#in response to one of my pieces of writing my lecturer marked it by saying 'i felt the need to stand up while i was reading your piece'

[interact-proof]

I'd like to add something on here; as an editor and a published author, while I agree that the commodification of art has definitely affected the spread of this attitude, I also think that the Western schooling system has had a more outsized effect on how people view writing than a lot of people realise.

When I first signed a contract with my publishers back in 2017 (or thereabouts), tumblr was having a HUGE boom in writing advice blogs. People in the writing community on here would often reblog writing advice posts from a dozen different advice blogs per day, and while they did have some decent advice, they also heavily erred on the side of minimalist writing and decrying any use of descriptions and such. I would often agonise over my writing, thinking that nobody would ever like my work, because it didn't meet all of the criteria that these blogs insisted were necessary.

And then I found out (through an incident too embarrassing for the person running the writing advice blog to describe here) that one of the blogs I was following that had caused me the most grief was run by a 15-year-old child, whose authoritative declamatory statements about what every writer must do in order to be published were regurgitated pieces of advice from their highschool english teacher about creative writing assignments. And highschool english teachers, despite often being wonderful people and very important for children's creative development, do not want to have to read a minimum of 35 pieces of writing that fit the mold of the 00s horse RPers that OP describes.

And when you think about it, making super prescriptive statements about the exact way you must write does seem like something that's more indicative of an assignment specification than advice you might get from someone about publishing original works. Most published authors will give writing advice that almost always includes some disclaimer that everyone is different and not all of their suggestions will work for everyone.

I think a lot more people are subconsciously writing for an imaginary cosmic english teacher and anxiously fretting about whether or not they'll get an A than realise it, even to this day.

But it's okay. There's no criteria marking sheet that you have to write to, and some people disliking your writing doesn't mean that you fail. This isn't highschool, even if you're still in highschool while writing. You can just write whatever and however you want.

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[lyon-amore]

What if...? Duskwood Chapter 42

Chapter 41 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Macie POV*

 I feel so helpless that I didn't get Alan to keep searching Grimrock, which he decided to stop searching. I don't even want to think about what the group will do when they see my message. But I'm sure they'll want to go to Grimrock.

 The upside of all this is that Jake got me audios from Alan's computer about Amy Bell Lewis. As I listen, I try to focus on every detail that Alan is saying. This is important to discuss with Jake. The name of the body was announced the day before yesterday, but how long will Alan have kept this information? I have a feeling he must have seen something strange not to want to announce it on the news yet.

I finish listening to them and see Jake who seems focused on his phone. Maybe he must be waiting for the group chat response. I don't think it's going to be nice when the group knows that I haven't made it.    "Jake?" I call him, letting out a sigh.    "Have you heard them all yet?" He asks me, putting the phone away.    "Yeah, I've heard it all."    "Very well" He puts his hands together, concentrated ". I would like to hear your thoughts on these recordings."     I nod. I feel that we are making progress after a long time and this is finally something important.    "Of course" I answered centered, not wanting to waste any more time "we should talk about them immediately."     Now Jake nods, settling back in the chair.    "Let us begin with the first recording" I start to imagine the scenario in my head ". Before Alan could enter the apartment, he made a strange discovery on Amy's front door."    "The mark of the raven" A shiver runs through me as I remember the mark on Jessy's door. Whether it was for her so she could save Phil or me to stay away, it's still a horrible thing to experience such a threat ". Amy was marked, too."     Jake makes a noise of agreement, along with a slight 'Yes'. I keep thinking. There's something strange, why didn't Amy remove the mark? Having a painted crow could catch anyone's eye and ask quite a bit.    "What is it, Macie?" I look directly into his eyes, taking me out of concentration "You have been very quiet all of a sudden."    "Amy didn't wipe away the symbol" I crossed my arms, thinking about it ". Unlike Richy."    "That is a very good observation" Jake agrees ". Perhaps she wanted to go to the police and thus treated this marking as a piece of evidence."     Or maybe something worse.    "Or she didn't have time..."    "Also a possibility."     The feeling that maybe everything happened quickly came to my mind. No markings were found on Hannah's door, so it was quite possible that they were after her soon after to kill her.    "Alan found an empty envelope in Amy's room" Jake recalls. It's quite curious ". The envelope had been sealed, but also opened again." then he looks at me like he's lecturing me "Did Amy or the culprit open it?"    “The culprit” I replied, remembering the empty envelope ". He also took the letter."    "What do you think, why did this envelope have neither an address nor a return address on it?"     Usually when you do those kinds of letters, they're goodbye letters or maybe it's like Hannah, trying to get over what happened by writing. But it must have contained something very important for that letter to have disappeared, and the only one who could have taken it away was our perpetrator.    "Amy wrote the letter herself and wasn’t planning of sending it" I says, with a slightly sadder theory now. But at the moment, not knowing what was in it, it's too early for me to tell.    "An interesting an plausible conclusion." Jake rubbed his chin in concentration.    "And what do you think?"    “Well” he clears her throat, preparing to speak “, actually, my interpretation is exactly the same as yours: Amy had written the letter to herself. The perpetrator found the letter, read it, and proceed to take it with him."    "Which means we must be right." I replied with a smile.     Jake smiles at me, and I get a little distracted by looking into his eyes. It's nice to forget what happened with Alan and focus on us and our investigation.    "Okay, um…" Jake runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit. I think I've distracted him again "Let us continue."    "Yes."    "I am sure you remember the comment Alan made concerning the position of Amy's body."     I remember, remembering the news and the photo of the memorial stone.    “Yes, of course” I nod, “, her body was brought into the forest by the killer."    "Yes" Jake gets up and starts walking, thinking ". We have already talked about this in the past and Alan also saw a deeper meaning behind this” He stops and looks me square in the eye ". He saw a message that the killer wanted to convey and that tried to understand it."    "You’re right, and that’s what I still believe."    "What would that point be?" He goes to the computer and I get up, moving closer to him.    "He wanted to make a connection between Amy's death and Jennifer's accident." I replied, seeing that he had put the photo from the news on the computer.    "Exactly."     We stared at it, focused. Surely the police will have thought that the same killer of Amy is Jennifer's. When unfortunately it is not.    "Without the body positioning, we would never have made the connection to Jennifer and by extension, to Hannah." I look at him and he looks at me "So who would be interested in taking her body to the monument?"     I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting to say it. Alan had made it clear and I trusted this theory.    "Michael Hanson..." I say his name for the first time, not believing my words and dragging his name.    "I think so too" he sighs heavily ". This point of view still fits him perfectly.” He leans against the table, rearranging the photos of the house ". With Amy's body at Jennifer's monument, he sends us with an unmistakable message. However…" I lean on the table, crossing my arms waiting for his answer "According to Alan, Michael Hanson is no longer with us."     It doesn't make sense then. My first theory remains the same. But it would cause a lot of damage to everyone and it's better to negotiate with him before he can do something crazy in fear.    “I would like to hear your opinion on this matter, Macie.” Jake calls me, waking me from my thoughts.    “I think Michael is really dead.” I say slowly and sadly.    “Well” Jake replies, agreeing with me. But it only lasts a few seconds ". The possibility that Michael has merely been hiding for all this time is still there” he looks at me, raising his eyebrows “With a false identity, perhaps in different city or even another country."    "It seems highly unlikely to me." I reply, not really believing it.    "I can assure you that it is not so."     I get it now. He must know better himself. I still don't even know his last name. That Jake will have been taken for dead, sure.    “I think Alan had Michael declared dead…” I stand by this theory now. Maybe he's just a poor man that he wanted to disappear "That's why he reacts so deflective when it comes to the subject of Michael."    “Yes… I believe that’s is quite likely."     I lean on him, giving him support. Jake tilts my chin up, giving me a small kiss. I smile at him, happy to feel his lips again.    "Okay" he sits up and strokes my hair, then runs his fingers over my face, caressing me lovingly ", I think we have covered the most important topic."    "I think so too" I relaxed a bit, deciding to hug him ". Maybe Alan isn't as incapable as we thought at first” I pointed out, with the 'I told you so' now me tone ". As police chief, he must have something on his mind."     Jake places his hands on my waist, smiling down at me.    "That is why I looked at his computer in the first place." He winks at me and I can't help it, I grab his sweatshirt, carefully pulling him towards me.     Clearly he wanted it too, because he slams me against him when we kiss.

We give each other little kisses before parting ways and I rub my nose with his, not erasing my smile.    “I will attempt to sort out our traces so far and plan our next steps.” he whispers, turning to kiss me again.    "Of course." I reply, having a hard time pulling away from him.     He separates lowering his hands and I get nervous.    "Don't be distracted, Jake" I replied, taking his hand to pull me away ", don't make me responsible for both of you."    "Right, in this case we cannot do two things at once." I hear his complain, sitting down on the chair.     Better not ask right now if it's really possible to do that because that would make us lose concentration more. I'll have it pending when this is all over.

 Just as I get back to sit on my bed, I get a text from Jessy. She's got some news! Everything seems to be getting better. Apparently, she realized that a file was missing between one thousand one hundred two and one thousand one hundred four and that in passing a pencil to see what name was marked she found... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Macie Ted Madruga

 Jessy Yes! Haven’t you mention this name before? 🤔

 Macie He's definitely got some to Hannah

 Jessy Yeah, I'd like to bet it’s do I’m sure the missing file is definitely the AMC Gremlin And Ted Madruga signed that exact file.

 Macie That’s a very good find

 Jessy 😊 He must have stolen the file Because it would have incriminated him!

 Macie But Ted’s in prison ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Jessy asks if someone stole the file for him and that's why Richy died. I’m not able to tell him my suspicions. No... I don't know what they would think if I told them. I don't think they would trust me knowing that they have been friends for years. Even if we've become friends, I don't think she would believe me because of how fond she is of Richy.

When I finish talking to Jessy, a chat adds me. An Unknown. There is no name, there are no photos. There is nothing. Just a black photo. I swallow and send a message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Macie Hello?

 Unknown [Camera_05] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 I look at the link that he gave me before giving him, what is all this about?

I give up, let's see what it is.

When I hit the link, it can't be true what I'm seeing. Hannah and Richy! In the camera! They seem to be unconscious. The place…. The place looks like they are surrounded by stones and is that wood? Where are they? But then- No… Was I wrong? What? Is Richy really innocent then? The date and time are from this moment, so it's happening! With this maybe Alan will believe me! My mind screams while I can't get out any words, it's like I've choked at this moment.    "Ja-" I try to call him, but no sound comes out.     I notice that I’m even shaking.

I announcement the group passing the link to them, as I get out of bed to approach Jake, still unable to speak. I tap his shoulder and he looks at me concerned.    "Macie, what is going on?" he asks me worried.     I hand him my phone, with the video from the surveillance camera.    “Hannah and Richy…” he says slowly.     I nod nervously and Jake looks at me. I keep breathing fast, as if everything I had done then was to lead Richy to a horrible fate. Maybe someone was spying on us?!    “Macie” I snap out of my thoughts to hear Jake now standing in front of me. Slowly, he places his hands on my shoulders ", take a deep breath, okay?"     I nod, trying to calm down. I imitate him looking into his eyes. I can't let this rule me.    "Thank you…" I reply, although my voice still sounds a little weak.    "Remember that he only wants to provoke and scare you" he tells me, totally calm ". I also got nervous when you showed it to me, but we already know what he likes to do: Torment us" I nod, lowering my gaze ". And we won't let that happen."    "Yeah... sure..."     He kisses me on the forehead, hugging me. I get a call and look at my phone. It was a group call.    "Talk to them, you need each other now." Jake caresses my cheeks carefully.     I nod again and go to bed, answering the call.    "Macie? Why don't you reply to messages?" Cleo asks me nervously. "Is everything alright?"    "Yeah, sorry, I was a little shocked, that's all."    “Macie! Richy is alive!" I see Jessy with a big smile on her face, bright "I knew he was still alive!"     I just nod looking at her with a small smile. I don't know what to say. I’m confused with everything that is happening.    "Is it a live broadcast?" Cleo asks me, curious.    “Yeah, it's a live broadcast” I reply, watching Jake put the feed on one of his laptops.    "Really? How do you know?" Jessy looks surprised.    "The date and time is on the video."    "And what is this shit?" Dan asks furiously, clenching his jaw tightly "Is he messing with us?"    "What’s wrong with them?!" Lilly exclaims worried "What did he do to them?!"     My head starts to ache with so many questions. I have to handle the situation the best I can.    "Don't worry, they're fine" I tried to calm her down. It's true. I can't get carried away by the situation.    "Macie? Can you send this to Alan?" Jessy speaks quickly, still excited "If he sees this, I bet he’s want to help us again!"    "I wanted to do that, anyway." I say, calming down now.     Jake makes an appearance connecting to the group ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Jake I saw what happened. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   "Look at the walls in the background" Thomas asks, in a voice like Jessy's, excited to see Hannah alive.    "Yes, I noticed them too." I answered, letting out a sigh. "Is that some sort of cave?"    "Maybe."    “They’re not in a normal house, that's for sure.” Cleo points out. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Jake I will try to finding information about this stream. Perhaps I will be able to find out where it is being broadcast from. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    “And you please send this to Alan, Macie." Lily reminds me.     I go to Alan's chat to send him the message, silencing the group.    "He will listen to us now, right?" I ask Jake, who is busy with the broadcast.    "It is more than enough to make you trust again, I am sure" he replies, without taking his eyes off the computer "Did he want proof? Well, we have given it to him."     He transmits his calm to me with the tone of his voice. He can no longer let himself be carried away by the rage he used to, having listened to Hannah. He has to be concentrating to find where the video is broadcast.    "Guys?" I activate the microphone when I listen to Jessy, who has stopped looking at the camera, but from her voice it seems that she is scared "There is something back there…." she whispers, and I can see her voice shake.    "What?" Cleo asks, puzzled. "What do you mean back there?"    "In the forest" she whispers again ". But it could be on the road, too.” She strains her eyes ". It's still too far away."     This is not good. It gives me a bad feeling.    "A neighbor maybe?" Lilly is starting to freak out.    “I don't know, I really can't tell…. It looks like a lamp or something."    “The road leading to our house is a dead end” Cleo begins to explain ". If this person is on the road, they’re headed for us."     We wait a bit until Jessy makes a throaty sound, like she's complaining.    I don't see the light anymore...     What is she trying to do? Are he threating them?    "That's Michael!" Lilly exclaims, increasing her fear "I’m sure! He’s coming to act on his threats!"    "Don't make everyone nervous, Lilly" I try to warn her, even though I'm the first to freak out. If he hurts someone... "Are you all still at their posts?"    "Yes" Cleo tells me "Lilly and I are in the downstairs bedroom, Thomas is in the bathroom next door, Dan is in the living room and Jessy is upstairs."    "This doesn't make any sense" Thomas starts to say, getting nervous now "Why would Michael send us a stream and then come here?"     Get us nervous. That’s what he wants to do. Let us be afraid of him, making us feel powerless is important, it makes it easy for him to attack us.    <<'I don't want to hurt you'>> How am I supposed to believe your words when you're chasing my friends too?    "There!" Jessy yells and I see that she moves a lot. "Again! It’s a lot closer than it was before!"    "Everyone stay calm" I ordered them firmly. If they see me nervous, they will be worse off.    "Showtime" I hear Dan reload the gun, I can even see him because he has the phone on his lap with the camera facing up.    "Turn off the lights!"    "We've already turned them off downstairs" Cleo says, looking out the window ". But there's a light on somewhere upstairs, isn’t there?"    "There!" Jessy yells again, "He's here! Right in front of us!"     Jessy changes the camera with a tap.

We all pay attention to her camera. And we even hear her nervous breathing. A light could be seen in the distance, although it was difficult to see who it was, but it seemed to slightly illuminate a figure. She zooms in and we can see the man who attacked Jessy and me. Challenging us Jessy switches the camera back, and I watch as she moves to hide.    "My God, my God, my God…" She puts a hand to her mouth and nose, afraid to breathe and to be heard.    "What the hell is he doing?!" “Dan is really mad.    "He wants to scare you."    "Well, he can shove it" he says, leaving the phone on his lap. "Shit! That's not enough!"    "What?"    "I can't hit it from this distance."    "Then wait."     It is better not to waste bullets and if now he shoots, we can lose the opportunity of the surprise factor.    "He turned off his lampt!" Jessy exclaims, but she doesn't focus on the camera "I can’t see him anymore!"    "He's gone?"    "Maybe..." she answers not very sure "It's so dark, he could be anywhere..."   While we're on a video call, I get a text from Dan ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dan Hey Boo If this goes wrong Then you’re gonna have to set something straight for me

 Macie EXCUSE ME?! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 I refuse, I'm not going to listen to him. Everything is going to be alright, I know it!    "I think I can see him" Thomas unfocuses his camera ". He is on the porch, not far away from me."    "Where are you?"    "In the bathroom downstairs" he begins to move ". I'm going to go out now."    "THOMAS NO!" I scream at the screen. Was he crazy or what?    "I CAN CATCH HIM UNAWARES!" He yells at me now on the screen.    "Dude, no!" Dan yells at Thomas.    "He can't see me!"    "You don't know that!" I try to make him see reason.    "I can see him too!" Cleo exclaims.    "If he turns around now and leaves, that was it!" Thomas answers, and I can see that he's nervous.    "Thomas!" Dan calls him "Seriously! I’M WARNINIG YOU!"     Thomas walks out of the call and I put my hand to my forehead. Why does he always do these things? He doesn't help save Hannah at all!    "I'll try to help." Cleo says, before leaving as well.     The next to go is Lilly. What's going on?!    “Oh fuc…” Dan grates through his teeth, also walking away.     Jessy and I are left alone on the call, surprised that everyone has left.    "They went outside!" Jessy yells. "They're gone!"    "Calm down Jessy." I try to stay calm for her. We've both had a hard time "Where are you now?"    “Up… Upstairs” she replies, looking everywhere ". In one of the rooms.” She moves away from the camera for a moment ". I can't see anything outside… Everything is quiet in the house…" She looks at the camera again, scared "Why is it so quite? Shouldn’t be able to hear something!"     "Can you keep looking out the window?" I can't think of anything else, I don't want her to go outside.    "Yes, but there's nothing, Macie, I can't see anything" she says, looking again ". I… I have to help them."    "No!" I scream terrified now "Jessy, no. that's not a good idea."    "Of course it isn’t" she gradually recovers ". But I can't keep hiding here" she starts to walk ". Macie… are you with me?"     I don't like the idea, but what can I do? She won't listen to me, Jessy doesn't want to be alone. And if she stays alone, it's worse.    “I am, Jessy” I finally answered ". I’m not leaving you."    “Okay, fine…” she sighs and flips her camera over with a flick “That's how you see the house too” She turns on the flashlight ". And so to see me..."

We stay silent as she walks down the stairs. I'm afraid to speak in case I can alert the kidnapper. I can see the table where they were sitting before and then the fireplace. The door leading to the terrace is open. There is nothing but silence in the house. The only sound is that of the fire.    "Dan?" Jessy calls.     She continues walking and goes to the stairs that went down to the fuse room.   "Cleo?"    "Where are they?” I ask quietly, concerned.   "I don't know... There doesn't seem to be any here-" As Jessy turns around, looking at the door, she meets the man without a face.    Jessy stumbles out of fear and I freak out of worry.    "JESSY GET UP!" I scream scared.    "What's up Macie?!" Jake walks over to me and we look at the screen together “Shit!"    "Jessy!"     It is then that we hear a shot and the mystery man recoils from the impact.     Jessy focuses on the sound. It was Dan with the gun and he fired again, sending the man without a face running. As soon as Jessy hangs up, I bursts into tears hugging Jake, relieved that Jessy is okay. He strokes my hair lovingly, kissing the top of my head to ease the fear in my body.    “Is alright” he tells me in a calm voice ". She is safe, Dan has saved her."    "I've been scared!" I exclaim, powerless for not having been able to do anything but cry "I couldn't- I couldn't do anything! I couldn't help her except watching!"     I hug Jake tighter. I feel like I'm hurting him from the way I squeeze my hands, but he doesn't complain.    "I understand you... But it is not your fault." He raises my head to see him ". It is not your fault, okay?"     But yes it is. Because he knew that I was going to be in that house. I said it. And if he was looking for me and at the moment, he took the opportunity to go for Jessy?

 If it weren't for me, maybe all of this wouldn't have happened.

*Jake POV*

 As I deal with the security camera to track it down, I let Macie sit on my lap to calm down, talking on the phone with the group to check on Jessica and Dan.

 And again. Over and over again he does not stop torturing her in this disgusting way and I can only sit here in front of a computer without being able to do anything to stop all this that is happening and end all of this. I would only do it for her. No... It does not occupy anything else in my mind that Macie stops suffering with everything that is happening, seeing how he go to her for her friends because he knows that he can hurt her psychologically through them. I hear her gasp in breath and I kiss her forehead before looking back at the screen. Macie snuggles closer, resting her head on my body.

 She should not be going through that… I cannot keep risking someone I love like this. It is over.    “Dan thinks it was you.” she whispers, without much encouragement.    "It is okay, I am used to being doubted by now" I tell her with a small laugh ". As long as you know that I am here by your side, which is enough for me so that only you trust me."     I hear her laugh, even though she hardly seems to want to.    "It will always be like this, right?"    "Like this how?" I ask doubtfully.    "Everyone tell me how I should think about you" I look down and see her look up too. She does not have a good face... ", that I’m going to have to hear horrible things, rumors about how you are..."     I sigh and stop looking for the camera for a moment, to focus on those brown eyes that look at me sadly and tiredly. I caress her face gently, and she leans into my hand, closing her eyes, letting out a sigh.    "Your opinion is much more important than what the whole world says about me" I whispers, and she looks me square in the eye "if I can live with it, everything else does not matter to me."     She smiles and nods slowly. I move closer to hers lips and kiss hers. She corresponds to me by placing her hand on my face, caressing me lovingly.    “I will always defend you, Jake” she whispers close to my lips "It doesn't matter what it is about, I'll always be by your side” she runs her fingers over my lips, tickling me with the delicacy that treats them ". If the whole world turns its back on you, I will offer you my hand."     I smile when I hear her words, which make me feel warm.

 Macie is everything good I ever thought I would have in this life. And I will never let this thing we have end.

Chapter 43

[lovedvra]

March 31, 2024 I woke up at 3:54 a.m. It felt like an adult field trip. I was too excited to sleep the night before and still excited when I woke up. By 5:30 a.m. we were on our way, five ladies on a trip to be blessed by dance and song. 6:00 A.M. The service began with an opening hymn to “Oh Worship the King”, directed and choreographed by Marlon D. Simms, artistic director of the National Dance Theatre Company with Dr. Kathy Brown as musical director. NDTC is always on time, but they gave the audience five minutes to be seated. We were in for a spiritual treat. My favourite pieces were an excerpt of a 2003 Clive Thompson choreography entitled “Of Sympathy and Love” danced by Mark Phinn. Please give Mark more solos. This is the third solo I’ve seen him do and he gets better every time. My next favourite is “Blood Canticles” (1996) with dancers Marisa Benain, Kerry-Ann Henry, Tamara Noel, Mischka Williams with music accompaniment from NDTC Singers and musicians. It was a tribute to recently passed Dr. Brian Heap who was integral in the company’s and Jamaica’s cultural impact. I assume that most of my readers are new to NDTC, so let me introduce a few of the dancers that I am familiar with. Kerry-Ann Henry is the principal ballerina for NdTC and a lecturer of Dance at the Edna Manley College of the Visual and Performing Arts. Marisa Benain is a firecracker woman! She is a lawyer, CEO of Plíe for the Arts and dancer with NDTC. I’m sure she has many other accolades, but I love to see her on stage. “Luminosity” choreographed by Paul Newman and Amaya Gomes who is also danced this piece, made me want to throw an invisible fancy church hat and say “Yes girl, dance yah gyal! Dance!” My ultimate favourite from the day was “Creed”. Everyone held their breaths for this piece. This one made me excited for this year’s Season of Dance. I’ve tried to write about my experience watching the National Dance Theatre Company perform many times. Tears always well up in my eyes during their shows. I get  goosebumps too. I can’t help it, my spirit expands beyond what my body can contain and the appropriate response for the space isn’t spontaneous dancing or hooting and whollering from the audience. After watching my first Easter Morning show I can clearly say, that my eyes and heart respond since all my body can do is sit and sway as the pieces lift me to another creative realm. The synchronisation of choreography, dancer, song, lighting, costume, and stage props for each performance heals my connection to self, Jamaica and my African heritage bit by bit. I wonder if that was the intention behind each decision professor Rex Nettleford had in mind when began his journey with the company? It is refreshing to experience the continuation of that legacy through Marlon Simms’ leadership. To be honest, from the very first time I had the opportunity to watch an NDTC show in the Little, Little Theatre I’ve dreamt of being on that stage, dancing with them, rehearsing, pushing my body and creativity beyond limitations to make others feel what I feel every time I see dancers who love their craft perform. 8:30 a.m. I sat in my parents’ kitchen in awe. As I recounted the service with birds chirped their morning songs on the powerlines and from the trees. I felt so at peace that adding a spoon of brown sugar to my green tea felt like a blessed ritual. That’s how the arts move me. Without the arts where would we find respite amidst the chaos life brings? A grievous occasion such as Jesus’s cruxification is now the inspiration for a service of Movement and Music. The message and healing are there. They’re always available. All we need to do is tap in. Follow the page on Instagram @ndtcjamaica and stay hydrated lovelies.

[keiraagrelo]

Evaluation

In this project my narrative was about the repeater travel I take to university and back this led me to further explore textures in buildings and patterns and patterns i cloud see. I wanted to visually communicate direction and repetitiveness.

My reseach helped me develop me new ideas and to add onto previous outcomes to give them something more.

Primary research provided me with a good starting point gibing me something to work with and made my brain start ticking with what I could create, and back I am forgetful I noted every little ides I have then worked on it with what I learnt in my workshops and lectures. The primary research also helped me to start thing about colour scheme and what visually is going to look good with dull colours, which I have kept a hint of in every page I have done. My secondary tea sch gave me inspiration on other artists opinions and how they perceive their work, I would say the designers/ artist I have used mostly inspired the layout of my work.

In the middle off the module I came to a brain block and started to repeat my thinking process so I started to go out of my comfort zone and “messing around” with what teqniques would work well together. This is when I decided  to digital print over my screen print it was a big risk as I didn’t know  if it would affect my screen print underneath, but it worked out in my favour as the blue underneath made the digital more vibrant.

I have interpreted my my final images by making the into tessellation’s, collages, mark making and zooming into specific parts of the images.

I have linked the my primary research and out comes to my narrative by giving the the outcomes direction and layout and lines.

In the response to my images was colour was the main theme as I carried out the same colour she me through my sketchbook and finally out come this linked all my pages together and created flow.

All around i found that my strengths to be embroidery as I could fully show and put together a a creative piece, I felt as if this had more of my successful peices and I could let my creativity to spiral.

I am able to create a weave but I found it hard to relate it back to my narrative, as for me it doesn’t communicate anything but colour, which I found hard to link as I feel that for me to make a pice it has to have some sort of picture to know what it is.

One of my weakness would be writing the blog, as I find it hard to describe what i have done and why I have done it,

This also leads to me feeling like I read myself in my work.

The  most successful pice on my final outcome board would be the aqua film where the membrane dissolved i like this most because it shows the most skill and when I have shown other they could tell what it is, I think it’s a very subtle piece but is the most technical.

[lovesquarebebonkers]

Miraculous Soulmate AU (Ficlet)

If there's one thing that Adrien Agreste knows about his soulmate, it's that they are, without a shadow of a doubt, just about the clumsiest person to ever walk this Earth.

fell off a bench at school again, I am so so sorry

just stubbed my toe on my desk (currently taking my last breath as I write this) :(((

sorryyy, I absolutely FACE PLANTED trying to avoid tripping over a cat today, who was ADORABLE btw, but I'll try to do better, I promise!!!

Well, that, or they're a pathological liar who only says those things to keep him out of their actual business, but Adrien doesn't think that that's the case.

See, his soulmate is also quite possibly the sweetest person to ever walk this Earth, so that almost certainly makes up for all the mild scrapes and bruises that he often finds littering his elbows, palms, and knees, and even the lectures that he frequently has to endure whenever his father catches sight of them.

The way he sees it, they don't owe him an apology, or even an explanation, really, (it's not their fault that literally any mark that they weren't born with that appears on their body also appears on his) but they still go out of their way to write him cute little messages almost as soon as a new one, courtesy of them, pops up, which, as 'clumsiest person to ever walk this Earth' would suggest, is pretty regularly.

Although, Adrien guesses that they probably feel that they have to, what with the way that he'd taken a marker to his skin and carefully scribbled the words, 'Hi, I really hope that you're okay' next to a particularly nasty cut on his shin that had showed up one day.

It was around the time that they were both (presumably) at an age where it was no longer expected for children (who weren't as sheltered as he was) to come home all scuffed up after a day of being out and having fun with friends, and though Adrien hoped that his soulmate was just really into sports or playful roughhousing or something like that, he couldn't help but worry if they were being bullied or abused or something even worse.

omg hi!!! I'm good, thank you! :)

Not even a minute later, he watched in amazement as the letters slid across his skin, one by one, in response to his message– a message that he hadn't even really expected to be answered.

It was the first time that either of them had ever properly reached out, still practically kids and all, who weren't particularly interested in the whole 'person who was made just for you' thing as yet.

I'm just reallyyy clumsy, but I'm sorry that your shin is all messed up now too :(

I'll try to be more careful <3

Adrien had sort of panicked and simply sent a smiley face back, not knowing what else to say, but ever since that day, he's come to expect the neat lettering of his soulmate appearing somewhere near whatever new contusion that they're sharing.

It's been years now, and he still doesn't exactly say much in reply–

You honestly need to stop apologising! I'm just glad that you're okay <3

Need me to call a TOE truck? Haha get it ;)))

OH NO IS THE CAT OKAY???

– but it works for them, he thinks, (at least for the time being) and the messages always bring a smile to his face, even if he does still worry about his soulmate's well-being from time to time.

And honestly, how could he not when apology notes aren't even the only kind that they leave him?

Adrien's soulmate sometimes gives him song suggestions or movie and show recommendations too, or they just write to him to have a good day, and they claim that his all jokes are horrible, but send loads of laughing faces back at him anyway, and they doodle little pieces of literal artwork on the inside of his wrist when he asks for a 'tattoo,’ (which is probably what he likes best, even if he does have to cover them up during photoshoots) and it's just so, so nice.

They're just so, so nice, and it's not like he's pining away for them or anything, but Adrien thinks that he might actually be just as clumsy as they are, what with how hard he’s already fallen.

[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

[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. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Certain Type

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, fingering, oral, cheating

This is dark!Steve Rogers (and some side Bucky) and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve Rogers has an unhealthy interest in his TA.

for @evnscvll​‘s 3k challenge, I used the prompts Professor AU + ‘Don’t’ by Bryson Tiller

Note: A quick one shot for y’all ft. Professor Steve and a little sleazy Bucky too.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Reader📚

You smiled at Lauren as you handed her back her paper; the first assignment of the year. On the due date, Professor Rogers had shuffled them all up and handed you half the stack. That had been the same day as your first lesson. It had all been so overwhelming but more than a month and a half into the semester, you were starting to get a foothold.

“Have a good day,” You watched Lauren go, the last of the students to shuffle out into the hall. 

You grabbed the three papers left in the file folder and crossed to the podium. Your advisor, Professor Rogers, worked at erasing his slanted writing from the whiteboard. You waited patiently until he set down the eraser and turned to you.

“I have some leftovers.” You clapped the bottom of the folder on the wood. “Absentees.”

“Ah, yes,” He neared the other side of the podium and took the file from you. He flipped through the papers inside. “Only three? I think that’s a new record…” He closed the folder and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll hold onto them until next class.”

“Alright,” You nodded. “So… did you get a chance to look over my lesson on Kant?”

“I did,” He bent to grab his bag. “You know, I can really tell you’re a history major first… but it’s good. I’ll send you my notes tonight.”

“I’m trying to break that,” You went to the seat along the first row where you often sat when it wasn’t your turn to teach. You lifted your bag onto the seat. “Trying to focus less on the dry who’s and what’s and more on ideas.”

“Well, so far, you’re a quick learner,” He offered as you packed up your notebook. “We do need to go over the marking scheme for next week’s assignment. You able to make Saturday?”

“Uh,” You glanced at the icon on your phone screen. You had several unanswered and unread messages. “Actually, I’m… busy. I can stop by during regular office hours.”

“I try to keep that reserved for undergrads,” He inhaled. “But I wouldn’t ask you to cancel.”

“I can rearrange--”

“Boyfriend?” He interrupted. “Finally making time?”

“He’s been out of town,” You said meekly. “How about tomorrow? I can come to campus between your afternoon blocks.”

“Hmmm,” He dragged his fingertips over his trimmed beard. “Meet me at Smoky’s. I usually have a coffee there after my morning class.” He pushed the flap over the top of his bag. “They have great carrot muffins.”

“Works for me,” You lifted your leather bag and tucked your phone up your sleeve. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be,” He waved away your apology and went to the door. He opened it and waited expectantly. “We have lives. Some of us more than others.” He chuckled. “You deserve a Saturday to yourself.”

📚

You giggled as your head spun. Bucky pinned you beneath him as he rolled you over on the rug. What had started out as a none-so-innocent wrestling match had turned into your usual affair. He could never win an argument with you so it often ended with his lips, or his hand, smothering out your words.

Besides, you were eager for him. Almost desperate. Two weeks without him and you almost jumped on him the moment he opened the door. And after such a long week, you needed the stress relief.

His fingers tickled along your thigh and past the top of your stockings as he snaked beneath your skirt. You hadn’t started wearing them until you met him. He liked the short ones, especially on you. He pulled your panties aside and you gasped as his fingertips swirled around your clit. You latched onto his shoulders as his lips explored your throat.

“You’re wearing panties,” He growled.

“It’s cold out…” You breathed. 

“You’ve got a coat,” He nipped at your neck and slid his fingers down your folds. “Don’t you?”

You tried to close your legs and his pushed your knee down with his.

“Ah,” He warned. “None of your games.”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture,” You huffed. “I pay tuition for that.”

“We both know why you came here,” He lifted his head and pecked your lips. “How many times did you touch yourself while I was away?”

“That’s none of your business.” You snipped.

“Do you have toys?” His hot breath grazed along your cheek. “Do you think of me?”

“Bucky,” You whined as he poked his fingers inside of you. 

He purred as he dropped his head again and his teeth toyed with the tender flesh of your throat. He pulled your sweater up, rolling it with the tank top beneath until it was above your chest. No bra that day. He hummed and took you nipple in his mouth until your arched your back.

“Well…” He rolled your hard nipple between his thumb and index. “You’ve learned something.”

“Should I just come naked?” You asked.

“Preferably,” He chuckled as he ventured along your stomach, a trail of kisses and bites.

“Ugh,” You groaned as he brushed over your hips bones, his fingers still buried in you. 

He nosed along your pelvis and you tensed in expectation. He paused and raised his head. You looked down at him as his fingers stilled and he hovered close enough for his breath to tickle your cunt.

“What are you waiting for?” You snarled.

He smirked and closed the distance. His eyes never left yours as his tongue swirled around your clit and he sealed his lips around it. You gulped and let out a pathetic moan. His other hand gripped your hip and he hummed as your eyes rolled back and your legs hugged him closer.

“Ah, I missed you,” You stretched your arms out as you tilted into him. “Mmm, Bucky.”

He seemed pleased by your words as his fingers sped up and his tongue danced more firmly around your bud. You began to quiver as he set your nerves on fire. The knot inside of you tightened and the wire drew taut until you couldn’t bear it anymore. At once, you orgasmed, your hand flying down to grasp Bucky’s head as he lapped up your pleasure.

Panting, your body went limp and you laid sprawled out with his head between your legs, twitching as he drew out the ecstasy with his tongue. Slowly, he pulled away and slipped his fingers from inside you, rubbing them over your sensitive clit. He sat up and kneaded your thigh.

“Missed you too, baby,” He flicked open his fly with one hand. “God, I can’t wait any longer.”

Steve 📚

Steve hadn’t been to Bucky’s in a while. They usually met downtown for a beer or ended up at his place. As it was, it didn’t seem like they had much time for each other anymore. Well, Steve wasn’t surprised. His oldest friend was juggling a lot; his job, his fiancee, and apparently some new side piece.

He sat up as Bucky offered him a bottle of crisp beer. The top wisped as he accepted it and Steve felt its chill against his lips before he took his first sip. He sat back and bent his leg to rest over his other knee, rolling his ankle as he stared at the bare floorboards.

“What happened to the carpet?” He asked in realisation.

“It’s getting cleaned,” Bucky sat across from him and snickered. “You know, made a bit of a mess.”

“Anna?” Steve raised a brow.

“Nah,” Bucky shrugged. “She cancelled her flight. Apparently they had some emergency at the lab.”

“Hmm,” Steve rested the bottle atop the arm of the couch. “This other girl?”

“What am I supposed to do? I fly all the way to Germany for about twenty minutes of Anna’s attention. The last time…” He shook his head. “I just don’t know how to… end it. Don’t even know that I want to. I just want it to be over. Two years is a long time.”

Steve nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say. What advice could he offer? His last relationship hadn’t lasted long and had been so far back, he barely remembered more than her name. After a slew of bad dates and disappointing flings, he decided to focus on his work. Well, even that was becoming difficult.

“And when Anna comes back?”

“Well, you know, this girl, she’s still in college, she’s got a lot going on. It is what it is.” He said. “You know, she’d find another guy in an instant and forget about me.”

“College?” Steve blinked. He hadn’t known that. “A bit young.”

His cheeks burned. He wasn’t sure if he was reprimanding his friend or himself. The fact that Bucky was dipping into the campus pool reminded Steve of his own guilt. Sure, he hadn’t done anything, it was all professional, but his thoughts… His thoughts were what troubled him.

“You never… thought of it?” Bucky asked. “You spend so much time around these girls and you never even--”

“It’s against the rules,” Steve cleared his throat. “I’m there to teach. I do my job.”

“And when’s the last time you got laid?”

“Shut up,” Steve took a swig. “The carpet?”

“She’s funny. She likes to… play around first.” Bucky took a mouthful beer and his eyes turned dreamy. “It wasn’t me who ruined the carpet.”

“Mmm,” Steve jiggled his leg anxiously. The vision that flashed in his mind had him sipping again. It wasn’t Bucky and some faceless girl on the floor, it was him and the sweet TA. He cleared his throat and looked through the dark brown glass. “Just about done. You got another?”

“Maybe she has a friend?” Bucky offered as he stood.

He neared as Steve drained the last of his beer and handed over the empty bottle.

“Thirsty?” Bucky took it and disappeared, returning with a fresh one.

“Long week.” Steve rubbed his cheek as he leaned forward to take the second bottle. “Another ahead.”

“Well, I could ask her.” Bucky grabbed his own beer and stayed standing. “The young ones, these days, they don’t want anything serious.”

“But I do,” Steve grumbled. “Thanks but… no thanks.”

“Your loss,” Bucky said. “You know, she’s real wild. I took her to a baseball game. She hates the game but… what she did in the bathroom… wow.”

Steve gave a weak smile and chuckled dryly. He glanced around. The carpet wasn’t the only thing that had disappeared. That framed picture of Bucky and Anna was gone too and the mantle only held the antique gun mounted on mahogany.

“Too bad it’s off season now,” Bucky droned on as he lazily paced and drank his beer.

“Yeah,” Steve leaned back and felt something hard beside the cushion. 

He shifted but it poked him again. He reached down into the crevice as Bucky took the baseball he’d had signed years ago and began to toss it up and down as he complained about the last season. 

Steve pulled out the long cylinder and blinked at how familiar it was. He swallowed and tucked it into his jean pocket quickly as Bucky threw the ball in his direction. He barely caught it without spilling his beer and chucked it back with venom.

“The fuck, Bucky?”

“Good to see you still got it,” Bucky laughed. “Pizza?”

“Sure,” Steve huffed. “No pepperoni.”

“Boring,” Bucky said as he pulled out his phone.

Steve took a deep breath as Bucky set down his beer and lifted his phone to his ear. He stepped into the short hallway and greeted the other end, carefully placing an order for a large and a side of wings. 

As he did. Steve pulled out the pen and turned it between his fingers. The daisy pendant that dangled from the end, the initials etched into the rose gold, the little scratch along the tip. It was definitely hers. His stomach sank and he quickly hid it as Bucky’s voice died.

He’d have to be sure. He’d give it back to her the next day and see.

Reader📚

You were heartened by Steve’s interest as you finished up your last slide. The lesson had gone well and the class was interested in what could otherwise be a dry topic. You took questions but found many of them were simple enough. The students seemed to understand well enough and you reminded them to submit their next assignment by Wednesday night.

Several students stopped to ask you about your office hours before the room finally emptied. Steve approached as you slid your papers into your notebook and closed it. He reached over the podium and set down the metal pen. The one your mother had gifted you when you were accepted to your masters program.

“You forgot this,” He let it roll down to the lip and catch there.

“Oh my god, I’ve been looking for this,” You grabbed it and spun it in your fingers. “Thanks so much! I’d hate for anyone else to just claim it.”

“No problem,” His blue eyes were, for once, humourless.

“Where was it?”

His brows shot up and his lips parted. He looked over his shoulder then back to you.

“U-under the desk,” He pointed to your usual seat. “Caught my eye during one of my other classes.”

“Well,” You fiddled with it and gathered up your notebook. “It needs a refill anyway.”

You grabbed your bag and shoved your things inside. You were glad he’d found it, you had been convinced you’d left it at Bucky’s and he had been evasive since Saturday. Work, as usual. Well, what did you expect? He was older and unlike college boys, he couldn’t just skip.

“I liked it,” Steve hovered around you, a hand in his pocket. “I see you took my advice.”

“Oh, the lesson,” You looked up at him as you lifted your bag. “Yeah, well, it would’ve been a disaster without you.”

“Yeah?” He smirked. “So, you got another class now?”

“Thesis work,” You said. “Library.”

“Fun,” He remarked. “You know… if you don’t… if you need a quiet place, you can use my office. I have some stuff to take care of before my next block so…”

“Oh, I don’t… know, I wouldn’t want to…”

“It’s pretty big anyway. Even if I was there, I probably wouldn’t even notice you.” He said. “And there’s a bluetooth speaker in there. A gift I never really use but you’re free to.”

“I, um…” You considered the library and the stuffy, dry air. The noise of hidden food wrappers and buzzing whispers. “You sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Go on,” He grabbed his bag and checked his watch. “I don’t mind.”

“Twist my arm,” You accepted.

“I’ll have to unlock it for you,” He went to the door. 

“Uh, sure,” You followed him into the hall and waited as he locked up the classroom.

Silently, you walked beside him. You realised you didn’t have much to say about anything besides philosophy. You pulled out your phone. A message from Bucky. Finally. After days of radio silence.

“Sorry, baby, going out of town.” You hissed and blackened the screen.

“What’s up?” Steve asked as you followed him out into the late autumn chill.

“Nothing,” You shrugged.

“That boyfriend again?” He asked. 

“It’s whatever,” You grumbled. “Really.”

“I don’t know, it seems like every time I see you, he’s up to no good.”

“Well, he’s… busy.”

“And? You are too.”

“Yeah, but...I mean…” You were quiet as you walked along the campus path. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t--”

“I don’t mind. A little bit of impersonal gossip is… fun. And your secret’s safe with me.”

You glanced over at him and then around at the students all around.

“He’s older,” You admitted. “So… he’s always busy.”

“Older? Like what? A year or two?”

“A bit more than that,” You said nervously. “More…”

You were quiet again. He led you up the steps of the philosophy building and as he always did, opened the door. 

“...Your age.” You finished.

He blinked and tailed you inside, gesturing you up the stairs. You often did prep in his office so you didn’t need much guidance as he followed you up.

“Oh, old-old,” He scoffed. “I get it.”

You laughed, despite yourself and he came up beside you as you reached the third floor.

“You’re supposed to say ‘No, Professor Rogers, you’re not old’,” He chided as he rounded the corner and stopped in front of his office door. “Or something like that.”

“Sorry, I--”

As he reached into his pocket for his keys, a chiming tune filled the hallway. He pulled out his phone instead and apologized as he put it to his ear.

“Hey,” He cradled it with his shoulder as he fished for his keys. “What’s up, Buck?”

He shoved the key into the slot and the audible friction of metal in metal was like a knife to your heart. ‘Buck’? You frowned as he pushed open the door and waved you inside. He stayed at the threshold as he continued his call.

“Germany? I thought you said-- Ahh, okay, yeah,” He leaned on the doorframe. “Anna will be happy to see ya. Oh yeah, been a while.” He tilted his head. “We’ll reschedule. No problem. Yep. Have a good one.”

You waited anxiously as he hung up and stepped inside. He tucked his phone away and checked his watch again.

“Sorry, old friend. He’s going to see his fiancee and well--” He stopped himself. “Anyways, desk is there, speaker is…” He went to the shelf and pulled forward a rather expensive gadget. “Here. Maybe you’ll have better luck figuring it out.”

“Uh, thanks,” You nodded, almost dumbfounded as your mind began to whir. “I appreciate it. I won’t be more than an hour or two.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He said. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks, again.”

“Not at all,” He went to the door and turned back. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Sure,” You smiled.

He closed the door behind him as he went. You dropped your bag and fumbled for your phone. You tore it out of your pocket and swiped up. You searched through your contacts and hit call. It had to be a coincidence. Right?

“Hey,” Bucky answered from the other end, a din of activity around him. “I’m just about to fly out.”

“You’re engaged?” You hissed.

“What-- I-- How did you--”

“You are!” You snarled. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you! So have you been busy with work or with her?”

“Baby, it’s--”

“Don’t call me baby,” You retorted. “In fact, don’t call me. Ever.”

You hung up. A floorboard creaked and you turned around. Steve stood in the open door.

“Sorry, I… forgot to grab something,” He pointed past you. “I didn’t mean to--”

“I gotta go,” You bent to pick up your bag. “I’m sorry, I--” 

You neared but he blocked the door with his body.

“Bucky?”

“Your friend,” You uttered. “I didn’t know. I-- Did you?”

“No,” He answered. “Not until… now.”

“Well, now you do.”

“You don’t have to go because of-- I don’t care,” He said.

“I do. I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. He lied. How could you know?” He touched your arm.

“Isn’t he-- he’s your friend. You should be defending him,” You recoiled.

“And? He can be my friend and still be wrong,” He stepped closer and you back up, his hand lingered along your elbow. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Thanks, Professor, but I should--”

“Steve,” He corrected you. “I think we know each other well enough.”

He got closer again and you continued to retreat. He kicked the door closed behind him and you flinched.

“What are you--”

He leaned in and you were surprised by his hand on your chin. You dropped your bag and tried to wriggle away. He kissed you and you pushed against his chest. Your skin was alight as your insides wrenched. He parted, at last, his hand still around your jaw.

“What are you doing?” You breathed. 

“You deserve better,” His kissed your again and you bit his lip.

“Professor--”

“Steve,” He insisted and squeezed your chin.

“Let me go,” You grabbed his wrist.

He marched you backwards until you were against his desk. You clutched his wrist tightly but he didn’t budge.

“What? You’ll fuck him but not me?” He sneered. 

“It’s not-- you’re my advisor. I--” Your hand slipped down his arm as you panicked. “Please.”

“I’ve tried so hard not to think about it. About you.” He pushed you against the desk, bending you back until you were flat atop it, your legs hanging off. He loomed over you. “Thinking I was too old and yet I just wanted to have you... Right here… in the front of the class. Mmm, and then I find out you’re fucking him and I realise… you want it just as bad.”

“No, no, “Prof-- Steve,” You pleaded as his hand slid down to your neck. “I-- It was only… It was just sex.”

“Did you ever think of me when you were with him? Huh?” His lips were just above yours. “I thought of you. He told me about you but I didn’t even realise… I heard you do all sorts of naughty things.”

His other hand tugged at your blouse and you writhed helplessly.

“He told me you wore these little skirts for him,” He pressed his lips to your cheeks. “That you kept them on as he fucked you.”

“Steve,” You whined. “Stop!”

“Or what? It’d be a waste to toss away almost a semester’s work…” He snarled. “You know what they do to students who cross professional bounds? I have a duty to report such misconduct.”

“No, no, you--”

“Who are they going to believe?” He snapped. “Hmm, especially when it comes out you been fucking a man twice your age on the side.”

“They-- Steve,” You tried to catch his hand as he tugged on your pants. “You’re scaring me.”

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted our first time to be,” His hand snaked around and he pulled your pants down to your thighs in a single wipe. “That was before I knew how you like it.”

He held you down by your throat as he forced your pants past your knees, your panties twisted in the folds. He brought his foot up to push them further and free them from your ankles.

His hand flew back up your leg and he pushed two fingers against your cunt as you squirmed. He pressed deeper and rubbed along your folds as he bent over you again. He kissed you and drew back before you could bite him.

“You’re wet, kitten,” He purred. “We both know what you want.”

He toyed with you, flicking his fingers over your clit and dragging them back down. He repeated the motion several times until you bit your lips and slapped at the desk.

“Look at you,” He pushed his middle fingers inside of you and your back arched. “He didn’t care about you. Not like I do.”

He pressed the heel of his hand to your clit and curled his fingers. He squeezed and you gasped. He pulled his hand down and spread it over your chest, holding you down as he played with you. He sped up and his fingers clutched your blouse as he shook your body. You closed your eyes as you tried to resist the coil winding tightly inside you.

You mewled and he hushed you. You gritted your teeth and slapped your hand over his. He rocked his hand faster and you struggled to catch your breath. Your nails dug into the back of his hand and you pressed your lips together to hold in the sudden rise. You spasmed as you came atop the desk.

He slowed his hand and when he withdrew, you felt empty and cold. You opened your eyes as he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked clean his fingers. He hummed and ran his hands over your thighs. 

“Stand up,” He ordered. 

You stayed as you were, shaking, and stared at him. You drew your legs together and he pinched you.

“Now,” He growled.

You pushed yourself up and slid off the edge of the desk. He grabbed your open jacket and pulled it down your arms. Then he tore the hem of your blouse up and you were forced to raise your arms as he stripped away the cotton blend. Your bra fell loose as he swiftly unclasped the hooks and it fell away from your arms.

He grasped your shoulders and ran his hands down your front, cupping your chest as he took in every inch of you. He grabbed your arm and spun you to face the desk. He took your hands in his and placed them flat on the top. 

“Stay,” He bid. “I won’t tell you twice.”

His hand grazed your ass and he spanked you lightly. You winced and he reluctantly drew away. You trembled as you listened to him behind you. He dropped his jacket over your shoulder on the desk in front of you. Then his zipper whispered in the tense silence and he stepped closer until you felt his warmth against your naked back. He kicked your feet apart with his leather shoe and fumbled around behind you.

You flinched as his hand brushed against you and you felt him prodded along your ass. He leaned against you and guided your hand further over the desk. He dragged his tip along your folds, poking until he found your entrance. You tried to push away from the desk and he leaned on you heavier.

“He can’t make you feel like I can,” He rasped in your ear as he slid into you. “How does that feel, kitten?”

He impaled you entirely and your fingers curled against the wood. You gulped and hung your head.

“Answer me,” He wrapped his arm around your neck and forced your head up. “Be a good girl.”

“G-good,” You stuttered as he thrust into you.

“Yeah,” He breathed against your scalp. “Better than him?”

He rocked steadily against you as you struggled to keep yourself from folding over the desk. He grabbed your hip and sank his nails into the flesh.

“When I ask a question, you answer me,” He warned. “Like the good girl you are.”

“Y-y-yes,” You stammered as your thighs tingled. “B-b-better than… h-him.”

“Much better than I ever imagined,” His hot breath seeped into you as he nuzzled the crown of your head. “Fuck.”

You moaned as his arm wrapped snugger around your neck, his muscles hard through the soft fabric of his shirt. His flesh clapped against yours as he rutted into you. Deeper, faster. You slapped at his arm with one hand as your other remained planted on the desktop. You were on tiptoe as you orgasmed, barely muffling it as you bit down on your lip.

“That’s it,” He purred. “That’s it. Oh, kitten, I don’t think I can handle much more. Can you?”

He sped up again and your knees buckled dangerously. His arm tightened until he was choking you entirely, drawing you flush against him. You grasped at his arm and he pushed you closer to the desk until you were pressed to it. The soles of your boots, the only clothing still left to you, slipped on the floor and you came again as you fought for air.

“Ah, here I go.” He grunted.

He slammed into you as his other arm hugged your waist and he lifted you off your feet with his final thrusts. He spilled into you and slowed. As he still, he sighed and his arms loosened just a little. He turned you and rested against his desk, still inside you. 

He drew you into his lap as he slid back and bent his head against your shoulder. His hand fluttered along your cunt, hovering over it as he caught his breath.

“I’ll tell Bucky to leave you alone,” He muttered. “And you will do the same.”

[accioxreparo]

ink stains

synopsis: soulmate au in which every mark that appears on your body also appears on your soulmate’s body including, as you discover one day, drawings. Needless to say you’re determined to make your soulmate smile, even if you haven’t found them yet.

pairing: George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

warnings: none

a/n: Hi I’m late to the party but @thoseofgreatambition is doing a soulmate theme night and I’m a ho for soumate au’s so hopefully mine is decent enough lol also I may or may not be writing one for fred too but it’s taking me ages so 

tagging: @the-hufflepuff-of-221b

~~~~~~

When you were six years old you woke up one morning to dark stains splattered all over your face and arms. You were confused and quickly grew panicked, absolutely positive that you had contracted Dragon Pox overnight. It had taken an hour for your dad to calm you down enough so he could explain with a small grin that your soulmate must’ve spilled an inkwell on themselves. 

“What do you mean?” You had asked with wide, curious eyes.

“Well,” Your dad had reached for the bedside table and picked up a quil. “Everybody has a soulmate, Y/N. One day you start being able to see the marks that appear on your soulmate's body, permanent or temporary. For you, that day happens to be today.” He dipped the quil in a well filled with bright blue ink and handed it to you. “Why don’t you give it a try? Write your soulmate a message.”

“What if they don’t write back?” You had frowned then, suddenly worrying that maybe this mystery person on the other end would want nothing to do with you. 

“Well that’s okay,” Your dad had been quick to reassure you. “They might not be able to see the marks yet. But one day they will and I just know they’ll be ecstatic to know you’re here.”

After that day there was a constant stream of doodles all over you. Vines snaking up your ankle. Twisting patterns winding around your fingers. Planets and stars littering your collarbone area. Stripes of random colors all over your palms as you mixed new colors. The most detailed pictures were always on your left arm though, that was where you practiced new drawings. 

Occasionally you wrote a message but mostly you drew. Then one day you bought a book about charms to cast on drawings in Flourish and Blotts and you begged your dad every chance you got to cast them for you. After that at least a few pictures were always moving up and down your body.

When you got your very own wand at the age of eleven they were the first spells you practiced. By the end of your first year at Hogwarts you had mastered the whole book. Since then there was always a constant supply of different colored inks in your bag and pockets. The array of multicolored moving pictures that changed every day was your one connection to your soulmate. 

They had yet to write back. 

It had been ages since you first found your connection to your soulmate. You’d dealt with scars and bruises and occasional scribbled reminders but never once had you ever received even an acknowledgment of anybody seeing your drawings. 

You tried not to let it bother you, you really did. But it seemed like every single person around you had known their soulmate for years, in one way or another. Some days the smile you wore wasn’t quite genuine, the longing you felt growing a little deeper at times, but never once did you fail to decorate your limbs with gentle reminders that you were there for your soulmate to find on themselves. 

Not until that day. You were set to leave for school the next morning and your father had taken the week off of work to see you off. The two of you, your older brother, and your younger sister were probably too focused on the quidditch match you had going against each other in the backyard of your house. So much so that the bludger hit your way completely blindsided you. 

The match ended with panicked shouts, a trip to St. Mungos, and your left arm wrapped tightly in cloth bandages as it rested in a sling while your bones healed. 

It was only when you were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express that the strangest thing happened. Words scrawled in letters that weren’t your own had appeared on your right arm. 

Nothing new today? 

As you stared at the writing with wide eyes, more words appeared underneath those. 

I’m sure this is bending the rules but I had to know. Something’s wrong isn’t it?

Frantically you dumped out the contents of your bag, scattering them all over the floor of the compartment. You dug around the mess you had made until you found a self-inking quil. Just as you were about to write your response you caught sight of the bandages on your arm and gave a defeated sigh. 

“Would you like some help?” 

You looked up and saw Luna, a friend of yours a couple years below you, watching you with an amused smile. The two of you would always sit up late in the common room together, swapping theories and stories about anything and everything. 

“If you don’t mind,” You gave her a sheepish look and she only smiled before moving to sit next to you. 

“What would you like me to write?” Luna asked as she took the quil out of your hand. You smiled and told her, watching as she took your arm and wrote out your words for you. 

What makes you think something is wrong?

It was seconds later when you received your response. 

Not once in the six years since I’ve been able to see your drawings have you let a day pass where you don’t add new ones. What’s wrong? 

A smile graced your face and Luna was kind enough to help you continue the conversation happening on your arm. 

I’m fine. Just a Quidditch injury. I’ll have the bandages removed by tonight, don’t worry. 

Take your time. I don’t want you to hurt longer than you have to, love.

You were sure it was cheating, talking to your soulmate by writing messages on your arm. But if whatever soulmate forces were out there didn’t want you to talk to them then there shouldn’t have been such a simple loophole. 

That’s what comforted you late that night, now gently scrawling messy words quickly on your arm that had been broken only the day before. Never before had you been more thankful for Skele-Gro. 

Can I ask you something?

The print you wrote with was small on purpose, trying to keep as much room available as possible. It didn’t stop you, however, from doodling new little pictures on the back of your hand. 

Go for it.

Why haven’t you ever said anything before? Why now?

You stared at the words you had written for a few moments before sighing and heading to the bathroom that was connected to your room. Only after staring at the words covering both arms now for a minute or two did you start washing away the ink you had put there. 

For a minute you thought that you shouldn’t have asked. You stood in silence, watching as the remainder of the ink, the part written in your soulmates handwriting, was slowly washed away leaving only faint ink stains. Then to your relief a response came after it was all gone. 

I was worried. And let’s just say I’m not as artistic as you are, my talents lie in other places. 

For a second the writing stopped but then more words appeared, quicker than they had before. 

Also I may have missed seeing you draw new pictures for me a little too much.

You beamed at the words and walked back to your bed. After the curtains were pulled around it you lit the end of your wand and picked up your quil again. 

Do you like them? The pictures. 

The response was almost immediate. 

I love them.

***

“Miss Y/L/N.” 

You jumped in your seat at the sound of a voice calling your name. Slowly you looked up from where you were taking notes on nonverbal spells. Professor Flitwick stood only a few feet away with an exasperated look on his face. Meanwhile both of the Weasley twins sat at their desk looking quite satisfied with whatever they had just done. 

You’d been correct to assume they were behind whatever loud noise had been going on only minutes before. The desk the twins were sitting at was now charred and the other Gryffindors surrounding them were chatting excitedly about whatever it was you missed while your nose was buried in your charms book. 

Neither Fred or George Weasley missed the fact that you were trying and failing to keep back an amused smile.  

“You’ll be getting a new partner to do your project with,” Professor Flitwick lifted his wand and with a single flick a bag and a pile of unused textbooks was flying across the room and into the empty space next to you. “Mr. Weasley.” 

Both boys stood at the same time wearing matching smirks and chorused, “Yes, Professor?” 

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh when Professor Flitwick sighed and shook his head upon realizing that he really should have seen that coming. “Mr. George Weasley. Come meet your new partner.” 

Oddly enough said person didn’t look disappointed by the new assignment at all. Instead he grinned as he approached you, sliding into the chair beside you easily. 

You could count the number of times you had spoken to George Weasley on one hand. The first time had been during potions when he’d asked to borrow some foxglove for a pompion potion. It wasn’t the potion you’d been assigned to brew but you hadn’t questioned it. The second time he’d walked up to you and your friends after a quidditch match to congratulate Ravenclaw on their victory against Slytherin despite the fact that none of you were on the team. And the third time was only a few weeks before when he asked to borrow a spare quil in transfiguration. 

You doubted he remembered any of that though. 

“So partner,” George leaned on the desk, head resting on one of his hands as he looked at you. “What do you know about,” He reached over to look at the piece of parchment you’d been taking your notes on. “Nonverbal spells? That’s our topic?” 

“It is,” You nodded and reached for your notes, hoping he wouldn’t flip over the parchment to see the drawings you’d absentmindedly doodled during the lecture. “Is that a problem?” 

“Not at all,” George’s smile turned softer then as he stared at you, a fact which you noticed. You turned away quickly as you felt your face burn, hoping silently that it wasn’t too noticeable. “On the contrary. From what I hear you’ve already mastered a few nonverbal spells yourself Y/N, dearest.”

You froze then, not sure which revelation surprised you more. The fact that apparently you had developed a reputation without you knowing or the fact that George Weasley of all people knew your name. 

You tried your hardest to fight the temptation to ask how he knew you and why. 

“Class is almost over,” Your words came out rushed and a little too loud to sound natural. It wasn’t a complete lie. In just ten minutes you’d all be dismissed and that was hardly enough time to make even a small dent into your project. “We should meet sometime before our next class to get started if we want to have it done by the due date.”

“You’re so...ravenclaw,” George spoke after a few moments. When you looked at him again he was still giving you that same soft smile, a different sort of glint in his eyes than the one you were used to seeing every now and then.

For a second your thoughts drifted to the words scrawled on your right arm and the pictures on your left. They were covered up by the sleeves of your sweater as they usually were but you could picture the words you and your soulmate had written to each other earlier that day clearly. 

“Is that a bad thing?” You found yourself asking, for some strange reason not being able to bring yourself to pull away from George’s gaze. 

“No,” He shook his head gently almost immediately. “It’s perfect.”

***

You had to give credit where credit was due. When it came down to it, George Weasley could in fact step up to the plate. 

Even now, an early Sunday morning the day after a trip to Hogsmeade, he sat right in front of you. 

You knew for a fact he had been up late the previous night causing his usual mischief alongside his brother. One of the Ravenclaw prefects had been patrolling the halls and you overheard him complaining about having to send the twins back to their dorm for the fourth day in a row when he entered the common room.

It had made you smile. 

You’d spent at least a couple hours each day alongside George for the past two and a half weeks. Some of that time had indeed been spent on your project but you found it easier to talk to him than you thought it would be. You couldn’t even begin to count the variety of tales he told you just to hear you laugh.

That, however, meant that the two of you had developed a tendency to avoid your work resulting in you being behind. The next day the two of you would have to present in front of the class. You had already gotten away with postponing the presentation twice. 

The first time you had told Professor Flitwick that you needed more time to gather as much information as the topic deserved. The second time George had eaten one of the products he had told you he was working on, one he called a nosebleed nougat. It had worked like a charm and the moment you left the classroom with him he ate another candy and it stopped.

It was the only reason the two of you had woken up at that godforsaken hour of the morning on a Sunday. There was simply no other option now.

“I think all of our research is done and I can write up some notes for us to remember during the presentation,” You reached for another roll of parchment from your bag to do just that before dipping your quil in an inkwell filled with bright blue ink. “But we still need to practice some nonverbal spells for the practical demonstration. What do you think we should -”

It wasn’t until you looked away from the pile of books in front of you and at George that you realized he had dozed off.  His head was resting on his arms which were crossed on the desk in front of him and he looked almost peaceful for once. 

The corner of a piece of parchment was sticking out from under one of his arms and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly you leaned forward until you could reach the parchment and you began to sketch a field of flowers on the paper in various ink colors. 

You didn’t notice your own smile as you did so. 

Then the end of your quil brushed across George’s face and he almost immediately bolted up in his seat. After rubbing the sleep out of his eyes once more he looked over only to find you biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

“You look suspicious,” George narrowed his eyes at you playfully when he saw the look on your face, still not noticing the addition to his parchment. 

“Do I?” You smiled then as you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms in front of you. 

“You do,” He leaned forward on the desk again and the grin you’d come to see on a regular basis returned. “May I ask why?” 

“No reason at all. I’m just excited to learn some nonverbal spells is all,” You laughed as you stood from your seat, squinting a little at the late morning sun shining through the windows. “Speaking of, I’m gonna go search for some books a friend of mine recommended with some spells we could use.” 

“Do we not have enough of those here?” George said as he glanced at the pile of no less than seven books, none of which he could remember anything about. 

“Those are all on history and theory. We need something on practical application.” 

“Right,” George let out a sigh as he reached for one of the unopened books. “You’re lucky I like you. I can’t remember the last time I did this much reading for a project.” 

You hummed and then shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Don’t I feel honored.” 

“Just get on with it,” George glanced up from the pages of the book he’d been flipping through and at you again, this time with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Faster we finish with this, the sooner we can sneak into the kitchens for a late breakfast.” 

You were quick to agree. George watched as you disappeared behind one of the bookshelves. It was only when he was sure you were gone that he rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and reached for a quil, quickly scribbling a message to his soulmate on his right arm. 

When he was done writing the message he caught sight of the flowers that you had drawn on the corner of his parchment and he grinned. Almost absentmindedly he started drawing flowers around your own, albeit a little simpler than the designs you had made. It took a minute for his eyes to widen, quil falling out of his hand, realizing that the flowers you had drawn on the paper he had already seen dozens of times before. In fact, a variation of them sat on his left arm now.

***

Finally four hours later you and George sat in the kitchens which you’d found surprisingly empty. Breakfast and lunch had come and gone and the two of you had gladly accepted a variety of foods from a couple of the house elves. 

You were completely oblivious to the way George was studying you closely, trying as hard as he could to see if he was right. 

“Puddlemere United,” He said when he caught sight of the patch sewn onto the jacket you were wearing. “I take it you’re a fan?” 

“I sort of have to be,” You laughed a little when you saw the confused look flash on George’s face. “My dad is Puddlemere’s captain.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, promise,” You smiled as you shook your head. Without hesitation you pulled off your jacket, flipping it around so the back was visible, and pointed to a navy blue crest with the Puddlemere United logo and the word ‘captain’ across it in bold, golden letters. “Has been for a few years now and here’s your proof.” 

But when you looked at George he wasn’t looking at the jacket at all. Instead he was staring at the variety of words and pictures covering your arms. You could see his eyes darting back and forth and quickly pulled your arm away and under the table. 

“Wait,” He reached across the table and took your hand in his, slowly turning your arm around so he could see all every single stroke of ink. You could only watch as he gently traced the designs with his free hand. 

The moment was soft, intimate in the purest way. You swore you could hear your own heart thumping louder each second that passed. It reached its peak when George placed your arm on the table in front of the two of you only to pull off the sweater he’d been wearing. It was then that the breath you were holding in left you. 

Every single ink stain on your arms was perfectly reflected on his. Now that you looked closer you wondered how you hadn’t recognized his handwriting right away, you’d spent the last few months writing back and forth after all. You’d been so focused on the drawings and the writing that you hadn’t noticed what, or rather who was right in front of you. 

“I knew it was you, you know.” 

Your laugh was light when you finally dared to look at George once more. He was looking at you with pure and utter adoration and you were positive you wore the same expression. “Did you now?” 

“I did,” George grinned as he took your hand again, more confident than he had previously been. “Remember our first year when I asked you for that foxglove? I was supposed to nick it from one of the shelves but you had your sleeves rolled up and I swore I saw the edge of the stars you had drawn earlier that day. I went to get a closer look but they were covered again.” 

“And I suppose it was the same thing in transfiguration a month ago?” You shook your head with an amused smile as you thought back to the encounter. It all seemed so obvious now.

“It was. Same thing with the quidditch match a few years ago too,” He leaned forward as if what he were about to tell you were a secret. Suddenly it was like he couldn’t let you go, not that he’d ever want to now that he’d finally found you. “What made me almost certain though was the little drawing you left on my parchment earlier. I knew I’d seen those before.” 

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve kept your eyes open unlike me apparently,” You were beaming as you glanced down at the matching pictures present on both of you. “What do we do now?” 

“I’m glad you asked,” George immediately stood, pulling you up with him. He grabbed hold of your jacket still sitting on the table and started pulling you out of the kitchens. “Now that we’ve found each other we’re going to make up for lost time.” 

“By doing what exactly?” You asked, eyebrows raised questioningly and a slight smirk on your face. 

“Head out of the gutter, love,” George laughed as the two of you walked back up the stairs still hand in hand. He looked down at you with a wild grin on his face. “We’re going on our first date if you’re up for it.” 

You agreed instantly and happily followed to wherever it was George would take you, just as you knew you always would from that moment on.

[rokutouxei]

a solitary walk

genshin impact | G | 2478 | [ ao3 ]  side hu tao/xiao | hu tao birthday fic!

every year, hu tao lives her life the way she believes it ought to be lived—loud and outright. even if reincarnation was real, and that one day we might die and then return to the earth once again, we will only ever be living this very life once. only once in these special circumstances, with these people, in this environment. it’s not because she fears death—no, it’s exactly because she knows death will come to her in the end that she lives like this.

lives treating the stone lions like they were actual cats.

lives climbing up the treacherous cliffs of huaguang stone forest to write poetry.

lives spooking others, walking late at night along wuwang hill.

hu tao knows death like the back of her hand, which is why life means so much to her. why she lives so much of it.

there is only one year a day when the anxiety is stronger than usual. when hu tao feels like living through these ideals is simply not enough. when she begins to doubt her place among the living, when no funeral pyre of inner demons can clear her head. on this day, on her birthday, it’s the long journey taking her from liyue harbor to the solitary mountains of liyue that truly takes out the storm in her heart, heavy and pounding.

when she can be between the pages of herself, among the voices of people she hopes love her.

  -

   “going out today, director hu?”

zhongli is, as he usually is at this hour, promptly sitting in the study of the wangsheng funeral parlor, likely just having finished some morning lecture to the undertakers. hu tao hums, whizzing around him as she peers at what book he’s holding. a history on rex lapis.

“no business today, maybe we need to rework our advertising strategy,” she says, straightening her back. “with you here, i get free time to take a walk and think of better marketing tricks.”

“please don’t use me as an excuse to skip work.”

“aiya, what do you think of me? that’s not what i’m doing,” she pouts. then, she points at the book in his hands. “what were you reading?”

“the undertakers were interested in something i said about the themes of death in liyue’s history, and i was merely reviewing my history,” zhongli answers, strangely more somber than usual. “it is mortal to fear death, but it is to go beyond what it means to be mortal to try to comprehend death as greater than something to be afraid of. as with rex lapis, who surely has witnessed a great many losses in his long lifespan.”

“what do you think the divine feel about death, zhongli?” hu tao asks, hands behind her back, looking up at the mysterious man who always seem to know more than he let on. “do you think it still means anything to them, when they live across so much time and space?”

“i think, director hu,” zhongli says, “that every death can still leave its mark. the archons were mortal once, after all. to not fear death does not mean to not honor its rightful weight.”

“hmmm,” hu tao nods, deep in thought. “you may be right.” then, a clock down the hall begins to toll, and she is shaken out of her reverie. “aiya, what time is it! i have to go, thank you for entertaining my question. i’ll see you tomorrow!”

hu tao is just about out of the door when he speaks again.

“director hu?”

she blinks. “yes, mister zhongli?”

he gives a smile that feels like it bears too much memory. “happy birthday.”

hu tao only beams at him, and then hops out of the door.

   -

   hu tao still remembers the disdainful stares of some of the older, more conservative people of liyue once the kids caught up to her little “hilichurl song.” something about little children chanting about death and murder in such a joyful manner did not sit right with several of the elders. this reflected poorly on hu tao, but—

did it matter?

the kids were—are—having fun, the song is catchy and she wouldn’t be conceited to say that everyone in liyue knows it at this point…

she remembers the little boy who had run up to her, who had returned fresh from a funeral rite up in wangsheng, holding her still-ashen hand saying, “you’re the big sis with the hilichurl song! teach me! teach it to me big sis!”

she remembers being that young.

she doesn’t quite feel like being this old.

the least she can do is immortalize its transcience; she’d write all the poems on death for the living if she had to.

   -

   she encounters xingqiu, who has obviously just come from his daily perusal of wanwen bookhouse, two books under his arm and another clasped between his fingers. she comes up right up before him and goes—

“xingqiu!”

he doesn’t even flinch, long used to hu tao’s little antics. he finishes reading the paragraph he is on before putting the book down, smiling at her.

“well, what is my liege doing this fine day?”

“oh, i’m off to take an adventurous little walk! what are you up to today, young master?”

the honorifics turned pet names were special little sparkles in their conversation. it had become so normal between them they no longer think about it, but the others who overhear are a little more curious.

“to put a little spice into the lives of a young exorcist and an aspiring cook, would you like to join me?”

were it any other day, hu tao would have said yes. there was nothing quite like getting off work early and messing around with chongyun and xiangling, mixing up the ingredients, activating excess yang energy. but today was not that kind of day, so she shakes her head and gives a little smile at her friend instead.

“not today, unfortunately. but soon, for sure!”

xingqiu nods. but before he leaves, he pulls out a bookmark of pressed silk flowers from behind his back, and hands it to her.

“taken fresh from the wilderness.”

“you mean yujing terrace?”

“where i got it is of no matter—” xingqiu says, stifling a laugh, “but instead what message it brings. may you find good company on this special day of yours, my liege.”

hu tao smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes, the one that so few people see, and then pushes xingqiu lightly down the road toward wanmin.

“go cause trouble!”

    -

  the first half of the journey is a lot less tricky. at a certain hour every day, without fail, there are wagons that begin their trip from liyue to mondstadt. hu tao usually hitches a ride on one of these all the way to wangshu inn, where she stops for lunch.

wangshu inn has become such a common culprit to their little meetings that no one gets surprised to see her anymore, smiling and waving at everyone all the way upstairs to the top floor. (sometimes she even passes by the kitchen for some almond tofu, but, ah, yanxiao doesn’t really want her using the kitchen, if for the sake of the food she makes.)

today, when she gets there, she finds aether and paimon sitting at the tables at the very bottom, waiting for their meals to be served.

“hu taaaaooooo!” paimon calls and waves, to which she waves in response, hopping up the stairs to get to them.

“if it isn’t the mighty traveler and paimon! my offer for a discount coupon for accidents is still available, if you’ve changed your mind!”

aether ignores the joke entirely—wisely—and asks, “not staying at the parlor today?”

“aiya, does that seem like such a strange occurence? is it wrong for the director of a funeral parlor to catch a break?”

“...from offering discount coupons for parlors?” paimon turns to aether. “and why so far out here of all places?”

the traveler knows. “we haven’t seen him today.”

“do not fret! the ever omniscient hu tao knows exactly where he will be,” she teases. “can i join you for lunch?”

"wait!" paimon whines. "who's he?"

hu tao orders nothing festive, just some plain snapdragon salad and some fish, but verr goldet hand-delivers a little assorted tray of desserts anyway—red bean soup, mango pudding, custard—all on a celebratory looking plate. she whispers to hu tao: “from the young gentleman.”

and aether’s eyes go wide as plates in realization, but before he can say anything, hu tao hushes him with a finger, not wanting paimon to make a big deal out of it. the traveler only chuckles, paimon neck-deep into a bowl of noodles, and mouths happy birthday while facing the director.

once lunch is over, they talk a little until their stomachs settle with the food, but then they are on each other’s ways. aether and paimon, headed up to mingyun to clear out a camp of hilichurls that have been causing trouble, as commissioned by the guild. hu tao, to qingyun peak, where the clouds can brush over her cheeks.

“are you gonna walk all the way there?”

“oh, it’ll take me just a few hours. i’ll get on any patrolling millelith carts if there are any. i’ll be fine. thank you, traveler!”

“take care, hu tao!” aether calls out. “and send my regards!”

   -

   “i knew i would find you here,” hu tao says, as she lands ever so gracefully on one of huaguang stone forest’s highest peaks. xiao sits there, cross-legged, with his eyes closed. the exhaustion from the journey sinks into her bones as soon as she sees him, as if knowing she will find rest in him—perhaps the same way the sun has sunk dark blue into the horizon.

“i’m here because i knew you’d be here,” he retorts. not even turning to face her. hu tao sinks wordlessly next to him, her hand on his lap.

she loves the way they fit together like this, two puzzle pieces magnetized to each other.

“thank you for the desserts.”

he places his hand over hers and squeezes.

xiao has never been the type for comforting words. the best he can offer is his understanding silence, the kind that makes hu tao know he can comprehend what is going on in her little, mortal mind--even when she herself is not sure where exactly her thoughts are taking her.

“i wanted to bring you almond tofu, but it would have melted on the way here.”

“you don’t need to worry about me.”

you know i’ll worry about you anyway.

worry about yourself.

i already do, why else do you think i’m here but for rescue?

here in huaguang, the breeze silences everything in her mind that speaks, so that all that remains is this: just her, just xiao, just liyue’s star-dotted night sky.

just good company.

no dead, no ghosts, no demons. just them.

they stay there until time seems like it stops existing.

the thing about xiao and hu tao’s relationship is that somehow they always find each other perfectly as one needs the other. it has always been like that from the beginning. from the very first time hu tao had gotten herself lost around mt. aocang, cornered by a family of geovishaps hell-bent on getting her for disturbing their nap; to when hu tao had found xiao slumped against a tree, bloodied with his mask on his face and near unable to breathe, her presence and stupid humor like exorcising the demons clinging onto him;

they find each other always, as if sensing death on the other, and they come to the rescue.

without even needing to call out each other’s names.

hu tao, leaning against him like deadweight, turns her hand around so they can interlock their fingers together. xiao does so wordlessly, and hu tao memorizes the warmth of him against her skin.

keeps it in the back of her mind for when he isn’t around.

they speak without speaking, passing each other the same old questions like they always do.

what if i die today?

you’re not dying today, hu tao.

what if i die tomorrow?

you’re not dying tomorrow, xiao.

who will take care of you when i am gone?

who will remember huaguang like these, starry nights with our hands clasped together?

who will i come to when i’m in need of aid, when i need someone who sees death as i do?

don’t go, it’s too early to do so.

hu tao only voices out one of many, many thoughts passed between their intertwined hands, when she says, “when death finally comes for me, thousands and thousands of years before yours, adeptus xiao…”

xiao hums.

“remember me?”

he scoffs just the littlest bit and hu tao knows he means always. “rest,” he says, as xiao turns and presses a kiss on the side of her face, tucking a pair of qingxin flowers with braided stalks behind her ear. one he’d made before she’d arrived, prepared to find her in this state.

“for sweet dreams,” he promises.

    -

  while in his arms hu tao dreams of her grandfather.

she is watching her young, 13 year old self host her grandfather’s funeral, incredibly young and small and out of place in the grandeur. her yéyé liked grandeur, and it was hu tao’s mission that day to make sure that everything about his grand goodbye went the way it was planned.

it was hard.

she was calm, and composed, and so unlike the hu tao the rest of liyue knew that day. she was solemn during the entire ceremony, not a twinge of a smile or a frown on her face, just calm and detached like it wasn’t her grandfather she was preparing to set off. like his hat wasn’t sitting on her desk at home drenched in her tears.

the present, older hu tao looks on to spot the little signs of breaking left unnoticed by everyone else, like the little ticks at the corner of her mouth, her hypercontrolled breathing, the way she squeezes the staff she’s inherited specifically for this day, under her grandfather’s request.

and while the younger hu tao does not catch him, the older hu tao spots her grandfather among the trees, standing there with his hat still on, in his usual garb, the kind that reminds her of chanting poetry in the afternoon and—

—he smiles.

at younger hu tao, then, eventually, at her, older, smarter, more mature hu tao, as if saying:

thank you.

you’ve done so well.

before he disappears into a fog of light.

hu tao does not feel the need to follow.

   -

   hu tao wakes up in her room in wangsheng funeral parlor smiling, feeling the clouds still on her face, qingxin still in her hair.

[sleptwithinthesun]

Oooh, anything for T/op G/un with someone having a cold.

going with w/olfman because he's my favorite ngl. i tried to tame the plot, no idea if it worked, but i still hope you enjoy 1.2K words! regardless of whether or not this is actually good, i'm going to try to write something else for t/op g/un this week as well, and that should be more... focused than this one is lol

Hollywood really shouldn't be as surprised as he is to learn that they have time off while at TOPGUN, but nevertheless, it manages to catch him off guard. He's not complaining, though; they've been flying two hops a day for the past five days straight, not to mention all the aviation lectures scattered between them. Out of the two of them, Wolfman's the one who needs to constantly be busy, not Hollywood, and the approaching weekend is much appreciated.

They even stay in that Friday night to take full advantage of it, remaining on-base instead of joining the majority of their classmates over at the O Bar. Hollywood's sure they'll hear about the night's events in the morning, so for now, he's perfectly content to settle into the couch of their shared housing while Wolf takes the floor, picking at a loose thread on the rug until Hollywood reaches down to slap his hand away. "Quit it," he murmurs, gentle, then jerks his head towards the console to their left. "Check if there're any board games in there, alright?"

Wolf nods, only standing after a few seconds pass where his face goes completely blank, like he's just forgotten what Hollywood said even though there's been nothing to distract him from it. It wouldn't be the first time this has happened, though, and Hollywood bites down on a smile as his RIO stands and crosses to the console. "Which game d'you want to play?" he asks, poking through the various boxes.

"They got Clue?"

He waits patiently for a response as Wolf searches, then calls, "Yep!"

Hollywood's already shifted to the edge of the couch by the time the other returns, the box for Clue in his right hand and two pencils clutched in the left. He tosses one towards Hollywood, who manages to miss it in a display of startlingly bad hand-eye coordination, rolling his eyes when the younger laughs at him.

"Come on, I wasn't expecting that," he protests, but he's grinning too. Wolf sets the box down on the table, letting Hollywood open it up while he takes his place on the floor again, one arm resting on the table as he spins his pencil between his fingers. Ice taught him how to do that on their second day, and since then, Wolf's been doing it almost obsessively. Hollywood doesn't think he even realizes he's fidgeting, though, not with the attention he's still able to give their lecturers and the ease with which he slips the pencil back into position in order to take notes.

Hollywood wordlessly passes Wolf the red piece, to which he wrinkles his nose and turns the board so that he no longer has to be Miss Scarlet. Instead, he gets Miss White, and Hollywood, being seated to his left, takes Professor Plum.

As he's slipping the three murder cards into the envelope, Wolf twists and coughs suddenly into his elbow, putting a hand down on the floor to stabilize himself as they slowly intensify.

Hollywood's brow furrows, and he glances over at him as the fit peaks. "Jeez, you alright?"

Wolf nods, coughing a few more times before turning back. He inhales deeply as he takes his cards and paper, placing the latter on his knee and beginning to check off what he has. "Yeah, just choked on my spit," he dismisses, his voice a bit strained when he speaks. "'M ready whenever you are."

Hollywood hasn't even looked at his cards yet, but okay. Sure. Whatever Wolf says. "Hold on, kid," he teases, smiling when Wolf sends him a halfhearted glare, already used to the term.

He fiddles with the rest of the pieces while Hollywood marks down his cards, then stares at his RIO for a moment. He's been more restless than he normally is today, and while Hollywood's sure some of that is just because they don't have any explicit work to do for two whole days, but there's something else to it that he can't quite place his finger on. He and Wolf have been flying together for two years, ever since Wolf first joined their squadron, but he still doesn't know everything about the younger aviator.

Still, he taps him on the arm and asks, "Alright, you ready to begin?"

Wolf nods, dropping the other pegs back into the box and turning his attention to the game. Truthfully, Hollywood knows he hates Clue because the gameplay is non-linear, but Wolf's also annoyingly good at it when he's not hung up on the intricacies of the layout. His first roll gets him a four, and he creeps slowly towards the ballroom.

"We should have tried to get Ice and Slider in on this," Hollywood comments as he shakes the die. "I'm pretty sure they stayed in, too."

"Yeah," Wolf murmurs, then turns and pulls his elbow up to his face. "h'shhiew! shiew!"

Hollywood looks up from his piece, now closer to the study than it was previously, and blesses Wolf before handing the die back. The younger sniffles, presses his knuckle to his nose, and ducks into his elbow again. "Sorry, h-hang on... h'eshh-schiew!"

"Bless you again," Hollywood says, brow furrowing in confusion but lips twisting in amusement. He doesn't comment on the higher pitch of the little fit, even though it's kind of cute.

"Thanks," Wolf murmurs, "sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"Sorry—"

Hollywood sends him a deadpan glare. "What did I just say?"

Wolf opens his mouth, probably to apologize again, then shuts it and shakes the die instead, rolling it and moving up two spaces before passing it over to Hollywood without another word.

After he rolls, Hollywood glances at his paper again and says, "Okay, uh, I'm going to suggest... Mr. Green in the study with the lead pipe."

Wolf sighs and shows him his card with the study on it, and Hollywood crosses off the space on his paper. "Why'd you choose Clue?" he whines, taking the die back and rolling it, moving his piece into the ballroom. "I'm suggesting Miss Scarlet in the ballroom with the candelabra."

"Candelabra?"

"The thing that holds the candle?"

"That's a candlestick, Wolf," Hollywood tells him, "and seriously, what's your issue with Miss Scarlet?"

"She sucks," Wolf states plainly, then looks at him expectantly.

Hollywood shuffles through his cards, then says, "I've got nothing."

"Are you fucking serious?"

He drops his pencil, repeating his suggestion as a mumbled accusation as he reaches for the envelope in the middle of the board, his head dropping against Hollywood's shoulder a second later. "Game finished. Please, can we go hang out with Ice and Slider now?"

"Why do you hate Clue so much?" Hollywood huffs, laughing as Wolf just groans into his shirt. "Fine, help me clean up and then we can go over to their place."

Wolf immediately starts sweeping the murder instruments into his hand, dumping them unceremoniously into the box as Hollywood's slightly more gentle with the pegs and die. "They're down the hall, in two-oh-two."

"I'm not even going to ask why you know that."

"Good."

Hollywood shakes his head to himself, placing the top back on the box and leaving it on the table. They'll put it back when they return.

"ekshiew! shhiew!"

"Bless you for, what, the third time now? You feeling okay?"

"Sounds right," Wolf says, rescuing his pencil from the floor and walking over to the dining table, where the folder with all of his notes and homework (Hollywood insists on calling them "assignments", but Wolf has no such qualms about essentially being back in school) is. "Maybe a little bit off, but 's probably just whatever the fuck this California pollen is or something. Are you good to go?"

"Mm-hm," Hollywood hums, nodding, and lets Wolf lead the way.

[boxofbadaddiction]

Crazy Bitch

Song Inspired

George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: Smut. Swearing.

Note: First full smut piece. So the writing's pretty bad.

[Y/N] was always known to have a hot temper, and for being quick to the draw when it came to hexes or defensive charms, against anyone who poked her in the wrong way. At face value she was the perfect example of a Slytherin. Dangerously ambitious and just a stone cold bitch. Though not many people got the chance to find out that was far from the truth. She had built very high, very strong walls around herself from a young age to keep herself from ever being hurt and as such developed a rather fierce reputation. Given which meant there weren't many people daring enough to cross her.

Of course the Weasley Twins, however, weren't like other people. They saw her as a direct challenge on their mischief making abilities. At least they did in the beginning. I mean...a Slytherin with a reputation of being untouchable? They're just begging to be pranked. But now, the boys tended to avoid pranking her after learning the hard way that her idea of payback was not an equally elaborate prank or perhaps a stern lecture but more rather...painful.

On two separate occasions Fred had found himself, stunned, flying backwards through the air. George was a tad more fortunate but still had a fair share of hexes thrown his way. Safe to say they definitely learnt their lesson. After 5 failed attempts, which landed themselves some rather ugly bruises, they agreed the hassle just wasn't worth it and gave [Y/N] quite a wide birth where they could.

George recalled the last prank they had played on [Y/N]. One which left her with bright maroon hair. [Y/N] confronted the laughing boys that day and had let her wand do most of the talking for her. She had began by shouting at them to get some steam off her chest.

"Oi, mind the accusations [Y/L/N], what makes you think it was us?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Because no one else in this school is stupid enough to pull a prank on me. I thought we'd settled this boys. Don't. Provoke me."

Fred let out a haughty laugh as if to challenge the angry Witch infront of him.

"Dunno, you look well enough provoked to me. Never thought I'd see the day someone would have brighter hair than us, eh Georgie" he elbowed his brothers arm playfully as they both began to laugh.

[Y/N]s hand twitched toward her wand and it was enough for George to know the time for jokes was over and that things were indeed about to get very messy. He cleared his throat before speaking, "it was just a joke [Y/N/N], it'll wear off in an hour or so...hopefully"

The look she shot him at his words were enough for him to back down, bowing his head slightly. He knew better than his brother who, had evidently, opted to poke the bear that bit further.

"Come off it, won't ya? If you ask me it's an improvement" he jested, flicking her hair slightly with his hand.

Bad idea. [Y/N]s wand was drawn and, before anyone could register what happened, Fred was promptly flying down the length of the corridor. Georges eyes followed his brother, drawing his own wand and raising it as he turned back to the furious slytherin in front of him.

"Expelliarmus!" she bellowed and Georges wand flew into her grasp.

She began advancing on him slowly, his own wand raised at his chest as she starred directly into his eyes. George backed up, soon finding himself pressed firmly against the castle wall. She walked toward him until their chests were just about flush. His wand stabbing into him, not enough to hurt but enough for it to sting, and he knew there'd definitely be a mark left when this was over. He flattened his head to the wall as she slid the wand up slowly till it was pointed into the crook of his neck. George swallowed thickly and cast his eyes down to meet hers. She was smiling, wickedly, he would never admit it but this was sort of a really big turn on. A gorgeous and confident Witch putting him in his place? To George there was nothing hotter. His mind got lost as his eyes searched her face and slowly ventured down her neck, then to the slight cleavage protruding from her blouse, visible only due to his great height advantage. He swallowed again as he watched her chest heaving lightly while she drew slow, long breaths to steady her heartbeat. It wasn't till she spoke he realised just how long he hadn't been paying attention to the dull stab on his throat.

"I'm warning you. Prank me again and I promise you..." she paused as she moved his wand swiftly down from his throat so it was prodding directly into his groin, he gave a small grunt and pushed his head back with tightly closed lips to try avoid the not so gentle pain she just inflicted, her eyes never left his face as she continued to speak.

"You'll lose more than just your wand next time. Are we clear?" She gave a quick glance down and smiled back at him sweetly. He nodded repeatedly. Forcing the wand slightly harder into his crotch she spoke again "I said. Are we clear!?"

Grunting George spoke fast "Yep. Yes, absolutely, painfully clear."

Retracting the wand from it's owners flesh she smiled and whispered "good."

With that she stepped back from him, George let out a hard breath he had been holding. She raised her arm to his eye level and dropped the wand she'd disarmed in front of him. He fumbled over air for a moment in an attempt to catch it. He turned to see her striding past Fred as he returned rubbing the back of his head and lower back with a confused and hurt look.

"What's the deal? I get flown half way cross the castle but you just about get wanked off?" His brother chuckled "What'd she say?" They both watched as she disappeared round the far corner at the end of the hall.

"She threatened to take off my balls if we prank her again." Fred laughed at this

"Well, Georgie boy, there's worse ways to go. At least she's hot." He shrugged and clapped his brothers back as he began to walk the opposite direction to where [Y/N] had strided away. George mumbled a faint "mmm" in response, his eyes still cast after her as he rubbed the place on his neck where his wand had been jabbed. After a few long seconds and a call from his twin he finally turned to leave.

Things didn't get better from that point on. Although the boys had admit defeat and stopped trying to prank her, there was still a resounding amount of tension between the three. [Y/N] and George most of all. It seemed that whenever the two of you were within eye sight of each other it was inevitable they were going to fight. Near every time they saw one another they wound up screaming.

So, all in all given the mutual hate/hate relationship with one another, it was safe to say that George was beyond shocked to find himself currently, and yet again, pulled tight between her thighs on a desk in an empty classroom frantically clawing at the various layers of clothing separating their bodies from one another. Lips locked in a heated and deep kiss that left both gasping for air. He was tearing at the buttons of her shirt as she fumbled with the clasp of his belt and jean zipper.

This had become a somewhat regular occurrence between them. They both hated each other but whenever they were alone neither could restrain themself.

If they were to run into one another past curfew, there was always somewhere to hide and fuck one anothers brains out. Caught alone in a hall between classes, they'd suddenly find themselves clumsily shoved into a hidden passage or cupboard pashing intensely or otherwise involved in some other not suitable for school activities.

By this point they had probably snogged in every closet of the castle, and fucked in just as many empty rooms.

It hadn't been easy of course, for George especially, having to lie to his brother was something he always hated to do. So when he asked where the scratches on his neck and shoulders came from things would suddenly become uncomfortably awkward between the two. For a few minutes anyway, until Fred eventually would drop the subject.

He could only imagine the questions [Y/N] was being bombarded with when people noticed the countless hickies littering her skin. Questions he knew were being asked due to the circling rumours he'd heard of the marks. He could never help himself. Leaving love bites over her soft skin was one of his favourite things to do in the moment. He'd be sure to leave a few fresh ones again tonight.

As his belt came loose he shimmied his jeans down the rest of the way, stepping out of the bunched material. The sound of his pants hitting the floor excited [Y/N] further, wrapping her legs tight around his waist in anticipation, she rolled her hips into his seeking friction. This pulled a deep groan from George as he threw the girls shirt aside haphazardly, lips still locked with the others.

Breaking the kiss only to pull his sweater over his head, while he removed her tights. He snaked an arm around the girls lower back and pulled her flush against him as his other found it's way into her [Y/H/L] hair to bring their lips back to his once again. She reached eagerly for his buldge and palmed him gently a few times, over the thin material, before sliding a hand below the band of his boxers. Taking a firm grip to his member he moaned and detached her legs from around him completely. Bringing the hand he had placed on her lower back to pull off her lace underwear. Gasping as the cold air struck her aching core, and the cold desk top hit her bare ass she immediately threw her legs over him again but this time the grip in her thighs around his waist was notably tighter. The hand that'd been supporting herself on quickly came to grip Georges shoulders. He used his free hand to finally remove his boxers completely and she lined him up with her soaking entrance. Both moaning as his tip made contact. Unable to wait any longer [Y/N] looked into Georges eyes, breaking their needy kiss once again, seeking premission to continue. He nodded as he buried his head into her neck and she brought him in by her legs. Unable to restrain the whine that left her lips as she adjust to his size.

Chest heaving against his, [Y/N] moaned his name and bucked her hips to let him know she were ready. With a deep growl from his throat and a final kiss to the nape of the neck he began to thrust, at first slowly, but both knew by now how the other liked it and so soon he was fucking her with as much force as he could. Pressed tight against one another she were scratching for grip on his shoulders as he pulled her into him with both hands on her lower back. [Y/N] was fighting with all her strength to stop herself moaning too loud. He was lightly biting at the skin of her chest to keep from doing the same.

[Y/N]s mind wandered for a moment to what would happen if a teacher were to walk by. They'd stop abruptly at the sound of soft moans and gasps coming from the meant to be empty room, mixed with the rhythmic beat of the old desks legs being rocked off the floor with every hard thrust from George's hips.

Suddenly she were snapped back from her thoughts by a tightness in her abdomen and the feeling of Georges strong hand reaching up to wrap around her neck.

He pushed her down so her back was flat against the cold wooden desk top, grip on the throat tightening. [Y/N] knew he was getting close. That was his go to finishing move. He'd choke her against the surface of, whatever, they were having sex against and use his free hand to stroke her sensitive clit as his speed violently increased. As he pounded into her, her mouth opened in a silent plead for release. His breathing was rapid and he could be heard grunting with every thrust as he tried desperately to hold on until she came first.

Then for the first time, in a long time, George did something new. Lifting one of her legs over his shoulder as he fucked her. She had to bite her lip to stop from screaming now, but any attempts to remain quiet were futile against the loud moans escaping her dry mouth as he pounded directly into her g-spot. Feeling his hands grip loosen around her throat and travel to the baseline of her hair, George pulled their faces towards one anothers. Placing a rough kiss to her lips he leant to speak in her ear, whispering in a husky voice "scream if you need to, just let it go." They'd never spoken much during these encounters and his new position coupled with his coaxing tone got her heart racing faster, chest beginning to heave. "George..." she whined into him and tightly shut her eyes, he chuckled at the pleading "I know." His finger on her clit began to press down and circle faster, and her breath began to falter and shudder under his touch. Head falling forward into the crook of his neck "George!" She moaned loudly this time nearly shouting. "Look at me." He comanded, pressing his forehead to hers. She tried to obey but the pleasure was too much, it caused her head to drop again.

He clasped her jaw in his hand that had been pulling on the hair at the back of the scalp, forcing her to stay at eye level with him. "I'm not going to last much longer, so it's bloody well time you fucking cum." he growled.

[Y/N]s toes began to curl and she bit her lip "fuck" she breathed. Another loud moan leaving her lips, tightening around him as her orgasm approached. Unable to stop the sounds issuing from her own mouth now. With one final hard thrust from his hips she screamed. There wasn't a doubt in their minds that, had there been a teacher or prefect in the corridor outside they'd be promptly storming toward the room.

Feeling her unravel beneath him George let himself come undone. Letting go to step back, giving a few final tugs on his cock, he'd readied himself to cum when suddenly his movements were cut off by [Y/N] jumping down to his feet and taking him whole in her mouth. Running tongue over his swollen tip and right down to his thick base, she could taste herself on him. Gently grazing teeth over his sensitive skin it didn't take much and he came hot and heavy into her mouth. Gripping a handful of her [Y/H/L + C] hair as he did so.

Licking lips as she stood and she pulled her body close to kiss him deeply. Only stopping when she felt him shudder slightly from poorly restrained laughter. [Y/N] looked up at him with furrowed brows to which he smiled brightly.

"Fuck...you're a crazy bitch." The girl looked at him sternly as if to ask 'seriously?'.

"Am I now?" She asked trying to hide a smile, given the circumstances it was a little difficult to remain angry at him - after all he does look fucking gorgeous after sex.

"Yeah, you are." He grabbed her and pulled their sweaty bodies flush together once more. Slowly he traced his fingers up across her bra strap, along the vein in her neck to behind her ear, "but you fuck so good, think I'm on top of it." He kissed sweetly.

"We really need to go" [Y/N] mumbled into his lips and swiftly turned away from him to begin getting changed. He huffed and frowned at the abrupt break in closeness but lightened when he recalled the past events.

"True. I guess, even though the whole castle heard you having mind blowing sex, I don't think the staff on patrol will appreciate catching us half naked" he joked pulling on his jeans and stuffing his underwear in his pocket. Throwing his jumper at him she ran her fingers through her hair and made to leave when a whistle from behind made her turn.

George was leaning against the tainted desk with his arms folded and a grin on his face. She raised an eyebrow at him impatiently which only caused his smile to widen as he raised one hand to show a pair of lacey pink panties dangling from his forefinger. "Can't forget these, love."

She snatched them from him and left with a scowl like nothing in their relationship had changed. George couldn't contain his smile as he shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly left the room heading for his dormitory, laughing to himself he commented "Crazy bitch".

[where-dreamers-go]

“Dark Choices” Luke Skywalker x Reader

(A/N: So this was suppose to be an imagine and it quickly grew beyond my control. I was inspired to write a Dark Side!Luke Skywalker after reading an insert reader from the lovely @moonlit-imagines. This insert reader has morphed A LOT. That’s what happens when I just jump in to write without an outline. So instead of turning to the Dark Side, I wrote where Luke tapped into the Dark Side and explored his reactions and such. I love writing for Star Wars. How come I don’t do it more often?? Also platonic relationship with Luke! He’s a sweetie! Part of @girl-next-door-writes Bingo Challenge! Bingo Card: Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Angst. Canon violence and language (their curse words). Death (the Empire isn’t getting away with anything today). I used meters for estimated distance. Injury/Wound mention, but not described. Word Count: 3,661 words)

The rendezvous point was well behind you and the departure time had long since passed. Your group’s part of the mission was complete and reported in. The other part of the mission, Commander Luke Skywalker’s, had yet to be determined.

Something’s wrong, you thought as you gained sight of the caves up ahead. Soles of your boots padding quietly atop of rocky ground.

The Imperials had been looking for something and destroying the environment in their path. Skywalker’s job was to figure out what the subject of their interest was.

Luke had not reported in nor had he made any sign of arriving to the rendezvous. Contact had not been reestablished since he had found the caves.

Where is he?

Signs of Luke’s whereabouts was laid around the area. At least two different classes of stormtroopers had been taken out either by their own blasterfire or a lightsaber. Burn marks littered the rock faces, cargo crates, and stormtrooper armor.

He must have cleared the area. You kept a hand on your blaster pistol just in case. Cautiously nearing the closest of the cave’s mouthes, you stayed low. You were not sure if there were any more scouts in the area. It was relatively quiet much to your suspicion.

It was not in Luke Skywalker’s character to not report in when scheduled. Being that he did not, you called in that you were going to look for him. You had not waited for approval.

Sure, he was a Jedi and all, but Luke tended to find himself in unusual predicaments.

A chill ran up your spine as you entered the cave. Imperial supplies were scattered along the walls. Most were opened.

Explosives. Typical. You thought. But what are they after?

Another chill ran through you and you forced yourself to pick up the pace. You were strangely thankful that the Imperials had lined the tunnel with artificial lighting. The air inside was cooler, but not enough to relieve you of your growing worry.

A generator must still be on somewhere. I hope he’s not in trouble. You followed the curves of the walls. I was able to extract datacards worth of information with little security in my way. Kriff. How many Imperials were at this site instead? Are they always after him?

Coming to multiple tunnel openings, you stopped.

I don’t think I have time for this.

“Luke?” Your voice reverberated against the rocks. “LUKE?”

Patiently, you waited for a response. The echos of your voice had faded.

This is what happens when he goes alone. You trudged to the right-most tunnel to start, however turned as something reflective caught your eye. White stormtrooper armor.

Quickly changing directions, you kept a hurried pace. Passing more fallen Imperials, there was little doubt of Skywalker’s whereabouts.

Faint electrical sounds reached your ears and you followed them down another path. Up ahead crackles and small bursts came from an open area beyond a tunnel. Pieces of armor and blasters greeted the soles of your boots before you walked in.

What…?

You had to step over a fallen stormtrooper that had a very prominent hole through their chest plate.

“Luke?” Your eyes scanned over the immediate area. Sparking consoles with slashes through them. Every stormtrooper and Imperial officer was either crumpled by an interior wall or had the mark of a lightsaber’s blade.

The room, whatever it was used for, was destroyed. Debris decorated the cave floor. Large rocks and metal alike. There was no way to know if there was used to be another exit.

You let out an uneasy breath and called out again. “Commander Skywalker?”

Checking each body, there was one with hair you recognized nearby. No Imperial symbol on his attire.

Rushing to a cargo crate, you fell into a crouch. “Luke?”

Knees pulled up to his head, Luke was huddled in on himself.

You gently placed a hand on one of his arms he had wrapped around his legs.

He jolted as if you had shocked him. Face still tucked in and hidden, his breath was uneven.

“Are you okay?” You asked, eyes not finding any visible wounds.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s cold.” Luke murmured.

“What?”

“It’s so cold.”

Did something happen with the temperature in here? I don’t feel that chilly. Cave dampness.

“Why didn’t you show up? You missed the rendezvous.” You let your hand rest on his arm again. Luke was shaking. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

“I had to do it.”

You frowned.

“It was powerful.”

“An explosion?” You asked. “Luke, please look at me. What are—?”

Picking his head up, his eyes met yours.

Your words stilled.

Their usual brightness had dimmed, his blue eyes darkened in pain.

“They knew we’d come. They wanted us to take their files. The facility was set to explode.” Luke shuttered. “They were going to send in a whole squad of troopers.”

“But I made it out fine. Everyone else made it back.”

“I stopped them.” His voice cracked. “All of them.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Blue eyes looked behind you. He looked to the destruction, the taken lives, and rock walls. The room was full of wreckage and Imperial bodies.

What’s wrong? He’s been on missions before. Why’s this one got him so….unnerved?

You rubbed your thumb along the fabric of his sleeve. “You could have come back. You can come back now.”

“I made sure that they never ordered the troopers to attack. They couldn’t even send for help.”

You were hesitant before you asked, “What did you do?”

“I took down the ceiling.”

You followed Luke’s gaze. What you assumed to be another interior wall was actually a cave-in. Not just battle debris. There was no telling how large the room was before.

“There were so many of them. They didn’t even attack me first. I-I just….” Luke returned his eyes to you. “I couldn’t let you die.”

A lump formed in your throat and the corners of your eyes started to burn. Circling your arms around his shoulders, you hugged Luke. There were no second thoughts about it. His face pressed into your shoulder as his arms brought you closer.

“The call wasn’t going through to your comm.”

“It’s over, okay?” You said. “We can go back to the ship.”

What else could you say? You didn’t consider yourself incredibly close with Luke Skywalker, however being in the Rebellion meant you shared some missions together. His words seemed to prove you otherwise.

“I say this with all of the respect to you,” you said pulling out of the hug. “I think you need a break.”

The corner of Luke’s mouth tipped up.

“I think Leia would chew me out in a lecture if I leave you here any longer.” You added, trying to give him a motivational boost.

Wiping his face with his sleeves, Luke inhaled deeply before standing up with you.

As much as you knew Luke needed to sort through his feelings and what he had done, you both needed to physically get out of there. The Imperials could show up to investigate at any moment. Added that being in the same location that was causing him to be upset was not the best place for him to be.

“I’m sorry.” Luke said as he brushed dirt off of himself.

“Hey,” you caught his gaze. “Rule number one: survive.” You gave his arm a light squeeze. “Let’s go.”

After he gave a nod, you lead the way back into the tunnel system.

Remembering the way you came, but backwards was always either really easy, frustratingly hard, or filled with you double-checking. Walking beside Luke, you were double-checking each change in direction for boot sole marks and familiar details. Downed stormtroopers being a main detail that helped. Unfortunately for them.

“Ar—….fizz…lo…fizztt….roopers…out….rr….” An undistinguishable voice came from your commlink.

You looked from your commlink to Luke. The Rebel reached for his lightsaber and continued forward. A confident demeanor covering him like a fitted tunic. Any pain he had was hidden or extinguished. A Jedi walked beside you.

Imperial movement always at the wrong time. The reinforcements got here faster than I thought. So much for any heart to heart conversations.

The tunnel ahead was illuminated by the lighting setup along the walls. Crates were still in their same positions.

“We’re close to the exit now,” Luke said in a hushed tone.

You grabbed your blaster pistol from your hoister. The two of you turned and found yourselves amongst Imperial crates again. More of them. Up ahead was the mouth of the cave. Cluttered with crates and long cables, the way out was either going to be safe or loaded with trouble.

Stepping in front of you and causing you to halt in your tracks, Luke ignited his green lightsaber. Trouble. That was when you heard it. The clanking of armor, rushed stomps, and muffled orders. You raised your blaster pistol.

“I’ll shield you.” Luke took measured steps forward.

“Got it.”

In less than twenty seconds, the pair of you made your way through the tunnel to cover as much ground as possible. Getting out in one piece was a top priority. There was only about eight meters or so left until you were back under the open sky, but trouble had arrived.

“Rebels!”

A squad of stormtroopers jogged their way into position.

“REBEL SCUM!”

“Scum?” You called back.

“Blast them!”

The stormtroopers opened fire.

Before the first red laser had come within two paces of you, Luke was already tilting his lightsaber. Each fire was deflected.

Fanning out, the troopers had the environmental advantage, however they were not trained to go up against the likes of a Jedi.

Beams of red were ricocheted back as Luke blocked and you had started firing. The returned fire doubled with their own and took down stormtroopers one by one. Almost each Imperial shouted orders and aggravated commentary.

Not long now, you thought.

A confident-striding trooper with heavy armor appeared at the cave’s mouth and took a stance outside before their weapon started shooting out rapid blasts towards you both.

“That’s a problem.” Luke commented as his lightsaber deflected as much of the blasterfire as he could. A blur of green and a reverberating sound that made the hair on your neck stand on end.

“On it.” You ducked as a red beam passed your head. Time was temporary. Aiming higher, you fired multiple shots to your attacker. One of which took the trooper and their weapon down. You breathed out a quick sigh of relief.

It was short-lived.

From out of your line of sight, white armor of another group appeared and lined up behind the first squad. As a unit they marched into the cave.

Ah, kriff. Someone must have mentioned Jedi over the comms.

Words on the tip of your tongue, you abruptly dismissed them.

Black boots moved across the ground with barely a sound. No huffs of fatigue nor beads of sweat came from Skywalker. The air in front of him was illuminated by flashing red and green. Each attempt at firing at him was delivered right back. To the shoulder, his head, arm, chest; they failed. No matter where blasterfire was aimed on him it did not reach. A blur of green light was there to meet it.

There was a reason that lightsabers were referred to as weapons of a different age. An age where people had mystical powers and swords of light. Anyone trained to use one was someone who should not be ignored nor underestimated. A mastery and awareness in each swing.

You had seen firsthand what a direct blow sent to troopers did. As a rebel, you had been on your share of missions with Commander Skywalker, however this was the first time you had seen him go on full defensive mode. Defense and trickery were more his style. Yet what you were witnessing was him taking on almost all of the blasterfire. It was only the two of you against two squads.

Hearing a familiar vrrr, you had to take a quick step back as the green lightsaber came a little too close to you for comfort. A red laserbolt was deflected.

Woo, okay. Watch for that.

Returning fire, you weaved around Luke’s wide gestures to take aim at the stormtroopers.

Once one stormtrooper was down, another stepped around furthering their takeover in the cave.

You took a step to the right and were given a clearer shot of the approaching troopers. It was a step too far to the side.

“Ah!” A hit to your arm threw you back. Dropping behind the closest crate and taking cover, you immediately applied pressure to your upper arm with your free hand. The pain only then making itself really known.

Kriff! There’s one on the right somewhere, you thought as you looked to Luke.

The Jedi was not hiding, not ducking behind anything, nor dodging. He stood his ground. Green blade of his lightsaber twirled through the air and deflected each oncoming blast. Rapid blasterfire resounded throughout the tunnel and the shouting became louder.

For two seconds, you peeked around the crate before quickly taking cover again.

“Behind the crate!”

Darn it.

“I got him!”

“Take them out!”

“One behind the crate!”

If your heart was not hammering in your chest before, it was then.

How many of them are there?

Hearing a small whoosh through the air, you turned in time to witness a thermal detonator arch over your head and land about two meters away. The silver sphere rolled near a stack of crates. Crates full of explosives.

On your feet before you could speak, you were already running to Luke. He gestured with his hand and sent a group of stormtroopers either flying backwards or toppling over. Even as more stormtroopers were still standing and firing, both you and Luke sprinted to the opening of the cave.

Another gesture of his hand and Luke sent more Imperials back. Passing a line of them, your fear skyrocketed with knowing what was coming.

“Hurry!” Luke made sure to remain beside you.

As the soles of your boots reached the mouth of the cave, Luke turned —

KABOOM

The first explosion created a domino effect and set off more explosives within the tunnel. Heat waved out after the first sounds. The ground beneath your feet shook and you were sent flying forward. Soon, you had met the ground as you tumbled across and landed on your already hurting arm.

KABOOM

You covered your ears as you pushed yourself up on an elbow.

Black.

It took a second for you to recognize that Luke was knelt over you and facing the cave. Your chest tightened at the sight.

Various and many rocks that had splintered off in the explosions were levitating in the air above you. The explosions had stopped, but the debris was still on the move. Boulders rolled a distance away as the ground shook. The debris smaller in size with each second that passed.

How close of a call was it this time?

With extended arms, Luke set the rocks away from anyone. You, him, and the possibly still alive stormtroopers on the ground that were not there before.

Lowering your hands, your ears still buzzed from the detonations. There was no telling how sore you would be later from your tumble. But you would gladly take soreness over what the Imperials had.

Luke sat back on his heels and clipped his lightsaber to his belt. Sometime amongst the chaos he had deactivated it.

“Luke.”

The man looked to you with heavy concern in his eyes. His gloved hand gestured to your wounded arm.

“Hey, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere else?” His voice sounded muffled in your ears.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, sitting up.

  “I’m better.” Luke’s expression softened until he inclined his head to you. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah…well.” You gestured with your hand to the fallen Imperials. “I could be worse.”

He leaned away from you once you spoke.

“What?”

“I think we need to get your ears checked.”

“Sounds good.” You smiled despite yourself.

A black glove covered his mouth for a couple of moments before he looked over his shoulder then back to you. His expression less exuberant. “I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have let that happen. This isn’t what I wanted.”

“Neither of us wanted this.”

His chest rose and fell as he sighed. Shoulders more relaxed than they were a minute ago.

“This was all a trap. The Empire was looking for metals long before they were storing weapons. They knew we would show up.”

Typical. Now that we have a real chance at winning this war, they’re being sneaky and a little risky.

The air around you smelled of smoke that nipped at your nostrils and dried out your throat. With your hearing not up to parr, the only sound aside from your breathing was any shifting rocks. Nothing moved. White armor could be seen amongst the large rocks that were almost everywhere you looked in the open area. Some blasters were still in gloved hands.

Both you and Luke peered around as you slowly stood up. Even outside you found yourselves surrounded by destruction and Imperials.

When will it end?

Rubbing at your ear with a knuckle, you rested your sights on the Jedi.

Luke reached out a hand to the rubble and in a matter of seconds, your blaster pistol was in his grasp.

“Here. You might need this.” He turned to you.

“Hopefully not,” you said as you nodded in thanks and holstered your blaster pistol.

Walking over and around rock, the pair of you distanced yourselves from the caves as well as the Imperial locations.

“We should get back as soon as we can.” Luke said.

“Our absence and delay has probably climbed up the rank of command.”

Luke nodded as you grabbed your commlink. Heading out of the area was possibly the easiest part of your day, you hoped. You opened your comm.

“This is Lieutenant (Y/L/N). Commander Skywalker and I are heading to the rendezvous point. Over.”

“We hear you Lieutenant. Good to hear you.” An answer came from another Rebel officer. “Come back safely. Ship is waiting. Over.”

“Roger that. Over.” You set your commlink back into your attire. “Almost afraid they would have left already.” Hands free, you applied pressure to your wound.

“We don’t leave anyone behind if given the chance. You should know that more than anyone.”

Your footing only hesitated briefly. Hardly noticeable.

“Thank you.”

Turning, you were met with sincere blue eyes. The weight of the sincerity could have collapsed your ribcage with how it reached your heart.

If we weren’t still in Imperial territory, I’d hug him right now. How can he be so sweet with so little words?

“And thank you,” you said. “For what you did back there. I’m not sure I thanked you.”

“You would had done the same for me.”

“I’m not a Jedi, Luke.”

“I know.” His bright smile making an appearance. “But I’m just saying that if you had the opportunity—.”

“And skill.”

“—that you would have helped me.”

“You were by yourself.”

“Yes, but if I was in your position, I would have told the others that I had a wound on my arm.” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“…Oh yeah.”

“The sooner we reach the rendezvous point, the faster someone can look at your arm.”

“The faster we get to having a debriefing.” You added, your tone solemn.

No telling if there are more scout troopers either.

Were you really going to disclose every detail of your mission? Yes, however finding Luke was not a part of your assigned mission. That part was up to him to debrief. However personal and detailed he would speak was solely up to him. You would not speak with anyone, under any circumstances, what had happened with Commander Skywalker in the caves. The only portion you were willing to disclose was the part when you were leaving. That much needed to be reported.

What a day, you thought. At least Luke looks better. Brighter spirits. And…I’ll keep an eye on him, I guess. Make sure he’s okay.

“You’ll give your report first, right?” You looked over at Luke who already had his attention on you.

“Before you, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I will.”

“I won’t say anything…about…you know.”

Luke stopped and you were quick to follow suit.

“I trust that you will give your report the way you always do. Honestly.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say I was going to lie. Just…not say any personal stuff. Only what I need to say.” You squeezed your arm. “I completed my part of the mission, I left the ship, I found you, Imperials found us, I got shot, we ran, explosions hurt my ears, and we made our way back.”

“I think Leia will want more details than that.” His lips curved into a smirk. “But I am grateful that you respect my privacy. In matters of the Force.”

Sighing you continued forward, “I wish I could get to a state of calm as fast you.”

“It takes practice.”

“You’re something else, Luke Skywalker. I hope you know that.”

A chuckle was the only response he gave.

. . .

The pair of you headed back to the awaiting group of rebels. Their worries were written across their faces. Of course, Luke immediately alerted them of your injuries. Soon after, the ship had rose above the canopy of foliage and traveled through space. It would be a matter of time before the Base was back into your sights.

  A small smile graced Luke’s lips as he sat beside you in the ship.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“You’re something else too.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Star Wars Tags: @darkenwolfy

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[eddiemunsonsmiddlefingers]

Today in "how to make your students hate you," undergraduate edition:

1) Base 65% of each student's total grade entirely on group work. Do not allow students to switch groups. Everyone in the group gets the same grade, no exceptions. At the start of term, tell your students they must take turns writing responses to the prompts for their group; later when a student says "hey, so I don't like getting marked down because group member X can't write for shit; can I do something extra to prove I know what I'm doing?", tell your class that you "never said the group members had to take turns writing responses; manage your group in what way makes sense to you." Two weeks later, when a group has decided to assign someone to write for them, remind the class that "you must take turns writing responses, or all members of your group will be marked down."

2) Use wordy PowerPoint presentations with your lecture. Speak extremely quickly, discuss points that are not addressed in the reading, refuse to take questions, and when your class inquires (pretty much unanimously) about getting your slides for study reference, say that it is entirely up to the student to take adequate notes.

3) Assign each group a midterm essay to write together. Make sure your prompt questions are intentionally vague to the point that one group (at least) had a twenty minute discussion about whether you were asking trick questions / being deliberately deceitful.

4) Tell your students they need to have at least two sources outside the required course reading. (This is normal, to be clear. Good job.) However, four days before the paper is due, decide that one of the course readings isn't required, and therefore can count as one of the two extras. The day before the midterm is due, remind us that that piece does not count as one of the two extras.

5) Specifically inform your class on multiple occasions that it is acceptable, even preferable, for them to use your question prompts as section headers in their midterm essays. Later, write a glowing review of a group's submitted midterm paper, but then add that you have marked it down 2% (from 100%) because they used the question prompts as section headers instead of writing a single flowing narrative.

I am so salty, y'all. So. Salty. *lol* I wrote my group's midterm paper pretty much entirely by myself, so even though this was a "group" grade, really it was my grade....and the use of headings was literally the only thing he could find to pick on in it. I don't get why professors DO that.

[ninnodesu]

“Can I See You?” ch 3 || Modern!Thomas

AN: Put a shirt on, Thomas

It hurts my heart writing about medical stuff being done at home in a modern setting because I, myself, is studying into the medical field. ffskäpk I’ve had some complaints sent my way which I’ve not replied to in public about how Thomas is OOC because “he’s not as he is in the movies”.  To that I just have to say that: Remember how the Internet has the possiblity for you to open up to new people in a totally different way than you do in real life. This story is set in the modern world, where he’s able to do just that. Open up in a different way, without prejudice and the words he would recieve outside of the internet. 

Upstairs, Thomas is met with his uncle already arguing with his mama, and he lets out a huff of annoyance, he knows his uncle has already told her lies about him. His huff gets their attention as they turn towards him.

"Thomas Hewitt, is it true you ain't doing your job?", his mama’s eyes pierces him the way only she can, and he nods. "He's thinkin' with that dick of 'is, is all.", Thomas snaps his head towards his uncle and lets out a growl.

You don't know the meaning of shutting up?

"Charlie!", a small smack rings out in the room as his mama swats Charlie on the back of the head. "There will be no such language in my house!"

When Thomas sees her turn towards him again, he puts on the famous Little Tommy Eyes. The ones he always used when he would come home after playing in the woods all caked in mud. His eyes were always big as dinner plates, full of "sorry, mama "s as his small boyish voice repeated "I was just playing". That look always melted his mama, often in the middle of reprimanding him for bringing in mud into the house before she always, without fail, ended up carrying him into a bubble bath.

Everyone in the Hewitt household knows that the big mountain of a man is a Mama's boy. Always has been, always will be. And even now, in his thirties, his eyes win.

A sigh escapes his mother and she puts a hand on his back.

"Come, hun. We're goin' to have a talk. And you, boy, go be useful somewhere!", she points an angry finger at Charlie, and being a spiteful nephew, Thomas can't help giving Charlie a look that screams "I told you so" before he and his mother round the corner into the living room. They sat down at the small table located close to a window where his mother and her sister always sit to have tea together. He watched as she folded her hands on her lap, looking straight at him. “Now, Tommy. I want you to tell me what’s happenin’ here.”, she dropped her voice to the tone he remembered when he knew he was in trouble while growing up.

She was serious. “And I expect you to be honest with me, boy.”

Well… This is it. He thought.

He never bothered telling his family about you, just like he never bothered with any of his friends, he knew what that would lead to. A stern lecture about how their “lifestyle” would be compromised, how his late night endeavours on the internet would lead to the family getting caught, blablabla.

But now, he had no other choice, it was time to admit to his mother that he had met a girl on the internet that he actually liked. He drew a big breath to steady his nerves before shakily raising his hands, thankful for the fact that at least his mother had actually paid attention and taken the sign language classes seriously, unlike both his uncles. Uncle Monty not really giving a shit at all, while his uncle Charlie knew a sign here and there. He says himself that he “knows enough to get by”, a lie, since he barely knew shit.

He figured it’s best to just start.

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

Meanwhile in the basement, your head jerks towards the sound of the sliding door slowly sliding open. The sound of quiet footsteps coming down the stairs, it almost sounded like whoever it was was sneaking their way down.

“Hello?”, you rasp out. No response. So you don’t bother, and return to follow the furrows of the wood on the ceiling above you. Then, a voice suddenly whispers out close to you.

“Ya’ really a password for your phone, girl.”, you recognize the voice as the older male who was arguing with Thomas earlier, and you look towards him as he comes into view, holding your phone. “I had no idea my nephew was talkin’ to such a slut.”, you frown up at him as he leans down next to you so you both can read your conversation with Thomas. You see his eyes read every single dirty word you’d said to each other. Skipping over the parts where you were only talking about everyday things. “I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”, you spit at him, trying your best to sound as serious as you can despite your ruined vocal cords.

He just smirks while scrolling in the conversation, making a disgusting sound as he licks his lips. A familiar moaning voice coming from your speakers. He just found the video you sent Thomas. “Oh, but you see, darlin’. It is my business.”, he proceeds to lean over you, close to your face, before he continues, “because now, he refuses to do his job. All because of you.”

His eyes rake over your whole body, one of his hands is hovering just above you, and you feel sick to your stomach knowing exactly what this disgusting old man is thinking while doing so. “To think that he got a girlie like you.”, he whistles quietly, “makes an old man like me real jealous.”, you turn your head away as he leans in and you whimper as you feel him place a alcohol filled kiss to your cheek.  You can’t do anything to defend yourself, you can’t scream anymore, your eyes hurt from crying, your leg throbs, your wrists hurt. All you know at this moment is a breath reeking of alcohol, pain and a broken heart.

You feel a tongue graze your ear before he whispers into it. “Before I make Thomas kill you, I’ll make you feel good, darlin’.”, he moans out his last word and chuckles darkly before leaving you alone again. Your body is so weak at this point, your eyes burn as a few straggling tears escape, and you close your eyes. Your eyes scream for some rest.

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

‘That’s why I can’t kill her mama’

Finishing his motivation to not kill her, he proceeds to fiddle with his fingers instead, he looks at. They've been talking for almost an hour, only stopping for his mama to think and give some pointers, his uncle sneaking away from the sliding door to the basement caught his eyes once and he glared at him. His mother’s firm “Thomas.” bringing him back to the conversation.

‘And her leg is broken’

She only opens her mouth to reprimand him for messing with his uncle. “You know we don’t disrespect family, Thomas.” Hiding a pout behind his mask, he hangs his head in shame and nods. Even if Charlie is an asshole towards him at times, he’s family. And if it’s something his mama has taught him throughout the years, it’s that family comes first. No matter what.

“But…”, she continues as she stands to walk away, and he perks up, lifting his head to look at her with hopeful eyes. “You may keep her, but only until her leg is healed.”, he shoots up and envelops her in a sweaty bear hug.

“And you share food from your plate, you hear me?”, she swats him on his arm hard enough for a loud smack to ring out, and he reacts with a raspy “Ah!” before rubbing his hand where her hand landed. “No fooling around, either. And stop fighting with Charlie!”. His face heats up at the “no fooling around”-comment. “Now come’ere. We need to gather what supplies we have.”, he grunts lightly and looks down at the red mark his mother left on his arm before trudging after her to grab medical supplies.

Down in the basement, he does his best to ignore the small jump his heart does as he sees you’ve apparently fallen asleep, or passed out, on the table. You look serene. Peaceful. No trace of the earlier fear and panic left on your now relaxed face.

Working carefully, he unbolts your wrists and ankles to help his mother stabilize your leg. Internally thanking you for choosing to wear shorts so he didn’t have to unbutton your pants, something that would most likely have made him suffer a heart attack.

“She’s pretty, Tommy.”, his mother whispers to him as she moves up to the broken leg. He follows her with his eyes and nods shyly, her voice is silent. “Do you know her name?”, he thinks for a few seconds before signing out the letters to your name, she just hums in response and proceeds to set their work up.

Since they both know they can’t safely give you proper medical care, Thomas is thankful for the fact that his mama had made use of online classes for necessary skills.

“This’ll have to do.”, she backs up a bit and eyes the work they’ve put into your leg, and nods. Wiping her hands on her apron, she singlas for Thomas and starts moving to his basement bedroom. “Come on, hun. She’s staying down here.”, his head jolts towards her and he shakes his head in protest. “This is the safest place in the house.”, he shakes his head again and raises his hand to sign out protests.

‘Please, mama, not down here’

“Thomas Brown Hewitt!”, he relents and lets out an annoyed grunt, earning another smack on his arm as she can see him roll his eyes, “Don’t sass me, child!”, she jabs a finger close to his face before ordering him to pick you up from the table. “Listen to your mama and put her on your bed, and keep that leg of ‘ers high up.”, he lets out a humming sound close to “yes” as he carries you over to the bedroom, doing his best to not wake you up. A part of him relishing in keeping your sleeping form pressed to his chest. “And make sure you give ‘er a drink!”, his mama yells back at him before he closes the door just enough to shield you from view as he lays you down on his bed.

He thinks for a moment on what to prop your leg up on and looks around. Finally finding some pieces of clothing and a blanket that he scrunches up and puts under your leg.

A glass of water is sat down on the floor, Thomas deciding to sit down on an old lounge chair across from the bed, making him face you. He leans his head on his left hand just to watch you while waiting for his mama to return with something to eat.

He has a hard time fully comprehending that you’re really here, in front of him. He’s never been a popular person, neither on the internet nor outside of it, years of bullying erasing any kind of self positivity. Sure, he did have some friends scattered around some websites, but most of them were just… there. A few permanent contacts, maybe two, or three, but here you were. Someone who had replied to one of his posts; one comment being all it took.

You always talked sweetly to him, never did you pester him about things he found uncomfortable, there was never any need to explain when and why he needed space. And you never asked where he had been or what he had done when he went away for several days to… work. You were still as happy as ever when he returned to your conversation.

You’d brighten these months for him exponentially. When he told you he worked as a butcher, carefully avoiding what exactly he butchered, you didn’t shy away like other people did. You were curious by it, fascinated almost, asking some stray questions as to how he’d gotten into it, why he chose that job and that was it. You accepted him. Nothing that had to do with him scared you.

Fishing his phone up from his jean pocket, he opened your conversation, quickly swiping past all the naughty bits to get to the more sweeter moments. Reading through them, he smiled.

Glancing up at you, an idea came to mind. He closed the conversation and started looking through all the apps to find the camera and zoomed into your relaxed face to snap a photo of you. He wanted to remember this, no matter what happened in the future. He wanted to remember the very first time he saw you this relaxed.

His door knocked, and he swiftly closed his phone as he lightly tapped the toe of his boot on the floor, his own way of saying “come in”. “I bought something to eat, hun.”, his mama came in and the room was filled with the sweet aroma of cinnamon, on a plate were two big cinnamon buns resting, still warm. Thomas couldn’t help but to close his eyes and inhale the scent. He opened them again when he heard her laugh a little.

‘If I break my leg, can I have some too?’, he grins at his own bad attempt to get a warm treat such as a cinnamon bun.

“There’s two, Tommy.”, she winks at him and he lets out a deep chuckle.

‘Thank you, mama’

His mother sits the plate down next to the glass of water on the floor before she returns to the door and proceeds to lean up against the frame. A hurtful question is starting to grow in Thomas, and even if he doesn’t want the answer, he tugs lightly at his mama’s apron to get her attention. Without looking at her, keeping his eyes low and only slightly glancing over at your breathing form, he signs one question;

‘Do I have to do it?’

His mother just hums quietly towards the question before she replies. “You can keep her till she’s better, Tommy.”, he huffs at the same answer he had gotten earlier.

'That doesn’t even make sense, mama’ 'You’ve always told me I should find someone’ 'And now, when I finally found someone I like’ 'I have to kill her’

He glares up at her, annoyance, anger and hurt visible in his eyes. She meets his eyes, but her face is empty.

“Is she an honest woman?”, he only lets out an annoyed breath. "You know family comes first...", she looks at him to finish her statement, and he does so reluctantly with plain lazy hand movements.

'No matter what’

"The girl’s your responsibility.", he starts tapping the back of his phone in an irritable way. Suddenly, there’s a sharp pain in his earlobe as she pulls him close to her, and he lets out a pained grunt at being pulled. "And you heard what I said about foolin' around!", she lets him go and he rubs the sore spot on his ear, face red as earlier.

You groan slightly as you open your eyes. You clearly remember closing your eyes to give them rest after being sore and dry after your crying. What you didn’t intend to do, however, was to fall asleep.

Scratching your scalp you realize you’re not bolted down anymore, and you hurriedly go to sit up but stop abruptly as you’re reminded about the pain in your leg. You hiss and slow down, resorting to only resting on your elbows as you look down to your… leg, in a cast? “What?”, as your brain wakes up from your unknowing nap you notice you’re also laying down on a bed instead.  Slowly, you scoot yourself up to rest against the wall at the head of the bed. A light reaches through the slightly open door, a shuffling, a clinking and water flowing is heard outside. Clearing your throat, you call out. “Hello?”, you jolt slightly as a clatter rings out, the sound obvious evidence you had scared whoever was out there as it sounded like they dropped something.

Careful footsteps came your way and then a shy head popped into view and peered in on you from behind dark curls. You took the pillow from behind your back and hugged it close to your chest, like it would work as a shield. Looking at him as he peeked in through the opening of the door, he didn’t seem as frightening as before. Now, he looked like a kid. Someone who had just broken a vase and was too scared to tell his mom what he had done. But despite his innocent look, you couldn’t help the awful feeling in your stomach, that sinking realization of what he actually is, and what he’s done.

He surprised you though. Surprised you by lifting a shy hand and slowly waving it back and forth in a greeting. The gesture made you smile into the pillow, every ounce of rationality pushed aside. “Hi.”, you mumbled into the pillow. Instead of coming in, he just awkwardly stood there wringing his hands and fiddling with his fingers. Occasionally a hand would come down to pull on one of the chains hanging from his belt, like he was nervous being in your presence. You felt bed for him. Something you couldn’t believe you did, but you did feel bad for him at this moment.

“Do you… uhm… do you wanna come in?”, you ask timidly. A part of you actually wanting to talk to him. To get to know the Thomas you’ve known through your phone. He nodded, and came closer to you. But instead of sitting down or anything, he bends down next to the head of the bed and picks a plate up before setting it down in your lap. You look at the plate and then up to him. He’s in the middle of moving the lounge chair closer to you than it was before, he motions to the plate. “Oh! Is one of these… for me?”, you ask, genuinely confused. He nods excitedly as he sits down. The chair squeaked under his weight, and not long after he’s seated you’re presented with a glass of water.

Your brain is having a hard time piecing together what exactly is happening. First you’re bolted down to a table awaiting death by his hand and now he’s… feeding you? You just look at him with big questioning eyes, something he seems to notice. He reaches the glass out for you, you take it and then he starts moving his hands and fingers. “Wait… wait! Wait! Thomas, I… I don’t…”, you figure it’s sign language. Something you’ve never, honestly, bothered learning. He stops, and sighs in defeat. “I’m sorry…”, setting the glass down at the floor again, you take one of the buns and give it to him. Looking at him with an apologetic smile.

You both munched on your respective bun in silence, only real sound being you cursing at the fact that you’re dropping crumbs all over the bed, for a minute before you speak up.

"Are you… going to kill me?", your question is blunt and straight to the point as you pick at your treat, only glancing up at him in quick swipes, sadness pinging in your heart everytime you catch a glimpse of him. He looks down at the last piece of his own bun and pops it into his mouth before looking at you and shakes his head. You just nod slightly while taking a small bite. "But… you do… kill people?", he looks taken aback by your question. The only answer you get is him letting his head hang in silence. "Oh…"

He breaks the awkward tension by reaching down to pick your glass of water back up and handing it to you. Looking up at him, you meet his eyes. Those blue eyes of your Thomas. The Thomas you’ve gotten to know. The one who doesn't kill people. You keep eye contact as you accept the glass. "Thank you.", you smile as you feel tears well in your eyes yet again, but you push those tears away. Your first sip is small, but as soon as you get your first taste of the wonderful clear liquid, you quickly gulp every drop down. Your body is apparently more dehydrated than you thought. A chuckle erupts from your side before you feel a big thumb swipe by the edge of your mouth, wiping a stray water droplet away. Your face heats up slightly as you feel his thumb swipe over you and you smile towards him. Pushing away a small urge to lick his thumb as it passes by. Right at this moment, you don’t have any panic in your body. For some reason you’re calm.

Right now, it feels like you're just two friends having a tender moment. Two people with feelings not yet ready to ascend to the surface.

Not a person held hostage by a broken leg, and a murderer with an arsenal of choices.

Clearing your throat to gain his attention, you suck the remaining sticky cinnamon filling off your fingers and look over at him. “Can I ask you something?”, you don’t want to get lost in your rational fear right now, having the need to fill the space with talking, you make a conscious decision to get to know Thomas in person instead.

You’ve wanted to meet him for so long, and here he is. In the flesh. Seated in a lounge chair next to your bed, in all his behemoth glory. And by god is he attractive.

With some nutrients in your body, your brain has started to reboot. Your eyes dance over him. All broad shoulders and big arms, arms only shown because of the black wife beater that clung tightly over his chest, small beads of sweat rolling down his clavicle due to the sheer Texas heat. The hair on his chest shown over the neckline glued to him. Your eyes travel over the buffé that is this man, they follow the way his biceps flex as he reaches behind to scratch his neck. A small knot grows in the pit of your stomach as you see that familiar tattoo covering most of his right arm, now knowing what exactly it meant.

That twisted hormonal part of you took over, however, continuing your field trip, you bite the inside of your cheek as you glance on his muscular thighs clad in grayish-blue jeans with wear-and-tear rips at the knees, a strong sign this is a man who works. Your mind flashes back to the photo he had sent you when he first told you his name, and suddenly, you felt the urge to sit on his lap.

You shake your head and discreetly take a deep breath to clear your mind. You almost have to forcefully tear your eyes from his thighs. Looking up at him again, his hair looked ruffled, uncleaned. You twitched with want to tangle your fingers in it, to grab and pull on until you exposed his wide neck to your teeth and tongue, a thought of what kind of sound he would make in your ear as you bite down and drag your ton-.

Your thoughts are interrupted as he taps the side of the bed, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, realization that you’ve probably been staring like a madwoman at this poor man while he’s been waiting for your question must be clear on your face the way he looks at you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Oh… right… sorry.”, you say sheepishly as you try to hide your most likely tomato red face by pretending to rub tiredness away with the palm of your hands. A deep “heh” comes from him and you glance at him through the space between your fingers. His hand motions you to “go ahead, ask”. “Uhm… you never told me you couldn’t talk.”, you look down and suddenly feel really stupid to ask him a personal thing like this. “I’m sorry I… I didn’t mean to sound so… disrespectful!”, he shakes his head and pulls a finger up to signal you to give him a minute as he fishes his phone up. You cock your head to the side and look at him with curious eyes as he types away, then a male voice rings out from his phone.

I can, I just don’t anymore

You raise your eyebrows. “Ooh! Can I ask why? I just… I just want to get to know you.”, your face heats up again as you decide to confess to him, “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.”, the smile you give him is reciprocated by him, if his eyes are something to go after, before returning his gaze down to his phone to type.

It’s fine. Disease, took a knife to my face when I was a kid

The voice stops for a minute, he looks at you and you guess he’s looking for any kind of disgust, but you show none. All you do is scoot down the bed again, moving carefully as to not jostle your leg and get comfortable on the pillow. “Please, continue. I want to know.”, voice cheerily.

He visibly relaxes at your words, and it shows. He leans back, and sinks down further into the chair, almost laying halfway off it, the voice continues to spell his sentences out.

The pain was so bad. It hurt to talk, it hurt to eat, it hurt to exist. So I stopped talking, mama almost had to force food down my throat.

You only hum as a response. “So, you just decided to stop talking one day?”, you cuddled into the pillow, the masculine scent of Thomas envelops you and your heartbeat sinks down to a resting pace.

He nods, clicking from his phone’s keyboard.

Yeah. The pain was too intense, easier to stop talking, eating is also more fun than to talk, so. Besides, I’ve never really had friends to talk to anyway.

You looked at him with pity, you wanted to hug him so bad. Wanted to soothe the child inside of him that you just knew were hurting. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

It wasn’t necessary

“I guess you’re right.”, you agree with him. It never was necessary, since you never talked on the phone.

You both fall into a comfortable silence. Thomas remains seated in his chair, now lazily scrolling on his phone. You just lay there, looking at him and thinking back on when you first started talking to him. Vaguely remembering what forum it was, honestly not really caring what it was called since you basically stopped logging onto it when you had saved his contact information in your phone. You had quickly clicked on your shared interests, but there was something else with him. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. Sure, he would go silent for a few days sometimes, but it didn’t bother you. Because you knew he always came back to your conversation. He never did tell you where he lived, and now you knew why. He literally couldn’t.

You have a hard time piecing together the giant contrast. The Thomas you had gotten to know was sweet, and passionate about his hobbies. He loved his family and it was clear that he was a family man through and through. He was strong in all kinds of ways. He had also stayed up late during nights just to keep you company, talking about absolutely nothing and everything in between. You’d told him about your life, and he had briefly told you about his.

Although knowing what he did for a living. What gruesome secret he had kept from you, you still saw that same Thomas when you looked at him. Now, when the climax of your panic had died down, enveloped by the scent of him via his pillow, you saw him again.

Your Thomas.

Not the deranged, murderer, not the… butcherer, you saw nothing gruesome about him. You weren’t scared. You were bought back to those nights where you were in your bed, sharing stupid jokes, and silly videos you’d found on the internet with him.  Those nights where you would laugh yourself to tears to some story he had told you from his childhood. It felt… normal. But you knew it wasn’t. Your leg was broken, badly put together in a homemade cast, and you were bedridden in a basement where awful things take place.

You’re both startled a bit as you hear the door knock slightly, you meet Thomas’ eyes and you raise an eyebrow as he taps the floor two times with his boot. “Huh…”, looking towards the door, an older woman enters. “Tommy, it’s late.”, you sit up and lean towards the wall and smile at the old lady, she looks nice, obviously his mother, and you’re happy to see her nice face instead of the old man. She looks at you, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re up, good.”, her voice is stern, held back, guarded. All you can do is nod. Her mere presence evokes the need for respect.

This is the matriarch. The one in charge. Not Thomas. Not the old man. She is. Being in your position, you know damn well it’s best to give her that respect.

You follow her eyes as she looks over at Thomas, your heart begins to race as you think this is the end. That he was only saying “no” earlier to get you relaxed enough to not fight back. “Thomas, I need to talk to her in private.”, you meet eyes with him and you shake your head in panic. You don’t want him to leave. He looks at you with kind eyes as he gets up to leave. He knows something. He signs something to his mother, she gives him a warm motherly smile before petting him on the arm and nods. “Good night, hun. Try gettin’ some sleep tonight.”, he nods back at her and then looks over his shoulder at you. You don’t dare speak at this moment. Only waiting for the old woman to approach you, which she does shortly after Thomas has left you alone, she sits down in the lounge chair next to you. Her eyes are neutral as they scan your face. “We have rules in this family.”, she starts. And you listen intently as she lists all rules you need to follow, and the reason why you’re still alive. At least for now.

Ending her one-sided conversation with you, she introduces herself as Luda Mae, but you’re to call her “ma’am”. She makes it clear that you’re not part of the family, that she’s allowing you to stay until your leg is healed, and that the only reason for that is that Thomas likes you a lot. But she also highlights that if you are caught messing with Thomas’ job, no matter how much he likes you, you will receive a punishment.

Before she leaves you to sleep for the night, she gets up to carry your bag in, and sets it down next to the head of the bed. And that’s it. “Thank you.”, you pipe up, and she stops at the door, hand on the doorknob, and looks over at you. “For the cinnamon bun, it was delicious.”. For the first time, you see a genuine smile growing on her face, and she nods. “Tommy will be down early tomorrow.”, and with that, she closes the door.

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

Upstairs, Thomas closes his bedroom door quietly and proceeds to kick his boots off, he swiftly unbuckles his belt and just lets his heavy jeans fall onto the floor where he stands, a heavy clanking of chains and keys echoes in his room. He takes a deep breath of unfiltered air as his mask is removed, as he stretches his back pops in a symphony of crackles before he peels off his sweaty wife beater off and just chucks it the general direction of his laundry. His big and tired body timbers down on his bed, a dangerous crack reaches his ears and he hisses slightly and curses himself for - yet again - almost breaking his bed in half.

His thoughts are running haywire. He’s thinking back to the beginning of when you started talking, when he first saw your face in a picture. One time you’d sent him a video of when you had dropped something and you laughing heartily in the background at how “fun it is to bake” and “yes, you should totally bake more” and he chuckled. And now here you were. In his basement bedroom. Where he had touched you. Your skin is soft under his rough hands, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to touch more of you.

He rolled over to his back and stared up at the ceiling, a piece of his bottom lip captured between his teeth as he chews a bit of skin off. “Hm…”. He gets up and rummages through his pants to find his phone, unlocks it and types out a simple message.

“I can’t sleep.”

A pure lie since he hadn’t even tried sleeping yet. Hitting send, he hopes his mama had given you your belongings by now, which means you would have gotten your phone.

He goes back to bed and lays down, one foot dangling over the edge of the it, pulling up the Facebook he mainly uses for talking and following a handful of friends he’d gotten from all over the internet to scroll through, his thundering laugh the only sound in his room as he sees a few hilarious posts made by some of them. He needed this downtime, something to relax with. Lazily scrolling through his phone usually did the trick for him. It took around twenty minutes and he lost faith in you having your phone before his eyes caught a stream of notifications from you, just hailing in.

“Why the FUCK have you been lying to me?” “I thought we were at least open enough to talk about everything” “Are you even the same Thomas?” “Do I know you?” “Did you lie to me all these months to get me here?” “I fucking hate you” “I want to go home” “You really hurt me, you know” “I’ve always liked you”

All he did was watch as each message came through. He understood your flurry of emotions, god knows he of all people understood this. He’d had them all before, but years after years of bullying has made him a master at hiding his true emotions, vowing to never show anything anymore. All he showed was muscles and rage. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Not knowing what to say at a moment like this. His years of neglecting his feelings has left him… not good with moments like this. What are you supposed to say? What’s appropriate? Should he confess? Should he let you just talk?

Of course he knew what it meant to have feelings for someone, he’d had them before. But also knowing how he looked, being the town's freak show, he never acted on any crushes he had. So being this bombarded with emotions was… weird. It was new to him, and for the most part, he didn’t like new things. He locked the phone. Closed everything that had to do with dealing with this.

The messages didn’t stop, however, the insistent dinging making so he had to put it on vibrate. But even that got annoying after about five messages. He opened your conversation and read through it all.

“I’m sorry” “I just can’t” “believe that after all these months of talking” “me thinking you were a” “normal person” “you’ve been this killer” “a murderer”

He lost it at the end. And started typing out his response.

“you don’t understand”

“oh fuck off with that you don’t understand bullshit, thomas”

At this point, neither of you really cared about spelling or grammar, it was all just pure emotion filled text. Thomas was hurting, probably just as much as you. He didn’t want to be on this end of it all. He just wanted all of this to be over, hopefully, with you alive.

"you can’t excuse murder”

He locks his phone again and just lets it fall from his hand onto the floor, throwing one arm over his eyes.

I guess it’s time to sleep, then.

------------------------------------------------------------ You’re abruptly awoken the next day by the door being flung open, and you jolt hard enough for a sudden pain to shoot through your leg, making you hiss. In the door, stood Thomas and he was looking like a combination of angry and tired, this time with no shirt on, making him seem almost bigger than with one on. You only have two thoughts running through your mind at this point.

Have you grown bigger during the night? and Please let me run my fingers through that garden of hair you have on your chest

One arm crossed over his chest, the other typing away on his phone. You just stare at him at first. Not long after, that same male voice rings out;

Mama told me to shower you

You give him a defiant laugh, cross your arms and pouts like a petulant child. You hear a sigh, a sigh only amplified by his mask.

Please, stop. I’m not fighting over this

“I’m not fighting about the shower.”, you snap your head towards him, “I’m fighting about the fact that you’ve become my best friend and the fact that you didn’t tell me anything.”, you hiss. At the end of your sentence you hear a deep, deep, rumbling… laughter. Thomas is laughing. A genuine laugh that makes him have to lean up against the door frame. “What are you laughing at?”, you feel almost offended.

It takes him almost a full minute to type out a reply to you.

Tell you what? That I’m a murderer? How was I supposed to bring that shit up? “Oh hey, by the way, I kill people”?

You catch the way his eyebrows raised up in an obvious sarcastic way, coaxing you to laugh.

Come on, it’s not something I can just tell you about. I’m still the same Thomas. But I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Or at all, honestly

You narrow your eyes in his direction. You’re still mad at him, but he does have a point. How does one bring up something as horrible as all this? You battle your rational side, the rational side that strives on survival, the one that’s constantly telling you to get out, that it’s not safe here. But then you see him, and his eyes, and you’re teleported back home. Not one part of you is listening to your rational side at this moment. Because this really is the same Thomas you’ve been talking to. He looks like him, he… talks like him, and he acts like him. So you accept his offer to take a shower, and your rational side flips out and internally you throw hands with yourself for this.

Before you have time to reply to him, he’s moving towards you while typing;

Listen, sugar, I don’t have all day. So up we go

And before you know it, the bed leaves you and you’re flying. You yelp as you’re carefully thrown over his naked shoulder, your bag being picked up in his other hand. You really can’t help the giggle that escapes you at this point, desperately you try to grab on to… something as to not fall off him. “Can’t you at least carry me like a normal person and not a deer that’s been shot, you dummy?”, you feel his shoulder shake in what you suspect is a silent laugh.

For the first time, you see the rest of the house. There’s clinking coming from what you figure is the kitchen, voices talking in a hushed tone. Thomas seems to make a beeline to the stairs as a particularly harsh voice calls his name from the kitchen’s direction, he tenses up at the same time. But suddenly he stops, you can’t see anything other than the floor and heel of his boots, but you can hear a voice. “Where you takin’ ‘er, boy?”, it’s the old man that was with you yesterday. You remember his voice. You feel Thomas’ body move and see the stairs under him as he walks up, you can’t help but to raise your head and look down at the old man. He winks at you and makes a disgusting kissing face before turning away.

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

Thomas lets out a small grunt as he sets you down in the bathtub and sets your bag down in front of you in it before pulling his phone up;

You ain’t allowed to be alone

He looks down at you sitting in the tub and makes a face as if trying to say “sorry” before pulling the curtain to let you undress somewhat in peace, knees cracking slightly as he sits down on the lid of the toilet. He hears you whine a bit. “Does she think I’m going to run away with a broken leg?”, he chuckled.

Maybe you’ll beat us all with your cast

A giggle from behind the shower curtain, and a shuffle. His eyes follow your arm as it reaches out from behind it, your hand drops your clothes on the floor. “Maybe I will! I can be fierce if I want to.”, he just hums and reclines on the toilet before your voice rings out again, a little shaky this time. “Hey, uhm… Do you mind… helping me out?”, his heart starts to race. He clears his throat as quietly and discreetly as he can.

With?

“I can’t reach the shower head and uhm… If you can lift my leg up out of the tub.”, your voice is so low, so nervous. And he can tell. His hands feel moist and he wipes them on his sweatpants before putting his phone on the floor.

With racing thoughts, his heart is going at a record speed. You’re naked. And he knows you’re naked, a thought that’s almost enough for him to cum in his pants. Getting up, his hands shake as he reaches behind the curtain, making sure to keep his face on the outside so as to not see you in all your naked glory, taking the showerhead off its handle and giving it to you blindly. When he feels you’ve taken it, he’s quick to tug his arm back.

He hears you giggle.

“Thomas, you’ve seen me naked before.”, he’s so, so happy that you can’t see him. Because he’s probably much more red than a fresh tomato at this point. And he can feel it. His face is warm.

Of course he’s seen you naked, on video. And pictures. But that’s far from the same thing as seeing you naked… In person. To help you with your leg he kneels next to the tub, he knows he has to open the curtain just a tiny bit and he is not in the mood to show you what lovely tent he’s pitching in his sweat pants at this moment. His thoughts are not of honest nature right now.

But before opening it, he needs to ask first.

I need to open the curtain, okay?

He’s thankful for the somewhat robotic male voice from his phone, because it can’t show how nervous he is. Your answer is so simple to him. “Yes.” Taking a deep breath he shoves it aside.

You look so small, curled up with your arms covering your breasts. He looks away from your face when he sees you blush as you notice his eyes, he’s shaking so badly at this point. Yet, he manages to reach out and ever so carefully lifts your heavy leg up to prop it on the side of the tub. His hair falls in front of his eyes, a slight cover for his wandering eyes, eyes he seemingly can’t control at this moment since the majority of his blood has traveled south. His breath hitches slightly as his gaze land on your sex as it get exposed because of the way your leg has to be moved from your body to get propped up, your other not doing much to cover yourself up even if you try.

He gulps and almost way too hurriedly releases your leg and basically throws the curtain closed again as he sits back. As the shower starts, he glares down at the throbbing mass of flesh twitching slightly between his thighs in an annoyed way, before mentally cursing it.

You really have to ruin everything, don’t you?

[jenyoonoh]

An Unsent Letter to You - Wong Yukhei

inspired by Gone by Rosé (from BLACKPINK)

https://open.spotify.com/track/2pn8dNVSpYnAtlKFC8Q0DJ?si=6ae443cc8d1744b8

——

Dear Wong Yukhei,

It’s me, Y/N. Your fuck buddy? Or well, ex-fuck buddy. I saw you out with that girl the other day. The one you told me to not worry about.

You watch as he talks to a petite girl, her hair soft and curled at the ends. His hands are reaching out and brushing against her arms as he laughs at whatever was so amusing that she just said. You scoff.

You didn’t know if he was actually interested in her or if he was just looking for another fuck buddy but you didn’t like it anyway. “I won’t sleep or be with anybody else while I’m with you,” he said. Yeah right, sure. Look at you now with that girl over there.

You roll your eyes and decide to leave him be for the time being. Going off into another section of the house and away from the party, you sit on the bench on the porch and just stare at the cars passing by.

A few of your his friends come out and make conversations with you. You don’t really remember what the topics were but they were interesting enough to make the time pass and soon, he’d walked out of the front door.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

You stand up as he stumbles towards you, you catching him as he throws his arms around you and nuzzles his head against your neck.

“Hey,” you greet him, still wrapped in his arms. “You ready to go home?”

“You wanna go?” he asks as he stands upright to look at you. Taking a few seconds to think, you shrug and give him a soft nod.

“Yeah I think so,” he’s still staring intently at you. “I’m not having the best time here.”

He frowns and he removes himself from you. “What? Why?” With his arm now hanging around your shoulders, you both make your way to the car.

You shake your head in response. It would seem like you’d caught feelings for him if you told him the real reason why. “Nothing.” You say. “Nothing happened, I just got bored.”

Getting into the car (he’s in the passenger’s seat, of course. DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE, KIDS!), he remains silent. The car ride becomes quiet until he suddenly speaks up.

“I’m sorry,” he turns to look at you. “I did say I was going to stay with you, didn’t I? and I just left you there by yourself.”

“Yeah,” you refuse to look at him even though the car was at a red light. “It’s also entertaining to me how you were being quite friendly to some girls.”

“Oh,” you spot him turning away from you in the corner of your eye. “That girl? She’s just transferred courses to my major and I see her every now and then during my lectures. She seemed so alone then that I couldn’t help but talk to her.”

Right, she’s that person you hear some other people talking about.

You would argue that you were all alone during the part too (because you really did feel all alone despite the company of his friends), but you knew you couldn’t because he’d say you could’ve just talked to Mark Lee or something. And well, you did talk to the boy but it’s not the same as talking to Lucas Wong.

All you do in response to him is nod so he speaks up again. “Don’t worry about her,” he stares out the window, giving you a small wave of the hand. “She’s nothing compared to you. I’m going home with you right now, aren’t I?”

And indeed he was. He was your ride to the party and after drinking, you’d be taking him home. That sentence from him had put your heart at ease and you returned home (after dropping him off and leaving his car with him - you walked home since it was close) with a little skip in your step.

Isn’t it kinda dumb? Don’t you think that it is?

That the same girl you told me to not worry about is the one you’re with now. Romantically too, might I add.

You’re a piece of shit.

Maybe it’s my fault though, for falling for you even when we both agreed on it being no strings attached. But maybe I couldn’t help it either. Not when we did all the things we did together. Stuff like staying the night and cuddling and late-night drives and getting food together at our(?) favorite diner. I don’t know what the heck that was but it didn’t seem purely platonic to me. Isn’t that what couples do? Or am I just dreaming?

Do you do that with her too? Since you’re actually together romantically and not like us, just friends with benefits.

Sometimes I hope she treats you well and that you’re happy with her but, hell, that might be too generous of me. Then the thought of you being the heartbroken one this time cross my mind and it sucks to have that thought but I really wish you the same amount of pain you gave me so why not.

I should wish myself happiness. Maybe I’ll find someone who loves me the way you never did.

I tried to, actually. I got introduced to some people by my own friends and I did go out with them. But, Yukhei, what have you done to me because nobody ever seems to be as interesting as you.

Nobody ever seems to have such flowing conversations with me as you and nobody ever seems to know me as much as you do. Heck, I went to the sushi restaurant the other day and forgot they didn’t already know my order. The shock I felt when they asked me what I liked and the shock I felt when I had to order by myself was quite devastating. I shouldn’t be like this.

I also went to the mall with another person my friends introduced me to, but then I just wanted to cry because I really liked that one shirt from that one store because it was blue and I love the color blue but the color blue reminds me of you and everything reminds me of you and I just hate it. Everything sucks now because I can’t go two minutes without thinking of you even though I know I really shouldn’t but you broke my heart and I’m just a mess now.

Anyway, I should stop now. I don’t even know why I’m writing this letter to you when I don’t even know where you live anymore and I can’t send this to you through text because you changed your number. I still see you on campus sometimes but you’re always with her and I also don’t think I could face you so forget that option.

Unfortunately, still with love only, Y/N.

——

[a/n:] yikes okay so i figured out that i still don’t know how to do this but i really had a moment of inspiration just now (even tho it’s past midnight) so i had to get everything out or else i’d explode

again, you can send me requests? but i don’t know if i’d be able to them out well and i also seem to only be okay at english when i really feel the urge to write so don’t expect me to follow through with things properly if you end up sending me something

thanks again, bye~