by making his guards track her down but without anyone knowing bc he doesn’t want ppl to think that he’s back into his old ways again and keeps her in the palace

Ok Angel 💜👌💜. If you want, I could continue this as a mini part to part scenario series if I have the time T.Angel. There is just so many ideas worming around this concept and just think of the crazy things the darling and Zuko is going to go through, while also keeping both of their identities on the veeery low-key. Just let me know Angel 😊☕💜.

Also everyone is going to be aged up to 18+ Btw.

Side note: For the sake of this scenario, the darling will be from the Southern Water tribe. If this Angel decides to let me continue this as a mini scenario series, then the both of us are going to talk about if the darling can be a Waterbender or not.

Warning ⚠!!!: Their is going to be some slight Nsfw in this.

Yandere Zuko: A Dragon's treasure

Five weeks. It has been five weeks since you've went missing. Once the war has ended, Zuko was planning to propose to you. But every since his coronation of being crowned the new FireLord, you just up and vanished. It was like you were never there in the first place. And Zuko has been scattering everywhere in the palace and Fire nation to find you or some type of clue. But nothing. There was nothing there. You really covered your tracks, didn't you?

Right now Zuko was in his thrown room. He was fuming- No steaming with rage. If anyone were to walk in to the room, they'll notice it was boiling in there. He tried to look everywhere in the palace. Even outside the palace. But to no avail. Zuko couldn't find you. You've made it clear that you don't want to be with him or any where near him with this type of stunt you've pulled.

Zuko took a seat on his thrown. His hands was on his head, just about ready to pull his hair out and shout in frustration. But then a knock on the door stop him. " *Frustrated sigh* State your name and your business." Zuko said with spite and a hint of venom in his voice. The person behind the door flinched at his tone of voice. "It's me Sir. The guard you put in charge of the search party for Ms.Y/N". Zuko perked up at the mention of his missing lover's name. " Come in. " said Zuko. With out a second thought, the guard entered the room. She bowed down in respect for her FireLord.

" FireLord Zuko I have an update about Ms.Y/N's whereabouts. " Said the guard. She almost stuttered. The guard noticed how extremely hot it was in the thrown room. It was a clear sign that FireLord Zuko was pissed out of his mind. " Well, " Zuko said in annoyance and anger. Zuko was beyond angry at this point. He was a whole entire cluster fuck of emotions right now. " M-me and m-my crew found some people who could be connected to Ms.Y/N's disappearance , your majesty. " Stuttered the guard in slight fear. Zuko quirked up an eyebrow at what the guard said.

Ah. So the guard managed to find the ones responsible for his darling's vanishment, or at least had some part in it. " Bring them in. " Zuko said. The guard only merely nodded, not wanting to meet the FireLord's intimidating gaze. The guard got off their knees and went to call the other guards, to bring out the people that played some part of the darling going missing. The other guards quickly brought out four other people. Those people was tied up, bounded, and blind folded. The people was visibly quivering in fear. They were very confused and scared on what they did to upset the FireLord.

The four guards forcefully pushed the four people down to the floor. Each guard took off each person's blind fold. In front of the four people, there sat the FireLord in all his glory. FireLord Zuko glared down at the 4 people in a burning gaze. So these disgusting pathetic excuses of human was responsible for his darling going missing. Zuko scoffed at the thought. After a painful intimidating stare down, Zuko finally spoke. " So your the ones held responsible for Y/N's disappearance. " Zuko spat out to them with his voice dipped in poison.

" I-if y-you're talking about a someone that has (h/c), (e/c), and (s/c) then t-they came to m-my store to buy clothes." The woman stuttered in fear. Zuko stayed quite and only listened. " If you're talking about the same person; they came to my food stand and brought some food. " the old man said quickly in fear of what the FireLord would do to him if he took so long to explain himself. Zuko only merely quirks his eyebrow. " Y-yeah, that same person came to my Shop and bought some bags and extra equipment as his they were going on a trip. " The man said while sweating nervously. " The same person came to shack a-and brought some w-weapons. " Said the short lady in fear. Zuko only hmmed at what they said.

" So you're telling me the lady you just described went to all of your stores and shops to buy something. " Zuko said still glaring down the four people. " Y-yes. " the woman squeaked in fear. The old man only nodded quickly. " Mhm. " both the man and woman said. Zuko got up from his thrown and began to walk down to his stand. " What should we do with them you highness? " Said one of the guards. " Bring them to the dungeon. I will decide what to do with them later. " Said Zuko. " I-I don't understand what did we do wrong. " Stuttered the woman in fear and nervousness. Zuko quickly turned to the woman, the woman quickly shuts her mouth. Zuko then begins to slowly walk towards her.

Zuko shot one of his hands out and grasps the woman's face in a painful grip. The woman squeaks in surprise and fear. Zuko just merely just glares down at her. His eyes is filled with a flaming rage. " You all are held responsible for the disappearance of Y/N, " Zuko spat out in anger. Zuko releases his hand from woman's face. Zuko steps away from the woman and is now in front of the four bounded people. " Since you all play a part in my- err Y/N's disappearance, you all will be punished accordingly. " The four people only shook even more at FireLord Zuko's statement. " All of you take them away were they'll never see the light of day again. " Zuko said with venom dripping from his voice.

The four guards only bowed and said a quick " yes sir ". With that they took the four people away. Now Zuko was once again left in his thrown room...... alone.

Zuko let out a sigh of frustration out. He walked towards a window that was in the room. He stared down at his people, he was thinking about something. Based on what the four people said, Zuko can conclude that his darling is no longer in the Fire nation. Zuko dug into his pocket and took out something. It was a necklace. A betrothed necklace to be more specific. You see his darling was not from the fire nation, no no no. You were from a Water tribe, the Southern Water tribe to put it. While Zuko was on his trip to help Aang defeat his father and help him master firebending, Zuko found out from Katara on what her necklace means. He found out that from the Water tribe in order to marry someone, you have to make a betrothed necklace and give it to that special someone. When Zuko found out about this type of information, he instantly got rapped up about it. Ever since he's joined team Avatar he was thinking about what life would be like when he becomes FireLord, then his thoughts were drawn into marriage. He can't help but think, his darling would make the perfect FireLady. His FireLady.

And they'll have children. They'll be lovely children. With his darling swelled up with another one of his heirs all while holding another one of their children. It'll truly be a.. delicious sight to see ~ Zuko hmmed in delight at the thought of his darling bearing his children. But... that's if he witness such a darling sight. Zuko groaned at his mood being dampened and soured. But he knows it's true. Zuko knows if he doesn't act fast, he'll lose his darling. And that lovely little scene that played in his mind, will be nothing but a mere fantasy. Besides, he doesn't want to get himself accidentally sexual frustrated.....

With that aside, Zuko begins to start planning and strategizing. Zuko walks away from the window. He calls a servant, he orders them to get one of his best generals. The servant was slightly hesitant and confused, but never the less terrified. Wasn't the war over? They pushed their question aside, because they know now wouldn't be the best time to question the FireLord. He hasn't been acting himself lately and has been been flaring up at anything these past few weeks. With out much of a second thought, they did as they were told and went to see if someone could get one of the generals FireLord Zuko was talking about.

Zuko on the other hand, went back to sit on his thrown. He knew it will take time for the general to get here, so he decided to sit and be patient for him to get here. All while doing this, Zuko began to plan out in his mind on how he was going to get his darling. He was thinking about getting some of the Fire nation's best spies to help track down his darling. Sending out a whole search team and alerting the public while cause some type of panic. Not only that but he's trying to show that He and the Fire nation has turned over a new leaf, that and he doesn't want people and the other members of team Avatar know he's basically going back to his old ways. Since everybody knows the history on how he went to the ends of the earth to find and Capture the Avatar, and he's basically doing the same for his darling. It'll put a bad name on him and an even worse name on the Fire nation. So he'll lay as low as possible and keep shush shush about it, so he doesn't rise suspicion and ruin all the hard work he's been putting in the past time he's became FireLord.

With all those thoughts in mind, Zuko decides to call the same servant from before. So he can see if his message has been delivered. The Servant said they already sent a messaging hawk out to see if they can reach the general. Zuko only hmmed and dismissed them, and told them to report back to him once the massage has been delivered. With that the servant left, leaving Zuko in his thrown room. Zuko dug into his pocket again. He took out the Betrothed necklace out. He gently creased and rubbed the engraving and creases. He took so many hours and very much effort into making this for his darling. Looking at it always made him feel calmer, it made him happy knowing that his darling will be wearing it soon. But then his darling ran away from him before he can give it to them. Zuko pushed down on the purple garnet at the thought of his darling running away from him ( the rest of the necklace's gems are made up of smaller bits of Rudy and sapphire ). Zuko let out another sigh of frustration. He began to think. Once is darling is back with him he's never letting them go...........

My God, this was a boom ass idea. Not only that, but an idea of Zuko having a bit of a breeding kink has been floating around in my mind for some time now. I had a lot of fun with this. Like I said before T.Angel, If you want me to make a mini scenarios series about this let me know 😆! Well I hope you enjoy it. Until next time my Little Tainted Angels, see you soon ~💜❤💜

[fanficshiddles]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 11 (Final Chapter)

The following morning, Kelly woke up after a horrible sleep trapped in Loki’s arms, it had been laden with nightmares. But when she woke, she wished she had been back in one of those nightmares, as the one she was living was much worse.

Loki had kept her prisoner in his bed for a while that morning, petting her and toying with her body. He made her cum a few times and then took her again. Now he was just chatting away to her as if nothing was wrong while he got dressed, she lay shaking in his bed still. Curled up.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he had raped her or the fact he was acting as if it was all normal, that they were a happy couple. It made her feel sick to think about either way.

Loki turned to face her and frowned. ‘Come on, get up. I’ve got a job I need to do, to let the world know exactly who is in charge. And you are coming with me.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently.

When she got out of bed, she wrapped her arms around herself and stood there awkwardly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. Loki opened the door, then looked at her expectantly.

‘Let’s go. Don’t think you’re getting clothes, if that’s what you’re waiting for.’ He said firmly, making her stomach drop.

Kelly knew there was no point fighting or trying to get away, so she submissively followed Loki to his throne room as he called it.

‘Get under my desk and use that pretty mouth of yours to keep me satisfied.’ Loki pointed towards said desk that was on front of his throne-like-chair. The desk was pretty big, so Kelly was a little relieved that at least she wouldn’t be too cramped.

She was resigning herself to being Loki’s slave. It was her own fault, after all. She blamed herself, and would every single day.

Before Kelly went over to the desk, Loki gripped her chin and had her look at him for a moment. He studied her closely, then smirked and brushed his thumb up over her lower lip.

‘Mmm, yes. You are going to make this job much more exciting.’ He purred, his smirk growing larger. ‘Now be a good girl and get into position.’

Kelly meekly crossed the room and crawled underneath the desk. Loki sat down on his throne, legs spread wide and he looked down, grinning at the sight of her down there.

‘Get started, darling. I have some business to attend to.’ He urged her.

Wanting to get it over and done with, Kelly began the difficult task of getting his cock free. It wasn’t easy with his armour that he was so adamant on wearing all the time. But she eventually got his cock out and reluctantly started stroking him.

‘Use that mouth of yours, pet. Don’t disappoint me.’ He growled with a quick glance under to her.

She really didn’t want to, but she knew she had no option. So she leaned in closer, hands on his thighs and she wrapped her lips around the tip of him, then slowly began sucking.

Loki let out a sigh of pleasure, but he was still able to focus. Only just. Her mouth felt so warm and lovely around him. He cleared his throat and clicked his fingers, a screen appeared up on front of him. It was recording him, broadcasting to every single TV in the world and appearing on everyone’s smartphone in an emergency video.

Kelly paused when she realised what was happening, Loki began a big speech about being ruler of the world. How many countries he had and which ones were under threat if they didn’t yield to him soon.

She carried on sucking his cock when she felt a sharp pain in her neck, it was Loki using his seidr as it felt like a collar was wrapped around her neck again. Hollowing her cheeks, she tried to work harder to get him to cum sooner than later, to get it over and done with. But Loki seemed to be lasting quite a while…

Then she felt dread run through her veins.

‘But of course, I wouldn’t have been able to be in this position if it wasn’t for this lovely little thing… Let me introduce you all to her.’ He said wickedly and tugged on her invisible collar, dragging her up out from under the desk.

Of course she tried to flee, but Loki kept a tight hold of her and hauled her onto his lap. Forcing her to face the screen, he had her sit over his cock and she felt him at her entrance as he leaned round and gripped her chin, keeping her head in place so she couldn’t look away.

‘Smile for the camera, darling.’ Loki hissed harshly into her ear and he then pulled her down onto him so his cock pressed painfully into her, forcing her body to accommodate him once again. She was mortified to find she was a little bit aroused, enough to make it less painful than last night’s first time.

The entire world could see her naked upper body, and most of them were able to know what was going on from the way her body flushed red in embarrassment and Loki’s breathing deepened.

‘That’s it, my pet. You belong to me just as much as your whole world does now.’ He growled and then winked at the screen before it cut out.

‘Mmm, such a good girl. MY good girl. And now the whole world knows it.’ Loki purred and began toying with her nipples as he thrust up into her, making her mewl.

His praise was making her wetter, Loki could feel her contracting around him hard. He grinned and bit down on her shoulder, chuckling against her.

‘You can deny it all you want, pet. But we both know you’re my good girl and always will be.’

-

That same evening, while Kelly was still reeling after everything that had been happening, she finally had some alone time when Loki went for a bath.  

When Loki disappeared out of the room, she waited a few minutes until she heard the bath water running enough, then she grabbed a blanket to wrap around herself, as there was no sign of her clothes anywhere.

She scurried to the door, but it was still locked as she had expected. So she ran to the large window and felt such relief when it opened and she stepped outside onto the balcony. But then she realised she didn’t know what to do next, it was really high up and all that was down below was the concrete roads and pavements, there was no way she could jump.

‘Come on, think. Use your brain, Kelly!’ She hissed at herself as she stepped back inside.

Looking up, she spotted the smoke alarm. If Loki hadn’t changed much of the initial security system in the building, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. So, with a quick glance around the room, she came up with a plan.

Grabbing one of the pillows off the bed she ran to the fire place and put it in enough to set it alight. She then went underneath where the alarm was and held the pillow up towards it, just as she had hoped, the smoke was enough to go up to the alarm and set it off.

Normally, when the smoke alarms went off in the tower it was set up so all the doors would unlock for people to get out safely, and it would set the sprinklers off.

But not this time. While the sprinklers did go off, wetting everything in the room, when she ran to the door it was still locked. She let out a sob as she banged hard against it in frustration and fear.

A dark chuckle came from behind her, making her jump out of her skin. ‘Did you really think that little plan would work?’

Kelly shook in fear as she slowly turned around to face Loki. She was a little surprised for a moment because he only had a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair was still wet too and dripping down his chest. He smirked when he saw her checking him out, but her eyes quickly shot back up to his face.

‘How stupid do you think I am, pet? That I would allow you to escape so easily? I don’t know whether to be angry that you tried to run away from me, or angry that you thought I’d be so stupid. Not to mention the state of my room now.’ He growled as he started walking towards her formidably.

She attempted to run to the other side of the room, but Loki grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back into him, making her cry out in pain. He put his arm around her middle and held her tightly to his body as he snarled into her ear. ‘You are going nowhere, pet. You belong to me, like the rest of the world does. And you only have yourself to thank.’

He dragged her back towards the bed and when she was thrown onto it, invisible restraints instantly trapped her, making her immobile and sending her panic levels sky high again.

Loki could clearly see she was distressed and panicky, but he was about to make her worse. He stood at the side of the bed and held his hand out, palm up. A jar formed in his hand and Kelly let out a gasp in horror at what was inside it. It was Thor, but he had been turned into a frog. He was jumping at the glass, trying to escape.

‘If you aren’t careful, I will get you your very own jar.’ He snarled in warning. ‘No more stupid escape stunts. You do as you’re told. Do I make myself clear?’

Tears fell down Kelly’s face as she shook from head to toe. She nodded quickly, feeling a horrible stabbing feeling deep within her at the sight of Thor like that. Though she had thought he was dead too, with the others. Even though there had been no sign of his body.

Loki had the jar with frog Thor vanish, then he prowled onto the bed over the top of her and grinned. ‘Now, now. There’s no need to look so scared, pet.’ He cooed and stroked her cheek gently with the back of his hand. ‘If you’re my good girl, which I know you can be, you will have absolutely nothing to worry about ever again.’

He leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips.

[probablyintensemuses]

Sunflower

Summary: If he’s being honest Bucky’s liked you for a while, you joyful spirit was so intoxicating even in the most damning times. So dancing with him in the kitchen certainly doesn’t help him contain his crush.

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader.

Warnings: Total Fluff! Bucky!crushing

Based off ‘Sunflower’ by Harry Styles!

Italics are flashbacks

It had been yet another unsuccessful day of getting any new leads on the flag smashers, and after that stunt John Walker pulled with Karli—you, Bucky, and Sam weren’t sure you’d ever get another opportunity to get that close.

“If Walker would have fell back I could have talked to her more—coerced her into falling back with her mission.” Sam grumbled, throwing himself onto the sofa alongside Bucky as he nursed a beer.

You shook your head slowly as you walked toward the refrigerator, you weren’t in the mood for a drink. Although after the ass kicking you took you should be in an mood to get wasted—you just weren’t, in fact you wanted to dance of the stress.

“Something isn’t right with Walker,” Bucky began.

Sam snickered, taking another swig of his beer. “You don’t say.”

“He’s a little crazy, but nothing we haven’t faced before in the past.” You said shrugging your shoulders.

“Y/n’s got a point.” Sam said, pointing at you with the tip of his beer.

“Whatever,” Bucky grumbled, as he slipped out of his leather jacket revealing his sleek vibranium arm.

That arm always fascinated you, the intricacies of it all— and you couldn’t help but stare.

You watched carefully as Bucky slipped by you, grabbing the dark liquor that sat on the high shelf above the counter you found yourself propped on. Bucky was truly something else and you’d be lying if you say you didn’t think he was handsome—because James Barnes was very handsome; and the darkness to him only added to that appeal. Your cheeks warmed as you watched him lift the glass and take a sip of the brown liquor, shaking his head a bit from the slight burn of it going down.

Biting your lip you shook off those thoughts. Jumping off of the counter and fixing your outfit you watched Bucky walk towards the couch and sit next to Sam, for two people who couldn’t stand each other they certainly had no problem getting so close.

“I want to dance.” You blurted suddenly, as you watched the two men with their heads thrown back against the couch.

“Well dance.” Sam said, his eyes still closed tightly paying you no mind.

“I can’t dance alone.” You mutter, while shuffling through your playlist until you landed on ‘Sunflower’ by Harry Styles.

“I haven’t danced since the 1940’s, so I’m off the table.” Bucky shrugged.

Sam rolled his eyes, taking a stern look at Bucky beside him, he knew the whole tough guy approach when it came to you was a facade . He watched how on recent missions Bucky he’d melt in your touch, or sway his opinion on the plan to coincide to what you believed should be the course of action. Or the one time he had gotten hurt and you healed him, not without having to touch his chest, Sam could have swore Bucky would explode with how red his face had become. Sam also knew you were still getting a handle on your powers and always approached fight with a gentle approach, and fighting the flag smashers with their brute force was challenging for you. He remembers watching you get kicked back pretty hard and taking a nasty hit and Bucky swooping in and punching them hard—harder than Sam thinks he’s ever seen.

So yeah, Sam knew Bucky had a crush on you. And he knew you felt the same way, as you only told him a million times.

...

“Do you think Bucky is available.”

Sam scoffed, pulling out red wing, as he was shattered to pieces. “I think an 106 year old reformed assassin is always available.”

“You think, I mean not—not that I care, I’m asking for a friend.” You lied.

“Mhm,’ Sam hummed. “And what’s this friends name?”

“Um,’ you said, tapping your index finger slightly on your chin. “Come to think of it—I can’t remember.”

“Is this friends name, Y/n?”

“Pff, why would I like a overwhelming handsome mysterious guy I work with?” You said sarcastically.

“Sound like your type,” Sam laughed, as he played with red wing. “Ask him out already, I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

“No, I can’t!’ You whispered. “Stop talking he’s coming.”

“He’ll say yes, trust me.” Sam whispered back.

“What did I miss?” Bucky said, drying his dark hair off with a towel.

“Nothing!” You holler, louder than even you expected.

...

“You should go dance with her.” Sam said, nudging Bucky with his elbow.

“And why would I do that.” Bucky frowned, watching you do some weird dance with your hands and neck.

“Because you like her.” Sam said bluntly.

“I do not like her!” Bucky whisper shouted.

Sam chuckled. “Please I haven’t seen you punch something that hard since our bridge moment.”

Bucky drew his eyebrows together completely focused on Sam, with you still bouncing around in the background. “What does that mean?”

“Y/n hurt, our mission, you practically breaking that flag-smashers jaw.’ Sam explained. “Oh Y/n, are you okay.” Sam teased, cupping his hands together at the side of his face while batting his eyelashes obnoxiously.

“Shut up man—she’s our partner and she was hurt.” Bucky said sternly.

“The girl can bend blood on a full moon, I’m sure she was fine. If I’m being honest she probably did it to get your reaction.” Sam smirked, taking a swig of his beer.

“Whatever.” Bucky groaned, getting up from the couch.

“Where you going lover boy?” Sam said loudly.

“To get a beer—and I’m not a lover boy!” He affirmed.

Bucky slipped into the kitchen, his eyes on the fridge but he couldn’t help but watch you dance in the kitchen like it was a dance floor. He admired how happy you could always be—and at first he thought it was attributed to your lack of loss or trauma but then he found out your entire tribe was burned down and you had nothing. But he figured your meditation skills helped , and that you could often speak with your loved ones through the spirit realm you often entered . He learned that one night when he walked in on you, completely glowing blue and holding hands with an unknown woman who was also entirely light up blue.

Bucky reached into the fridge grabbing the beer he wanted before shutting it and you were right there bouncing up and down. Bucky snickered a bit before turning to walk away.

“James.” You whined from behind him.

He stopped in his tracks, he didn’t mind when you called him Bucky but he especially liked when you called him James.

“Yes Y/n.” He said, popping open his beer easily.

“Dance with me?” She asked, holding out a hand for him.

“No.” Bucky said.

“Please, just one song. You know you want to.” You smiled, shrugging your shoulders to the beat.

“No.” He said again.

Not thinking, you grab his hand and drag him with you jumping to the beat as Bucky stood completely frozen. He hadn’t pulled away, he loved your touch it was the softest he had felt since his mother.

You hummed the lyrics of the song bouncing up and down and kicking around. You had no rhythm but look absolutely adorable at what you were doing.

“Not going to dance—okay, I’ll do it for you.” You said out of breath.

Slowly you push and pull Bucky’s body toward yours, interlocking your fingers as you did so. The more you did this the looser the smile on his lips got. And eventually Bucky swayed to the beat with you, it was a small dance but it was still noticeable to you and Sam at least. The two of you danced until the end of the song as promised, and eventually Bucky had a very big grin on his face—he did quite enjoy Harry Styles, and dancing with you of course. The first girl since 1943. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he enjoyed every bit of it.

“Well I guess I can’t hold you hostage, the one song is over.” You panted.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck slowly, coughing a bit. “I wouldn’t mind another if that’s okay.” He said.

A wide smile appeared on your face, your eyes crinkling in the corner. “I would love that James.”

“Can it be Watermelon Sugar?” He asked.

“It can be whatever you want.” You laugh, gripping his hands once more.

“Watermelon Sugar it is.” He said with a smile.

A/N: Pleaseeeee can y’all imagine Bucky dancing in the kitchen to Harry Styles with the fattest smile. My heart 💞💞 I love Bucky and Wanda so lots of their fics coming soon.

Please reblog if you enjoyed!

[hops-hunny]

You Can Be the Boss

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Request: N/A but it’s based off of this rambling here

Summary: Women are beautiful, but they sure don’t make ‘em like her.

Warnings: Weed, Alcohol, Mentions of sex.

A/N: I wrote this to cope with the copious amounts of work I had due but I finished it all so now we celebrate!

Hogwarts had many things but one thing it lacked severely was normality. Not that it was a problem, nobody who attended Hogwarts was normal but it didn’t stop a portion of muggle born students from feeling a bit homesick to things their muggle friends did at their own schools. That’s how the talent shows started. At first, the students tried to get it officiated by the school. Dumbledore thought it was a wonderful idea!....if it was professor supervised and when it turned out that Snape was the only professor with enough freetime on his hands, the idea of having it being school ran quickly flew out the window. But looking back on it now, many were happy they went with the idea of going behind the professors backs. It wasn’t like they weren’t aware, they just had no proof of it all happening. The atmosphere of the talent shows were different from ordinary talent shows, however.

For starters, anything went. Any talent you had you were encouraged to bring it no matter how big or small it was or if it was “school appropriate”. But the pro to this was also booze and bud, meaning that everyone had a good time no matter what. Although, as it would turn out there were many talented people at Hogwarts. So, for the past few months every Friday everyone would gather in the room of requirement, watching the many ups and downs of performances. Neville started frequenting there as often as he could. It was a win-win, his friends got free entertainment and he had a chance to make some money from selling to chumps with too much cash on their hands. What better way was there to spend the night? 

His hazel eyes snapped up at the feeling of his blunt being ripped out of his hand. He went to swear, glaring at whoever was stupid enough to do that but quickly stopped as he saw who it was. He watched with wide eyes as the tip of it went between her pretty (l/c) lips, exhaling smoke. (Y/n) (L/n). She was one of those girls you either knew or you didn’t but more than likely, you knew her. Before 5th year, no one so much as spared her a glance but after a very fortunate late puberty in their current year (7th) she was slowly becoming all anyone could talk about. It was truly amazing what a haircut and a bit of weight in your hips could do for your social life. He eyed her curiously as she looked down at him.

“You comin’ tonight?” she asked, exhaling another puff of smoke into his face. (Y/n) put the joint back in his hand, moving the heavy guitar case into her now free hand.

“Yeah. ‘Spose I am.” He mumbled, eyes trailing down the expanse of her plush thighs. They were on full display due to the skirt she wore that left nothing to the imagination. His eyes locked with her (e/c) ones as she hummed, nodding as she took the blunt back from him walking off. She flashed him a smile once more, winking as she turned the corner going merlin knows where.

“Oi! What does she think she’s doing? You really gonna let her take the blunt from you like that just because she’s fit?” Ron complained, glaring at the boy who was set with the rest of their group. Neville shrugged, turning his eyes back to his book as he turned the page.

“If you’re so bothered by it why don’t you go take it back yourself?” Neville sassed. They all looked at Ron waiting for a response, laughing as he had nothing to say but a small ‘piss off’ under his breath.

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

Neville wasn’t one to put too much into his appearance. He’d usually just throw on a sweater vest over one of his uniform shirts and call it a day. However after the conversation he had had with (Y/n) earlier, he couldn’t help but wanna look nice. Was she flirting with him? He sighed as he glanced at his appearance in the mirror for a bit. ‘I doubt it.’ he thought. He shook the negative thoughts out of his head, packing his satchel with a few different strains. Just because some pretty girl was batting her pretty little eyes at him didn’t mean he was going to forget the reason he went to these things in the first place. The only other time Neville made this much money was Gryffindor common room parties and even then, it was only by a little.

But even as he was checking his appearance once again, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift. “Why am I wigging out? It’s not like we haven’t talked before.” He said out loud to himself. (Y/n) was a frequent buyer from him and even though he didn’t know her personally, she was one of the few people whose faces he remembered. At first, he was extremely annoyed by her. Who did she think she was showing up at his dorm at 3AM just to buy a bit of fucking jane? Every wednesday at the same time, she’d show up at his door (in a negligee that was far too short might he add) with that dopey look on her face asking to buy. And every single time without a doubt, he’d sell it to her. He had to admit, after a while he even started to enjoy the girl’s appearance. It gave him something to look forward to during his mundane school week.

“Ready to go, Nev? If we leave now, we can use a secret passage my brothers’ showed me.” Ron said, opening the door to Neville’s door. The lanky boy cleared his throat, giving the boy a nod as he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Without another word, they both began their way ready for the night to unfold.

As usual, the talent show didn’t disappoint...for all the wrong reasons. Even though the cringe worthy performances were top notch entertainment and he had already made quite a bit of money, he still couldn’t stop from searching the crowd for a certain head of (h/c) hair. Where was she? After the stunt she had pulled earlier, he was sure she would be here. She had some nerve doing that and then not showing up. However, as he turned his gaze back to the stage, he saw the woman of the hour herself. She was in an oversized crochet sweater dress and a pair of combat boots. His eyes looked up in wonder as she took the stage, sitting on a wooden stool that was placed from the last sad excuse of a performance.

“It’s a bloody shame that she’s so fucking hot. Poor thing is going to embarrass herself singing up there.” Ron said, taking a sip from the beer he had in his hand. Neville nodded in agreement, taking a hit from his blunt but not really paying mind to his friend. It was hard to do so when the girl of his dreams was on the stage a mere foot away from him. He was absolutely intoxicated by her (and the few shots he had taken a bit ago) but he had to agree it would suck when she-”

“You taste like the fourth of July

Malt liquor on your breath, my, my”

She sang into the microphone softly. Neville’s jaw dropped in awe at the sound of her voice which was nothing short of angelic. He wasn’t the only one who was stunned considering the whole crowd went silent, a stark contrast from the loud chatter and laughter from before. He watched as she strummed at the guitar in her hands, looking up from the ground into the crowd. Mesmerized wasn’t even the right word to describe the state he was in. 

“I love you but I don’t know why…”

His eyes were focused on her lips, taking in every word she said. Harry nudged him, mouthing the words ‘look up’ to him as a small pause had come into the song. Neville looked at him confused before trailing his eyes up, gasping when he saw that hers were locked on his own. She smiled and flashed him a wink before continuing her song, leaning in forward. His own body began to subconsciously drift forward to but at the last second she pulled away and continued to sing.

"Did you see that? She definitely wants me." Seamus boasted confidently. The others looked at him dumbfounded at the fact he could get even more idiotic than ever before.

"Don't be fucking dumb mate! She was clearly looking at me." Ron chimed in, causing another round of even more exasperated looks to be thrown the ginger's way. They truly were dumb and dumber.

"I-I think both of you are wrong. (Y/n) was looking at.." Harry trailed off as the girl stood up, dancing around the stage with her guitar as she continued to sing. Not a single pair of eyes weren't on her at the moment. Could you blame anyone? When a beautiful girl with the voice of a siren is on stage, you'd be a fool not to. However, dumb and dumbers’ argument ceased as she made very clear eye contact with their awkward friend.

“You can be the boss, daddy

You can be the boss”

“That’s all me boys.” Neville said, a triumphant smirk taking over his place as Dean leaned over to give him a fist bump. As much as (Y/n) had him wrapped around her finger, it appeared she was wrapped around his too. All the angry glares being sent his direction were only fuel to the pride he felt growing in his chest. Such a pretty girl, the same pretty girl who plagued all his wet dreams and shower thoughts, was not only on stage singing in front of him, but directly to him as well. She reached a hand forward, tips of her fingers lightly brushing against his flushed cheeks.

“I like you a lot, I like you a lot

Don’t let it stop”

“This is totally unfair. One of the hottest chicks in our year and she’s pining over Longbottom.” Seamus grumbled, grimacing as the liquor went down his throat hard. Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Jealous much?” he asked no one in particular, as that could be said about most of the guys they were sitting with.

“Bad to the bone, sick as a dog

You know that I like, like you a lot

Don’t let it stop”

Neville felt his own lips curl up into a smile at the sight of the one that belonged to the angel in front of him. However the cute moment didn’t last long cause once again, Ron chimed in with something else.

“Neville? Bad? He still sleeps in pajama sets!” he exclaimed quietly, earning a ‘shh!’ from Harry. The boy in question leaned forward, looking at his ginger friend.

“Is this really coming from the boy who needs Mummy’s howler to fall asleep at night?” that shut him right up. Harry snorted, high fiving him for bringing up the embarrassing piece of information. 

The girl continued to sing, eyes never leaving Neville’s for a second. Ron and Seamus’s petty comments had ceased as well. Even though they weren’t the one receiving attention, they could still admit the girl had pipes on her. When the song was over she stood up, bowing as the silence of the crowd quickly erupted in cheers and claps from the breathtaking performance. There were a few more people left but no one paid much mind to them. He found himself feeling bad for them. Even if they were good, none of them could top the performance of the night. 

As the night began to come to a close, (Y/n) found herself over to Neville again parking herself in his lap which he gladly accepted. She looked up at him, smiling shyly. It was almost comedic due to the words she had so sinfully sung to him only 45 minutes ago. Neville ignored the way his friends gawked at him. He’d deal with that another time.

“Come back to my room and split a spliff?” she asked, looking down as she picked at her fingers. He grabbed her hands, leaning in close to her.

“Only if I can eat your pussy afterwards.” he said confidently. He said it quiet enough to not draw attention but just loud enough that his friends would hear. (Y/n) felt her face grow warm as she nodded, hopping up from his lap as she dragged him off to her room.

Neville 1, blokes 0.

Extra:

“Seriously?! Is it really that easy? What does he have that I don’t?” Seamus said, mind running over the times he’d attempted saying things like that. The only place it had gotten him was on the ground after he had his balls kicked!

“It’s gotta be the weed. After all, who wouldn’t wanna sleep with the weed man? Free pot!” Ron exclaimed, trying to rationalize what had just happened.

“Aren’t you the residential booze man of Hogwarts? If that was the case, you’d have an easier time with women too.” Dean said, causing Harry to nod in agreement. Ron simply grumbled, slamming his empty bottle down as he walked off from the cackling group of blokes.

[thestorycfus]

The Sweetest Apparition - Part 3

Pairing: Peggy Carter x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and historian who specializes in the life and legacy of Captain Carter. After Nick Fury uses the Tesseract to bring Peggy back, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts the reader to help her navigate life in the XXI century.

Warnings and notes: Food, mentions of Steggy, mentions of Stucky, very small mentions of war. Other characters are also mentioned. This got way longer than the first two parts, but there’s also way more Peggy here. This series takes place after the last scene of What If… episode one, including spoilers to that episode. Reader uses she/her pronouns.

Word count: 2,304

Series Masterlist

It should be a short walk to your apartment, but you made a small stop each time Captain Carter was curious about something. You also got some take out on the way, making sure to pick at least four different options from separate places and a couple of desserts too, since you didn’t know her taste yet. It was a while before you made it to your street.

During the entire time, your chatting was limited to safe topics - how loud and bright the city was, how many screens there were, the amount of coffee options that existed now. You watched Carter fall in love with her caramel coffee and made a mental note to buy her more sweets.

Soon, the Captain would also need to go shopping. Fury had gotten her the formal white blouse and the black pants she wore now, an outfit much more discreet than the uniform she was wearing when she fell, but that was her entire wardrobe at the moment. That was another mission you should handle, but it could wait until after lunch.

When you finally got home, you placed the food over a kitchen counter and gave Carter a quick tour of the apartment. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would be enough for both of you until she was more familiar with this century. The tour ended where it started: in your tiny kitchen. You pulled a stool for the Captain and presented her with the options for lunch.

“I suppose you’ve never tried some of those, so I got a few different meals. Burritos, sweet and sour chicken, calzones and Pad Thai. For dessert, there’s lemon tart and triple chocolate cake. I might have gotten a little carried away.”

Peggy took a seat and examined her options. You wondered if that would be, technically her first meal since the 40’s.

“They are all tempting, but I might start with this one.” Her eyes were fixated on a burrito as if it was the Holy Grail. Yeah, that was surely the first time she ate in seventy years. She dove in, so focused on her meal that you didn’t dare to interrupt. Meanwhile, you took the other stool and picked a calzone, eating it while you watched Carter.

You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that she was really here, and it was surprising that you hadn’t completely freaked out so far, but the prospect of the rest of the day started to worry you. The Captain would certainly have a lot of questions and, if there were inquiries that Fury left for you to answer, they probably pertained more to her personal life than to great historical events.

If the registers about her were right, it wouldn’t be long before the real conversation started. Peggy Carter was too smart to have such a debate in the middle of the street, but she wasn’t known for stalling. As soon as she finished her meal, in the privacy of your (now shared) kitchen, you would have to provide about seven decades of answers.

Before you could try to prepare yourself, she was done with her second burrito. You almost suggested dessert, but the look she gave you left no room for pauses. Carter turned on her stool to face you directly, her posture becoming straighter and her eyes never leaving yours. She was the perfect image of Captain Carter, the hero, the legend who defeated all odds. Still, when she spoke, there was softness in her voice.

“The meal was lovely and so is the apartment. I can’t thank you enough for you kindness, Agent L/N, but I must ask a few things more of you. If you have studied about my life, you must know what happened to Steve Rogers after I was gone.”

You should be ready for that. Of course her first personal concern would be about Rogers. His story with Carter went down in history as a tragic tale of love, bravery and loss. To his last days, Rogers had made it his mission to honor her legacy, but that wasn’t all that he did. How do you tell a person that the love of her life went on to live a decades long, fulfilling relationship with someone else, even though, from her perspective, they were together the day before?

“Please, call me Y/N. And you can ask anything, Captain. I will tell you everything I can.” You took a deep breath, going through the words in your head in search of the best way to let her know. It was best to keep nothing out. Carter deserved that. “Steve Rogers continued to serve as the Hydra Stomper until the war had ended and all known Hydra operations had been eliminated. After that, he stepped out of the suit so that Howard Stark could continue his research with the Tesseract. I believe neither of them ever gave up on bringing you back, but, in many ways, they also moved on to build new lives.”

You made a small pause, in case she wanted to say something, but Carter only gave you a nod, encouraging you to continue. It was impossible to look away from her eyes, or to keep anything hidden when she stared at you with such intensity. Even in silence, sitting still, she emanated a power that kept you talking.

“A few years after the war, Rogers and Stark started an intelligence agency to keep the world safe from threats we could barely understand. They named it S.H.I.E.L.D., because of you. That is the agency I work for, directed by Nick Fury.” There was something poetic in the way that same agency ended up being the reason Peggy Carter was back, but it wasn’t your place to point that out. “Rogers never stopped fighting, even without the suit. He was a legendary agent, working along with James Barnes until they retired. They were also together for the rest of their lives.”

That was the piece of information you feared would break Carter’s heart, but she had a bright smile after hearing that.

“That suits them. All of them.” The joy in her voice sounded so sincere, and you couldn’t help but ask.

“Were you and Rogers… Together? It is said so in the official files, but…” In your studies, you sometimes wondered if their relationship was just a myth, maybe a publicity stunt to humanize the fallen super soldier. It was your job to question the data, but you had never paid that possibility much attention until now.

Instead of being offended by your invasion of her privacy, Carter laughed so lightly and freely that you felt your cheeks getting warm.

“Oh, darling, Steve Rogers had a heart too big to have only one soul mate. He was the love of my life, yes, and I was the love of his, but not the only one. A love so beautiful and dedicated is supposed to be shared. Of course I’m sad I didn’t get to share the rest of his life with him, but I’m relieved to know that he and Bucky had each other. And that’s not to say I’m a being of such virtue that I’m above jealousy. I felt jealous of Steve alright, many times, but I could never be jealous of him with Buck. They fit well together and they were good for each other. They were real, just as Steve and I were. Steve deserved to be loved through a lifetime. I’m grateful that he was.”

Carter’s eyes shined with tears, but she didn’t allow any to fall. Maybe she would let herself grief for the lost possibilities later, but for now she was handling such an emotional journey with more elegance than you thought possible. It didn’t seem to be an act at all. On the contrary, what touched you the most was the honesty in her words. That selflessness of being genuinely happy to hear of how her soul mate lived on without her, in love with someone else, told you more about Peggy Carter than any history book ever had. And that’s how she reacted right after being thrown into the next century, coming directly from a war and landing in a world she didn’t recognize.

“I don’t think history ever made you justice, Captain. The general public thinks of you as a hero, but they’re so far from knowing the person behind the suit... You know, it’s very nice to meet you.” You couldn’t help but sharing a bit of what was on your mind. To that moment, your hero was turning out to be even better than your daydreams, and it was only fair to let her know so.

At that, she gave you a big smile and your heart skipped a beat. You would have a hard time sharing an apartment with this woman.

“You are far too kind to me. To be honest, they never showed much interest on me, suit or not, until I went against official orders and started throwing tanks around and fighting the battles that needed to be fought. I am more concerned about what I am able to achieve, regardless of how they will see me. And there’s no need to call me Captain, Y/N. Heavens, we live and work together now and you’re my guide to modern life. Peggy is fine. And it’s nice to meet you too.” She took the initiative to get a slice of chocolate cake, already making herself at home. You had the feeling that her adaptation to this world wouldn’t be too difficult, all things considered. Peggy Carter would take whatever she was given and make more of it than anyone imagined possible.

“As you wish, Peggy. Speaking of that, there’s a lot I think you’ll like to see about life now. What else are you curious about?” You took your own slice of cake, trying to feel at ease in this conversation. You couldn’t be on high alert whenever Carter was around if she was going to be around all the time, but that was easier said than done. Your responsibilities here were enormous and, to be frank, you were determined to be your best self and impress her, even if just a bit. Maybe telling her about the wonders of nowadays technology would do the trick.

“I am curious about everything. I can’t wait to know all about the development of science, or what I missed in seven decades of sociopolitical turmoil, but there’s one more person I’d love to hear about before we get to that. You mentioned Howard moving on with his life, didn’t you? What exactly was that little menace up to while I was gone?”

Now, that was a rich topic of conversation.

“Well, Stark continued his research with the Tesseract and with many other projects, sometimes along with the US government, and he built a billionaire empire. Weapons, all sorts of technology, wild parties. The man had everything. He has a son, Tony, who inherited the tech, the money and the brains, but with a stronger inclination to heroism. You see, Tony Stark built himself a supersuit, partially inspired by his father’s Hydra Stomper, but with a larger variety of uses. It’s said that Steve Rogers was a sort of mentor to him, but I couldn’t get Stark to talk a lot about it when I interviewed him.”

You couldn’t tell which part made Peggy more excited. She nodded along as you listed Howard Stark’s achievements, as if it was all expected, and her eyes got wider when you told her about his son. When you mentioned Rogers, she almost jumped in her seat. She was already invested, but dropping that name sealed the deal.

“Fury gave me this.” She took two business cards out of her pocket. “It has his telephone number and Barton’s too. Could I use your telephone to call him? I would like to meet this Tony Stark, and I bet Fury would be able to reach him.” 

Giving Director Fury a call from your cellphone felt strange, but how could you deny Peggy that? If the Director gave her the number, he wanted her to be able to reach him, right? 

Instead of dialing yourself, you showed Carter how to use the phone. She looked like a kid on Christmas whenever she was given access to new technology. You would make sure she got a cellphone of her own soon so you could show her everything the device could do. 

She called Fury and you waited as they talked for less than two minutes. Peggy handed you the phone when she was done, with a smile that said she got what she wanted.

“So, what did the Director say?” You asked, anxious to know the outcome of the call.

“We’re meeting Tony Stark tomorrow at 2pm in his tower. Was it him who named it Stark tower or is that Howard’s doing?” She narrowed her eyes a bit, still smiling.

“The tower was built by Tony, so I think we can’t blame Howard for that one.” You joked. “Are you meeting Fury at S.H.I.E.L.D. before you two go to Stark’s?”

“Oh, Fury is not going. He booked the meeting for you and me, if you would like to accompany me.” Peggy sounded hesitant, as if she had just considered that you might not want to join her on that plan. 

"You’re asking me if I wish to be there when Captain Carter meets Tony Stark? Please, if I didn’t get the chance to be a part of that exchange, I would beg you for a detailed retelling as soon as you got home.” 

Your reply made Peggy laugh once more, and you were getting used to that sound very quickly.