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indie05 · 14 hours ago

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About You

Reader x Ex! Paige WC: 4.2K Warnings: Angst, mentions of depression, mentions of sex.

January 2020

"Have you figured out where you’re going yet?" Paige’s fingers trail lightly over your forearm and her eyes remain locked on the TV screen as an Illinois tourism ad plays, a montage of the state’s biggest tourist attractions flashing in soft, cinematic cuts when Northwestern’s campus appears with a tree-lined shot of the university’s archway—and your stomach twists.

"You know I haven't decided, P."

Upstairs, two acceptance letters sit untouched on your desk. Northwestern or UConn. The decision should’ve been easy. When Northwestern’s email had arrived, it felt like the pieces had finally fallen into place, it’s what you had always planned, always wanted.

It would have been a no-brainer if UConn hadn’t responded with an email of their own just minutes later, accompanied by a scholarship too good to ignore. And if that weren’t enough to tempt you, a package had shown up on Paige’s front porch that night—a stark white Huskies jersey with her last name and new number stitched on the back. A tangible, undeniable tie to her future, a future that at that point - didn’t include you.

Paige sighs, shifting beside you, she’s thinking. You can tell by the way her brow furrows just slightly, by the way she presses her lips together like she’s weighing her words carefully. "I know, I know," she murmurs, voice quiet. "I just…" She hesitates, searching for the right words. "I just wish you'd talk to me about it. Northwestern is great, and I don’t want to hold you back, but UConn is good too. And it’d be even better with you there."

She’s right. UConn is a great school, and getting to watch her finally dominate on the UConn court, seeing her in that jersey, hearing her name chanted through the packed arena—that would be incredible. But Northwestern… Northwestern is Northwestern. A top-tier school in a city that has been the backdrop of your dreams for as long as you can remember. The idea of turning them down feels impossible.

But Paige is here, with her arm slung protectively around your waist, molded into your side so perfectly that it makes you wonder if you two were born to be attached like this. Her blue eyes are locked onto yours, saying everything she’s too selfless to voice, but pleading regardless. She’s consumed you, and maybe that’s why the words leave your mouth before you even fully process them— “I’ve been thinking about UConn a lot."

You weren’t lying, but the weight of the admission feels heavier than you expected. Paige’s face mirrors your surprise, her expression flickering between disbelief and something else—something dangerously close to hope, a hope you’re not sure you have the guts to diminish, no matter the cost to you.

When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "You really think you might go to UConn?" Willing your voice to be steady, to believe what you're about to say even as uncertainty claws at you. "Yeah," you finally muster up, "I've been thinking about it. A lot."

For a moment, Paige just stares at you. Then, slowly, a small, shaky smile pulls at her lips. Her grip around your waist tightens. "You better not be messing with me."

A hesitant smile crosses your face, ignoring the way your heart hammers against your ribs. "I'm not," you say, glancing back at the TV. The ad is over now, the Chicago skyline fading to black. In its place, the dark screen reflects the two of you curled up together, limbs tangled, bodies pressed close. This—being with Paige—this is your future. Or at least you pray to God that it is.

September 2020

It had only taken one summer and trip to the city when you were seven years old for you to decide—Chicago was where you were meant to be. The memory is vivid: the skyline stretched high above you, the streets alive and practically humming. You had clutched your aunt’s hand and declared, with all the certainty of a child, that one day, you would live there.

Since then, every dream, every goal, every plan has centered around that promise. You've fantasized about it for years: attending college in the city or suburbs, staying in your aunt’s guest house in Evanston, spending your hard earned- but surely measly- paychecks on fancy dinners with your friends downtown that you’d get all dressed up for, and summers by the lake, with the warm pavement beneath your bare feet.

A postcard from that first trip, bought on a State Street tourist trap gift shop, had been taped over your bed at home for years. Now, it sits in a frame on your dorm room desk in Storrs, Connecticut—right beside a polaroid of you and Paige.

You’ve grown up, and the fantasy has changed. But it happened all too fast, which you assume is why your mother’s voice is echoing so mercilessly in your head as Paige dribbles down the court, her sharp movements effortless, and seeing her so in her element, so happy, so in control when you feel anything but almost makes you want to scream.

"A person can love you back. A place can’t. Everyone wants to be loved, but don’t let the satisfaction of feeling loved take you out of a place you feel love for. Because at the end of the day, where you are can be permanent. And you’re so young—the people you’re with might not be."

When you had first announced your decision to commit to UConn that had been her only argument against it before she kissed you goodnight, and never spoke against it again.

Regardless, the words pressed themselves permanently into your chest, lingering through every minute of Paige’s first game of the season. You’re so distracted that you almost forget that it’s probably only the fourth time you’ve actually seen her for more than an hour since move-in day. She’d been so busy with practice and you with school, plus living on different sides of campus your time together has been almost non existent.

She calls you every night, sends a good morning text when she’s up at 6 A.M. for practice, but even with the lack of physical distance between you, thanks to the effort you had put into making that happen - you’re beginning to feel like you’re in a long distance relationship.

But this is your future. Making Connecticut work. Following Paige wherever she gets drafted. Maybe even getting engaged, someday. It’s the realistic choice. The right choice. You remind yourself of that nearly every day.

And yet, no matter how many times you repeat it, the thrill of being here, of experiencing college together, has started to wane. And in its place, all you have is the harsh reality of your own dissatisfaction.

November 2020

Your first Connecticut fall is not like fall back home. The leaves don’t change into bright reds, oranges, and yellows. The sun doesn’t shine through them and glimmer down on you making you feel a joy that up until that point, only Paige had been able to give you; instead it is wet, cold, and it just doesn’t seem to have an end. The sky is gray more often than not. The rain and wind storms come in fits and bursts, soaking the campus, making everything feel damp and heavy. And Paige—Paige is gone more than she’s present.

Basketball has always kept her busy, but college basketball is a different beast, one that devours her time, her attention, her energy. Even on the rare nights she sneaks into your dorm, curling around you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, the chill remains, seeping deep into your bones, so deep that you’re not sure Paige could draw it out if she tried.

She hasn’t said anything about your change in mood. You don’t expect her to. You tell yourself this is normal. That you knew what you were signing up for. But the guilt is unbearable. Paige should be enough to make you happy. She is enough to make you happy. So why are you regretting your decision to follow her here so much?

It’s this thought—this horrible, gnawing thought—that leads you to where you are now: tucked away in a private study room, hunched over your laptop, the screen’s blue light burning into your tired eyes.

It’s a Saturday night, and instead of being at Paige’s game, instead of being anywhere near her, you are here, drowning yourself in schoolwork that needs to get done. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. Because the truth is that your grades need to stay high. And if you'd let yourself admit it… You’d realize the only reason you’re working this hard is to give yourself a chance to leave. So this distraction works, until Paige finds you.

The door creaks open and, at first, you barely register it. Your fingers stay frozen over the keyboard, vision blurring from a mix of exhaustion and unshed tears. The only sound is your breathing as you attempt to calm yourself down before turning to face the intruder when a familiar voice breaks through the silence before you can.

"Hey."

You don’t look up right away. Instead, you blink rapidly, hoping she won’t notice how red your eyes are, how puffy your face must be. "Hi P," you manage, willing your voice not to break.

Paige steps inside, closing the door softly behind her. She’s still in her sneakers, navy joggers and a UConn hoodie pulled over her game jersey. The damp chill of the fall air clings to her, but she radiates warmth, like she always does. She lingers by the door for a second, studying you. "You weren’t at the game." Her voice is careful—casual, almost. But you know her too well. You hear the layers of hurt beneath it, she never was a good liar.

You swallow, you weren’t at the game. It’s not an accusation, she’s just stating a fact. But the way she says it makes it feel an awful lot like one. "Yeah." You clear your throat, staring hard at your laptop screen. "I had a lot of work to do."

Silence.

Then Paige exhales, slow and measured. You don’t have to look at her to know she’s pressing her lips together, thinking through what to say next. "I get it," she says finally. "I just… I dunno, I thought maybe you'd at least come for a little bit."

She’s right, of course. You could have gone for part of the game. You could have shown up, even if only for her. "I was just really behind on this paper," you say instead, forcing a small, tight smile. "I’ll be at the next one, promise.”

Another silence stretches between you.

Paige shifts her weight from one foot to the other, like she’s debating whether to push or let it go. Finally, she sighs and moves closer, slipping into the seat across from you. She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, studying you.

"Babe."

You freeze. She doesn’t say anything else right away—just that. Just babe. Slowly, you lift your eyes to hers. She doesn’t look angry. She doesn’t even look disappointed. She looks worried. "What’s going on?" she asks, voice quieter now, and your stomach twists. "Nothing," you say quickly. Too quickly. Paige tilts her head, eyebrows drawing together. "Come on."

You press your lips together, grip tightening on your laptop. Say something. Say anything. But your mind is blank, scrambled, a mess of words and feelings that you don’t even know how to begin to untangle yourself, let alone explain.

Paige exhales through her nose, leaning back slightly. "You’ve been… off," she begins slowly, carefully. "I figured it was just school stress, but…" She hesitates, searching your face. "Is there something else going on?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You could tell her. You should tell her that some days, you feel like you’re suffocating here. That you miss the idea of Chicago so much it aches. That you feel like you’ve lost something, like a piece of yourself got left behind when you chose to come to UConn. That sometimes, when she’s not around, you feel so alone you can barely breathe. You need to tell her that you’ve thought about transferring. You need to tell her that your mom has already filled out the application for you and all you need to do is press send. But you don’t. Instead, you force a laugh—too light, too casual. "It’s just school, P. Seriously."

She studies you for another moment, like she knows there’s more, like she’s waiting for you to crack. But you refuse to let her see it. So finally, she sighs and nods, accepting your answer, even if she doesn’t quite believe it. "Okay." She reaches across the table, wrapping her fingers around yours, warm and solid. You try to focus on that, on the comfort and familiarity of her touch. "Just… don’t shut me out, okay?" she murmurs. You nod, not willing to admit to her or yourself that you already have.

Paige squeezes your hand again, then stands, stretching her arms above her head. "Come back to my place? We can watch a movie or something." For a split second, you almost say no. But then you see the way she’s looking at you—hopeful, tired, and a little too worried for your liking, and you can’t bring yourself to say deny her. "Yeah," you murmur. "Okay." She smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head before reaching for your bag. "Let’s go." You follow her out of the study room, letting the door click shut behind you.

January 2021

The apartment is quiet except for the obnoxious hum of the janky old heater and the distant sound of laughter coming from the dorm upstairs. It’s late—so late that even the digital clock on your nightstand seems to blink tiredly, the numbers glowing 1:42 AM. Really, you should be asleep. Paige should be asleep. But instead, you’re both lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, caught in a silence thick enough to suffocate you. You close your eyes, and inhale deeply. You know what you need to do. But the words form a knot in your throat.

"You're thinking too loud," Paige murmurs against your shoulder, her voice raspy, and unfairly attractive, which is not what you need at this moment. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, but it feels forced. "Sorry."

She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow. Her bright blue eyes cut through the darkness and bore into you. "What’s wrong?" You swallow, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket. She’s given you the opening, now is the time to say it. "I got into Northwestern." A weight lifts off your chest, and you almost want to cry at how relieved you are to have told her even though you don’t know what’s about to happen.

Paige doesn’t respond at first, and for a moment, you think maybe she didn’t hear you. But then, she pulls away, sitting up completely. "What?" You finally turn to face her. Her expression is perhaps for the first time in all the years you’ve known her, completely unreadable, but her blue eyes are wide, searching. "I applied to transfer," you say quietly, your chest tightening all over again. "And I got in."

Paige blinks, like she’s trying to process it, like maybe she misheard you. "Since when have you been thinking about transferring?" You hesitate. Since September. Since the second I stepped onto this campus and felt like I’ve been slowly losing myself while you barely noticed. But saying that feels cruel, so you settle for— "A while." Paige scoffs, running a hand through her hair. "A while? And you’re just now telling me?" Your stomach twists. "I didn’t know how."

"Jesus”, She exhales sharply, shaking her head. "So what, you just decided you were leaving without even talking to me about it?" "No—Paige, I—"You sit up too, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, planting your feet on the floor. Your hands press against your temples, trying to steady yourself. "I haven't decided anything yet. I just… I needed to know if I had the option."

"And now you do." Her voice is clipped, sharp in a way you rarely hear from her. You glance at her, at the way her jaw is clenched, at the way she’s gripping the blanket so tightly her knuckles have turned white. You’ve seen Paige frustrated before—on the court, after a bad game, after a bad call—but this is different. This isn’t just frustration. This is hurt.

"Paige, please," you say, softer now. "I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I just never knew how to bring it up." She just lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over her face, hiding her eyes which have pooled with unshed tears. "Could’ve fooled me."

"I just—" Your voice catches. You exhale, trying again. "I didn’t want to hurt you."

"Oh, so now you care about that?" It would have been less painful if she’d punched you, and Paige knows it, she wanted it to hurt. She shakes her head, her expression twisting. "Do you even want to be here with me?”

The question hangs in the air, and your hesitation—just a split second too long—is all the answer she needs. Paige lets out a hollow laugh and looks away, wiping her eyes. "Wow."

"It’s not that simple Paige,” you begin. "But isn’t it?" Her voice cracks slightly, and you decide that it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. "Because it seems pretty simple to me. You regret coming here with me. You wish you had just gone to Northwestern in the first place. And now you’re trying to undo it all.”

"That’s not fair." You try to argue. "Then tell me what this is” she almost screams, meeting your gaze head-on. Her blue eyes, usually so warm, are hard now, guarded. "Because that’s exactly what this feels like to me." You open your mouth, then close it, because—what can you even say? She’s not wrong.

From her perch on the bed you hear her exhale, running a hand through her hair. "So what are you gonna do?"

This time, you don’t lie "I don’t know." And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? Not knowing. The feeling of being split in two, trapped between the love you have for her and the love you have for the life you thought you’d have.

Paige studies you for a long moment, then nods once—sharp, decisive. She swings her legs over the bed and stands, crossing the room to grab her hoodie off the back of her desk chair. "Where are you going?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know." She doesn’t look at you as she pulls the hoodie over her head, grabbing her keys off the dresser.

"Paige—"

"I just need some air."

And then she’s gone.

You sit there, frozen, staring at the spot where she stood just moments ago. Your whole body feels numb, the reality of what just happened hasn’t fully settled in yet. The room is quieter now, emptier. You glance at the clock again—2:04 AM—then at the acceptance letter still sitting in the drawer of your desk, folded neatly in its envelope, just waiting for your decision, but deep down you know it was made years ago.

April 2025

You didn’t hear from her after that night, not when you called her a million times the next morning, not when you texted to let her know that you were leaving, not even to say goodbye.

She never replied when you texted her after she tore her ACL, not even when you congratulated her after she won the national championship just last month, she was completely silent.

Everything you knew about her now was gathered from news articles, gossip on social media, and the few mutual friends you had left from high school. You knew she never actually started dating anyone again but with the number of stories you’d heard about the beds she was spending her nights in, the roster of girls she had on speed dial at UConn, you almost wish she was dating someone else instead.

The two of you had graduated now, separately. And while your life continued in Chicago, building your career and putting down roots. Paige had stayed another year at UConn and now was just waiting on the draft to start her career in the WNBA, just like she’d always dreamed of.

And that leads you to where you are now. Scarlet, the small bar in East Lakeview, your weekend spot. The bass rattles the walls, a steady, pulsing rhythm that reverberates through your ribs as you swirl the last bit of whiskey in your glass. It is packed—some exclusive afterparty in the VIP section that had bled out onto the dance floor, bodies pressed together, laughter and conversations blending into an indistinct hum.

You don’t even know why you came. Maybe to find someone to go home with, maybe because your friends dragged you here, maybe because it was easier than being alone.

You lean against the bar, facing away from the crowd, checking your phone even though there’s nothing to check. That’s when you hear it—low, smooth, slightly slurred from the amount of alcohol she had clearly had. "Looks like you’ll need a refill soon"

You barely react, letting out a quiet scoff, eyes still on your drink. "I’m okay, thank you." Silence. Then— "Damn. Won’t even look at me?" Something in your chest tightens. A pulse of recognition. You don’t want to turn around. You don’t want to, but you do.

And there she is.

Paige. Fucking. Bueckers.

It’s been four years. Four years since the last time you spoke, since the night she walked away from you and never looked back. And now she’s leaning against the bar like she owns it, a half-empty beer in her hand, the other stuffed into her pocket. Her blonde hair is damp at the edges, curling slightly from the humidity of the packed club. She looks good, too good.

The room is dim, but not enough to hide the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—before she schools her expression back into something unreadable. "Shit," she mutters, mostly to herself. "I didn’t even recognize you."

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh, turning fully toward her now. "Makes sense, it’s not like you’ve made any effort to see me in the past four years."

She raises a brow but says nothing.

"What are you even doing here, Paige?" you ask, your voice sharper than you intended it to be. Paige exhales through her nose, dragging a hand through her hair. She looks like she’s still processing, she wasn’t prepared for this, for you. "Right," she mutters, half to herself. "You’re in Chicago."

You cross your arms, studying her. "What? Did you forget?" She meets your gaze then, something flashing behind her eyes—something that looks too much like guilt. "No," she says after a beat. "I didn’t forget." The words hang between you, heavy and unspoken.

Four years. Four years of not forgetting.

You should walk away. You should. You owe her nothing. But there’s something about the way she’s looking at you now—like she wasn’t expecting to see you, like she wasn’t ready to remember—that makes you curious, so you stay.

Paige lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "This is so fucking stupid" she scoffs out shakily, beginning to turn away but something about her makes you revert right back to your 17 year old self, bold and absolutely unwilling to let her go until you've gotten your fix. Grabbing at her forearm, you look down pointedly at her drink “don’t go yet, looks you’ll need a refill soon too.”

Everything afterwards is rushed. Messy. Desperate in a way that feels a little too dangerous for your liking.

Paige’s back slams against your front door the second it closes behind you, and her mouth is on yours before you can think. She tastes exactly how you remember, her hands gripping your waist, fingers pressing, pulling, taking. It’s like she’s trying to prove something—to herself, to you, to the four years of distance between then and now.

Clothes hit the floor before you can realize what’s happening. The bed creaks beneath you as she pushes you down on it. Her lips drag over your throat, her breath hot against your skin. "You’re still so fucking hot," she mutters against your collarbone.

You bite back a groan. "Shut up."

She grins against your skin, teasing. "Make me."

So you do, in the way only you know how.

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maxisodenoth · 9 hours ago

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Oops, forgot to block.

But anyways, it seems like you don't understand.

Let me put it like this for you.

You have been provided links with proof [that I'm sure you didn't even touch.] And instead of bringing up any point related to them you stick to your same arguments.

I asked you a simple yes or no question, and you seem to have taken it personally. It doesn't matter to me what you think the answer is, because the answer is always no. An infertile woman is just as much of a woman as any other. We are what we want to be. Your words mean nothing to me, and other peoples identity. [which let me remind you *again* that you've been provided links in the comments which explain this stuff better than I ever could]

[And let me tell you something. Just because we can't have kids right now doesn't mean it'll remain that way in the future. I believe that something will be figured out later in the future that will allow trans-people to be able to reproduce with their new reproductive apparatuses. Whether that takes years or decades doesn't matter. It'll happen.]

You used word meanings as "arguments". May I remind you that, words were created far before any research was done on this matter? [Not exaclty sure when or how much words change but I'm almost sure it's a pretty slow process, so they might be a bit or alot outdated. Not sure though.] And that maybe instead of etymology, you should be looking at psychology, and biology? [Links in the comments~] Trying to use words meanings as arguments doesn't really work out that well when we're not talking about words but people.

[And by the way. Where is your evidence? You've been provided links explaining this stuff, yet when pressed, you only choose to go to ... a dictionary? Really?]

[Also, since you've stooped into insults let me get in on that action.]

Why do you care so much? Like really. Why does this matter that much to you? Are you that miserable that the only joy you get is by hating on other people being themselves and happy?

Look, I know it's hard to find a purpose in life, or a job, but it'd be alot easier if you stopped being a prick and just let people be themselves. There's no reason to hate people who literally don't affect you in any shape or form. They're just being themselves. Cope. [Your final reminder that there are links in the comments!~]

Or do you just refuse to grow up and understand that it doesn't matter what you say. People will be themselves and happier than you will ever be?

I am not a debator. I'm just some angry penguin on the internet. I have left my piece here. And I won't forget to block this time. May this be the last time I see your miserable blog on my feed.

And for everyone else who comes across this post, trans or otherwise. Your identity is Valid. You know yourselves better than some stranger on the internet. Or anyone who's not you. Because it's Your Identity. Not these peoples.

Do not let the hateful words of bigots make you feel bad about youself. You are the only one who can choose your identity. Not some idiots on the internet. You. And let me say this again Your identity is always valid. No matter what others say. ❤️

Goodbye. 👋

[Even if you reply to this, I'm not wasting anymore of my time on you John. You've been given links, read them. The same goes for any asshole who wants to start another argument. I do not care for you. Find someone else to deal with your bullshit.]

Facts matter. #VoteBlue

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camandemstudios · 19 hours ago

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🍴Main Course: Jeon Wonwoo x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You had no idea when or what started your mutual hatred with Jeon Wonwoo. And if anyone were to ask why you hate him, you could give them a comprehensive list of everything you can’t stand about Jeon Wonwoo. But as the saying goes: there’s a fine line between love and hate.

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🥂 Chef Special: crash course in romance by @etherealyoungk

🍴Main Course: Kwon Soonyoung x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: meet kwon soonyoung, he’s the ultimate goofball— sweet and chaotic but clueless when it comes to romance. so when you ask him to be your fake boyfriend even though you barely know him, he says yes, even though he's never dated before and has no idea what to do. as you show him the ropes and coach him on how to be the perfect boyfriend and slowly get to know him, soonyoung finds himself slowly falling for you. and maybe, just maybe, you're falling for him too.

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🥂 Chef Special: The Fine Print Of Fake Dating by @c-oupsie

🍴Main Course: Kwon Soonyoung x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: Two broke college best friends enter a Valentine’s ‘Hottest Couple’ contest to win a semester of free tuition. The plan? Ace the romantic challenges without anyone realizing they’re faking it. The problem? The fine print never mentioned what to do when fake dating starts to feel all too real.

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🥂 Chef Special: Found You First by @bluehoodiewoozi

🍴Main Course: Lee Jihoon x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: For years you’ve hated Valentine’s day, convinced you’d never find a love worth celebrating. Maybe this year you’ll see that what you needed has been right in front of you all along.

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🥂 Chef Special: smarter, and yours. by @vitaminkyeom

🍴Main Course: Lee Jihoon x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: Jihoon, school's no. 1 (or no. 2), was nothing but a pain in the ass for you. Sure he was better than you in some subjects but so were you. The two of you were equally good enough for the first place so to increase the competition, he decided to suggest the most scandalous thing you had heard: the two of you of you tutor each other.

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🥂 Chef Special: Don't Run Away by @lovetaroandtaemin

🍴Main Course: Lee Seokmin x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: When unexpected circumstances lead to you sharing an apartment with your best friend's older brother, the transition from acquaintances to roommates is anything but smooth. Over time, however, you two realize that you truly care about each other. Will a drunk confession bring the two of you together, or will you continue to run away from your feelings?

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🥂 Chef Special: the subtle art of stirring the pot by @miniseokminnies

🍴Main Course: Lee Seokmin x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: [STIRRING THE POT] definition: To make a situation more difficult or to deliberately provoke conflict. The kitchen at Quartz and Serenity in New York City runs like a well oiled machine.Then comes Lee Seokmin, the new sous chef, breezing in with a carefree attitude that disrupts your routine. All you've known for the last few years is studying, sleeping, and this kitchen. You try your best to work with the new addition to the chaos but what happens when the pot gets stirred?

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🥂 Chef Special: Cinnamon by @daechwitatamic

🍴Main Course: Kim Mingyu x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

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🥂 Chef Special: Dessert First by @highvern

🍴Main Course: Kim Mingyu x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You've got a great life. Your wedding planning business is booming, your clients are great, and you're finally over your ex-boyfriend after years of pining. Or you are, until the universe decides to test if those three things are actually true.

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🥂 Chef Special: muddled hearts by @haologram

🍴Main Course: Xu Minghao x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: things take a turn for the better when you finally find a roommate to escape your incredibly overpriced apartment, but you don’t expect to ruin the only relationship that matters to you in the process.

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🥂 Chef Special: hit replay by @starlightkyeom

🍴Main Course: Xu Minghao x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: everything in your life is going well. too well, probably, in hindsight. when the empty unit on your floor gets filled by none other than your ex that broke your heart, you feel like you shouldn't be surprised. but you can avoid with the best of them. especially when someone seems to be taking care of paying for your coffee every day on the way into work.

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🥂 Chef Special: Just One Chance by @soo0hee

🍴Main Course: Boo Seungkwan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: while for some valentines day was a day spend filled with love, compassion and roses, for you it was a total disaster. Alone and dissapointed you return home after what was suppossed to be the saving grace for your relationship where you were met with your best friend and roommate Boo Seungkwan. Maybe your night wouldn't end with total catastrophe...

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🥂 Chef Special: Fake it Til You Make it by @diamonddaze01

🍴Main Course: Boo Seungkwan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

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🥂 Chef Special: On the Clock by @sailorsoons

🍴Main Course: Chwe Hansol x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger at the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex- thinks you’re dating.

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🥂 Chef Special: stupid cupid by @beomcoups

🍴Main Course: Chwe Hansol x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: you are madly in love with your best friend and it's eating you alive. one day you will tell him how you feel, but you have to deal with his girlfriend first.

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🥂 Chef Special: Soundproof by @gyuswhore

🍴Main Course: Lee Chan x reader, Neighbours to Lovers

🔥 Flavour Profile: Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, at least that what it feels like to you since the day his family moved in next door. It goes from his yells and screams to his midday guitar riffs and drum solos, all somehow ending up in your parents garage for his audacious band practices. Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, but at some point, you fell in line too.

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🥂 Chef Special: paging dr. heartthrob by @wheeboo

🍴Main Course: Lee Chan x reader

🔥 Flavour Profile: You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him.

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184 notes · View notes

hyucksos · 2 days ago

Text

heavy is the crown — mark lee

pairing: mark lee x f!reader genre: fantasy/supernatural au, crime-action, angst, romance wc: 14.9k synopsis: a series of visions lead you to mark lee, a seemingly normal human boy with no ties to the world of the gifted— your world. as such, you're concerned as to why you keep seeing him in your dreams, and the army of wraiths that just can't seem to leave him alone despite him being powerless... or so you thought. as he joins you at the academy, you learn that there may be more to this mark lee than you thought there was. taglist: closed | @/yoonohswife @morkleesgirl @cosmoshyu @barbie4jin @sthwaaberry @ohmytyong

You had no idea what Taekwondo was. At least, not until today.

According to Donghyuck, it’s a form of martial arts, similar to the combat training you go through at the academy every day. You weren’t actually sure on whether to believe him or not considering Donghyuck is Donghyuck and his whole life before joining the academy sounded like a jumble of lies (you learnt not to trust him wholeheartedly after he convinced you that bananas were considered a delicacy in the outside world. He made you eat them with a knife and fork for a full week).

But now, as you’re sitting amongst the sea of heads in the stands overlooking the arena below, you think that Donghyuck might just be telling the truth this time.

You tug on the gloves that hug your hands and forearms, the latex that sticks uncomfortably to your skin not at all helping in easing your nerves. You rarely step foot outside the academy— not like it’s ever been restricted; you know being in unfamiliar environments could potentially spike your elemental, and you didn’t want to risk accidentally committing arson or anything like that. As much as you hate your gloves, you know they keep you safe, which is why you keep them on.

Weirdly enough, nobody seems to pay you any mind; not with your gloves, not even with the bulky silhouette of your hanbok-like uniform you knew you should have changed out of before coming here. It’s as though you’re invisible, everyone’s eyes fixed on the arena below.

“The next match is about to begin. In the blue corner representing Blue Wave Taekwondo, here to show off his agility and skill— let’s give it up for Jeno Lee!”

You startle when the people around you cheer loudly, and you slowly bring your own hands together to join in on the applause. You can’t really make out the athlete’s face as he steps into the ring, most of his features blocked by the helmet he dons. You’re curious, having never seen a sparring match that required this much gear before— then again, you suppose that's just how it goes for an ordinary human sport.

“And in the red corner, known for his speed and precision, Kick It Dojang’s very own Mark Lee! Let’s give him a warm welcome!”

The buzz of the crowd fades into the background the moment your gaze lands on the boy decked in red and white, but you don’t register it until a second later— not until he straightens his back after bowing to his opponent, and his eyes meet yours.

A sharp pain suddenly hits your temples, and you hiss as your head falls to your hands. Immediately, the world starts to warp.

You’re looking at the boy from your visions, the boy you now know as Mark Lee. His head lies in your lap, lifeless, his skin pale and cold. Shadows swirl around you, whispering things you don’t understand.

“Mark,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

But nothing.

The whispers grow louder, your own voice feeling like it's being drowned out by their presence. Your chest starts to tighten with the weight of the darkness—

The vision cuts off abruptly, and you’re left breathless as your eyes refocus to the arena before you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but Mark is still in the ring, already in the midst of sparring with his opponent.

Your visions of him was what led you here in the first place, each one like fragments of a puzzle pulling you closer and closer. They're mostly brief, but you know they mean something, especially because of the shadows that would often surround him as they hiss with intent you couldn't decipher.

But this one was different.

For the first time, he had a name. For the first time, you saw him up close— vulnerable, his life resting in your hands as the wraiths closed in around you both.

It felt like the collision of two separate worlds that were never supposed to merge, and you know that this was no ordinary vision. Whatever it is that just happened... it was only the beginning.

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

Mark bounces his head to the music blasting through his wired earpieces, his eyes trained on his scuffed Converses as he walks. He's been told it's a real bad habit, to not watch where he's going (especially when he couldn't even hear his surroundings most of the time), but he swears he's working on it. Plus, his headphones aren't even the noise-cancelling kind, so he's still able to hear what goes on around him, albeit only partly; like right now.

Mark stops in his tracks, pulling out one of the buds from his ears as he looks behind him.

Nothing.

It's been happening a lot recently, to get the sensation of someone whispering in his ear only for him to look up and realise that he's alone. He's tried brushing it off as a gust of wind— even a figment of his own imagination— but he knows better than to believe that, not when the night is too still, too quiet, and he's far from losing his mind.

He also knows better than to ask if anybody's there— he's seen enough horror movies to know how badly that would end for him.

Perhaps walking through the park at this hour wasn't his best idea in the first place.

Mark stares idly at the barely-lit pavement for a few seconds more before bringing his earbud back to his ear, turning back around to resume his walk— only to be met with you.

He stumbles backwards with a startled gasp, his phone almost falling from his hand before he realises that no, you're not a ghost.

You’re the girl from earlier.

Of course, Mark remembers you. How could he not, when you're the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of spectators? It was odd enough as it is for him to be distracted right before a match, but there was just something about you that pulled him in; Mark couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it was your odd choice of attire, the traditional Korean-inspired silhouette of your all-black trench coat that cinched at your waist, or maybe it was the latex gloves that caught his attention first.

Either way, he’s feeling it again, that magnetic pull that renders him unable to look away, and it's not just because you're pretty— it feels as though there's literally something weighing him down, pulling on his chest.

Before he could question it, he notices your eyes lose focus on him, settling on something behind him instead. You’re the first one to break the silence.

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

In a split second, you're already ripping off your gloves, a flame roaring to life in your palm before you hurl the fire over his shoulder.

Mark’s confusion morphs into a split-second horror as he instinctively ducks, stumbling over his own two feet as he hears the air behind him fill with an otherworldly screech. Still, he dares himself to look over his shoulder, just in time to see multiple shadowy figures burst into flames before dissolving into nothingness.

The sight only causes Mark to fall on his butt, his neck snapping back towards you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “And- what- what did you just do?”

You let out a shaky breath, flicking your bare wrist before you put on your glove, almost nonchalantly. Almost like you didn’t just shoot fire out of your hands.

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

“I’ll explain later,” you say, glancing around the deserted park. “We need to go. It’s not safe here.”

“No. No, no,” Mark stammers, breathless as he pushes himself off the ground with a shaky hand, his knees almost giving way. “There’s no later. What the hell is going on? Was that- was that real? Did I just see you- what are you-“

His voice is rising now, panic clear in his tone, but you don’t have the luxury of soothing him yet— not with the danger still lingering. You sigh softly. “Mark, just listen to me-”

“Listen to what?” he cuts in, his voice shaking. “You just threw fire. At a... at a thing I don’t even have a name for! This- this isn’t normal!”

You knew this wasn’t going to end well if you don’t act fast.

Clenching your jaw, you shut your eyes momentarily. “Renjun,” you mutter, almost in defeat. “A little help, please.”

There’s a moment of silence before the Chinese boy appears, stepping out from the shadows as if he had been waiting for his cue. His expression is calm, but his eyes narrow as he takes in the scene— Mark’s pale, terrified face, along with your desperate one.

“Really?” Renjun raises a brow. “You couldn’t handle this on your own?”

“Not now," you hiss, glancing back at Mark who looks like he’s seconds away from collapsing.

Renjun sighs, muttering something under his breath before stepping closer. His hand glows a faint green as he grabs Mark’s shoulder and reaches for you.

For the second time that night, Mark could barely register what was going on— only this time, his world starts to spin, and the ground disappears beneath him.

Soon, everything turns to black.

Mark wakes up to a bare ceiling and a pounding headache, no sign of you or that other boy with the glowing hands whose name he could barely even remember.

He lets out a relieved exhale. So it was all just a bad dream.

“Huh. She didn’t tell me you were hot.”

Mark startles at the new voice, almost falling off the bed as he sits up, his neck whipping to his left.

He doesn’t recognise who he’s looking at. The boy looks to be around his age, maybe a little younger, with chestnut-brown hair that falls messily in his eyes. He’s seated casually in a chair right next to the bed, leaning forward with an almost unnerving curiosity that makes Mark feel like he’s a rat in a lab experiment.

One thing that Mark does recognise, is the attire the boy dons, similar to the one he saw on you. Up close, he could make out the intricate design embossed in the silk material of his shirt, and it looks just like the top-half of a hanbok, except with a modern twist.

So it wasn’t a dream. Everything that happened was real. Mark feels his head start to spin even more.

Where is he, and who are you people?

“You’re at the academy. We’re… uh, I don’t really know how to answer your question without freaking you out even more, so I’m probably just gonna leave that to someone else, but I’m Donghyuck.”

“What?” Mark rasps, his eyes squinting in confusion. He didn’t actually say that out loud, did he?

“Oh, my bad,” Donghyuck quips, not really sounding all that apologetic as he leans back in his chair. “You didn’t, but I heard you anyway. Usually I’d have to be touching your arm or something, but I guess this could happen too if the other person’s energy levels are like, skyrocketing through the roof. And my knee was kinda touching your blanket, so there’s that. You’re a nervous guy, aren’t you, Mark? Huh, wait- that explains the crash course on personal space…”

“Hyuck.”

Donghyuck halts his rambling to glance over his shoulder, and Mark follows his gaze to see you.

In the midst of his confusion, he’s slightly relieved to see a familiar face. Even if said familiar face could shoot fire out of her palms and… well, killed whatever the hell that thing behind him was.

“Well, that’s my cue to go. Duty calls!” Donghyuck sings, slapping his palms on his thighs as he stands up. “See ya around, Bruce Lee.”

You spare Donghyuck a warning glance when he walks past you, and you know he’s ignoring you on purpose as he whistles his way out the door.

“Sorry about that,” you mutter as you approach Mark, opting to stand at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?” You ask tentatively.

“Confused. Sore. Mostly confused.” Mark shakes his head weakly, his dark hair falling in his eyes. “What the hell happened?”

“Well, you passed out, and rightfully so. Non-Gifted bodies aren’t usually able to withstand the forces of teleportation, but seeing as you made it through…” you trail off before clearing your throat, telling him your name before you continue. “This is the academy. It’s a place for… people like me; people with abilities. And that thing you saw back there— they’re Umbras. Wraiths that feed off energy. They’re dangerous, and they were after you.”

Mark’s brows knit together. “Me? Why me? I don’t have… abilities, or whatever it is you’re talking about. I’m just a normal guy.”

You hesitate as you choose your next words carefully. “I thought so too. But I’ve been having visions of you for weeks, Mark, and it wasn’t until today did I realise that my visions of the Umbras and you… they’re all connected.” You start to pace around the room. “You have to be possessing some sort of energy for them to be after you in the first place. Are you certain you’re powerless?”

You stop right in front of him, and Mark stares at you like you’re crazy.

“Um, I’m pretty sure.”

You huff in frustration, running a hand through your hair. You know that it isn’t his fault, but he isn’t giving you anything to work with.

“So, uh, the fire thing you did back there. That was your ability, right?”

You turn back to Mark, who’s still looking at you. He’s taking this surprisingly well, you think, though it does seem that he’s still recovering from shock.

“Yes. I’m a pyrokinetic. We all have different abilities here. Donghyuck's is psychometry, and if you remember Renjun, he teleports.”

Mark nods slowly. “So you’re kinda like Elsa, huh? But with fire instead of ice? Wait, no- you’re Azula.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Who’s Azula?”

Mark parts his lips before he closes them, uttering a quiet nevermind under his breath. You notice the flush that creeps up his neck, and for some reason, the sight brings a warm sensation to your own cheeks.

He clears his throat. “So, that explains the gloves?”

You glance down at your hands, fingers wringing one another before letting them fall to your sides. “Well, yes. They help to keep things under control. My ability can get a little unpredictable if I’m not careful.”

“Unpredictable how?”

You hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal. You weren’t even expecting for him to be asking this many questions— most people didn’t— but you figure that’s probably because something that’s ordinary in your world must seem extraordinary in his. “Fire isn’t exactly forgiving. It doesn’t listen well, and if I lose focus, it can spread. The gloves act as a barrier, like a safety net.”

Mark is a silent for a while. “Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

The question surprises you, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve never had anyone ask you that before. “It used to,” you admit. “But I’ve trained for years to handle it. The pain doesn’t really bother me anymore.”

Before he could respond, you clear your throat. “You should, um, get some rest. I’m sure Headmaster Kang would want to talk to you after this. Do you need anything else?”

“No, no, I’m good.” Mark finally glances away, letting out a slow exhale as he rests on the headboard behind him.

You nod before excusing yourself out of the room, your gloved hands instinctively rising to your cheeks. They’re still warm from before— oddly warm. It’s strange, because you’ve always only been able to conjure heat with your palms, so you’re not sure if this is some new side effect… or something else entirely.

You’re sure it’s the former. What else could it be?

Mark has never had that many friends growing up. Sure, he’s constantly surrounded by people— an inevitability when his entire life is just training after training, and tournament after tournament— but even then, he still finds a way to keep to himself. There’s enough pressure trying to succumb to his own expectations of being the best athlete he could be, and the last thing he needs is the added weight of others’ opinions or distractions that could potentially pull him off course.

That, and the fact that he’s been told that he’s far too awkward, but that’s never been a problem for him— at least, until now.

Donghyuck is chattering away at a speed Mark couldn’t really comprehend, Renjun only nodding occasionally to show that he’s listening as he sips on his soup. You, on the other hand, don’t even seem all that interested, barely even reacting to Donghyuck's story about how he accidentally overheard someone’s entire dream during a nap the other day.

With both you and Renjun’s lack of reaction, he’s starting to think that this is just how Donghyuck is on a day-to-day basis.

“I swear, I wasn’t even trying this time,” Donghyuck exclaims, gesturing wildly with his spoon. “One minute, I’m dreaming about ice cream, and the next, I’m trapped in this weird universe about werewolves mating. Do you know how traumatising that is? What kind of fantasies is she having?” He visibly shudders. “Ugh. Should I go through solar confinement so it stops?”

“Hyuck, come on. Why would you want to put yourself through that?” You finally speak up, concern lacing your tone. “Plus, I doubt it’ll do much to help with your… questionable dreams.”

“It wasn’t even my dream!” Donghyuck whines, and it is only when Mark notices the small upturn of your lips does he realise that you were just pulling your friend’s leg.

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile. He thinks it’s kind of nice.

“What’s the solar confinement?” He finally asks, letting his curiosity get the best of him.

“Oh, just this lovely punishment Headmaster Kang came up with." Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "You stand in the sun for hours, no shade, no escape. Supposedly it 'clears your head,' but I think it’s just a slow way to turn someone into a human oven. Huh, I think I’ll take werewolf dreams over that any day.” Donghyuck shudders again. “But hey, speaking of the headmaster, have you met him yet?”

“Yeah. Yesterday, actually.” Mark spares you a glance. “He told me that it’d be better for me to stay until we figure out why the wraiths are after me. It’s safer that way. That’s why I’m still here, I guess,” he chuckles awkwardly.

After you left Mark at the infirmary yesterday, you went straight to Headmaster Kang to inform him what had happened. You brought Renjun along with you, mostly because you were terrified of being reprimanded for bringing in a Non-Gifted to the academy, but Headmaster Kang took it surprisingly well. You suppose it was the urgency of the entire situation; the Gifted and Non-Gifted are supposed to coexist in two separate worlds, and now that one is beginning to bleed into the other, there seemed to be only one way to contain it: by bringing Mark in.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Don’t worry about it, though. The Umbras won’t be able to get to you here,” Donghyuck assures. “But seriously, your energy must have been super strong for them to reach you in the first place.”

“Oh, I’m not- I’m not a Gifted,” Mark corrects him. “I mean, I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to figure out, I guess.”

“Woah, really? I kinda thought that was how I managed to read you yesterday without even touching you,” Donghyuck hums, curious. “Mind if I read you now, Newbie? Maybe that could help in finding your elemental.”

“Oh, uh- sure.” Mark outstretches his palm across the table hesitantly, and Donghyuck places his hand on top immediately. As much as Mark was expecting to feel something— maybe a small jolt of static or any other kind of sensation— it’s surprisingly painless, and Donghyuck withdraws his hand with knitted brows.

“Weird. It’s all fuzzy. I can’t see anything,” he mumbles. “I wonder what changed.”

“I have ADHD,” Mark admits. “Maybe that could be it?”

“Ah, yeah!” Donghyuck clicks his tongue, snapping his fingers. “A lot of things going up there, huh? I get it. I’m sure it’ll come to you eventually. You know, I was a late bloomer, too. Got my abilities at twenty. I got admitted to the psych ward because people thought I was crazy, when the whole time I just had abilities. Headmaster Kang bailed me out-“

“He didn’t bail you out, Hyuck. It wasn't a prison.”

“-now here I am!” Donghyuck finishes off his speech, ignoring you.

You shake your head, scoffing in amusement, and the table is finally silent when everyone returns to their food.

If Mark wasn’t aware of his surroundings then, he definitely is now.

The dining area isn’t that big, housing only about twenty other people or so— most of which are casting him less-than-subtle stares behind their bowls. He gets it, though— in a school this small, word definitely would have gotten out fast. He’s sure the students here wouldn’t be too thrilled to learn that a Non-Gifted is among them, and the fact scares Mark by a little.

“Ignore them,” you mutter from beside him when Renjun and Donghyuck escalate into yet another argument. Mark knows you aren’t referring to them.

He chuckles. “You read minds too?”

“No.” You snort. “Your face says it all. They just aren’t used to seeing new people, is all. You have us, Mark. You’ll be fine.”

If it weren’t for the smile you gave his way, Mark is sure he would’ve had a hard time believing you.

✦ ✦ ✦

Scratch that— Mark doesn’t think he’ll be fine.

Seated uneasily in the headmaster’s office, he couldn’t help but to feel out of place. The walls are lined with dark wood panels and rows of ancient books, the kind that seemed to know secrets no one dared to ask about. For some reason, he finds it difficult to tear his gaze away from them, specifically the one with the weathered, leather spine tucked away at the very end.

Mark has no idea why he's staring at it intently— it could be because out of everything else in this room, that odd-looking book seems to be the most interesting. He must have been looking at it for too long, because for a fleeting moment, the book starts to glow, only for it to disappear after a blink.

Mark takes that as a sign to look away. His body must still be struggling to adapt to everything that's been happening in the last 48 hours to the point of him seeing things.

He had been called in right after breakfast, where he had to split ways with you, Donghyuck and Renjun as you carried on with your daily activities. The floor-length windows of the office gives him the perfect view of the academy grounds below, where students are scattered across the courtyard as they practice their respective abilities.

Instinctively, his eyes search for you, quickly spotting you alone at the edge of the training field. A flicker of fire ignites in your palm before it disappears completely.

“Mark.” Headmaster Kang’s voice brings him back to the present. Mark looks away from the window. “Let’s go through your background again. Where did you say you were from?”

“Seoul, sir,” he answers stiffly. “But, uh… I don’t really know much about where I came from before that. I was adopted when I was a baby.”

The old man purses his lips in thought. “And your adoptive family? Were there any unusual experiences growing up? Any unexplained phenonema that could suggest why you might be a target for Umbras?”

“Umbras,” Mark repeats, the term still foreign on his tongue. He shakes his head. “No, sir. At least, not that I know of. I mean, my parents have always joked that that I was… emotional, I guess? They said that I had this weird way of making everyone around me feel what I was feeling,” he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I don’t suppose that would explain why shadow demons are chasing after me now?”

Headmaster Kang smiles, the upward tug of his lips softening his otherwise hard features. Admittedly, the gesture helps in making Mark feel a little less jittery, though the sharp glint in his eyes remain stern.

“Listen, Mark. The world of the Gifted is vast and enigmatic. Each of my students here possess their own unique abilities that sets them apart from the rest. While it is not common for abilities to manifest at your age, no one has ever ruled out that possibility.” He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “The Gifted have existed for hundreds of years now, yet there are still so many things we can’t explain due to the nature of our bodies. They’re constantly changing, evolving, defying the boundaries of what we think we know.”

The information is a lot to digest, so Mark doesn’t say anything.

“You can start off by looking into your biological family. See if they have any ties to our world— that might give more insight as to why these things are taking place. The library is free for you to visit, and if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask me,” Headmaster Kang continues. “For now, we’ll focus on integrating you into the academy. You’re going to need this-“

He pulls out a drawer, taking out a neatly folded fabric before setting it on the table. Mark recognises it instantly.

“I understand you practiced Taekwondo before coming here. Discipline and control are central to martial arts, qualities that align well with what we value here.”

Mark nods, unsure of how else to respond. “I’ve been doing it for years. It’s… grounding.”

“Good. Then that foundation will serve you well.” Another faint smile flickers on Headmaster Kang’s face as he nods towards the uniform. “You’ll begin training tomorrow. Even if your elemental remains dormant for now, it’s important to cultivate focus and discipline. Those qualities may unlock more than you realise.”

Mark nods slowly, picking up the silk material. The uniform is heavier than he expected, like it carries the weight of something much larger than himself.

“Thank you,” he says softly. It feels strange to be grateful for something he didn’t ask for.

The next couple of days seemed to pass by in a blur, at least for Mark.

Life had settled into a strange rhythm; he would spend his mornings in physical training, afternoon in power control (something he didn’t even have, leaving him to do more physical training), and evenings sparring under the watchful eyes of the instructors. As gruelling as it was, it gave him less time to think about the wraiths that were after him— or why he was even here in the first place.

The midday sun beats down on the training grounds as students gather to observe the mock battle that was about to begin. You spare Mark a glance, his face passive as he waits for your instructor’s signal, but you can feel it— the sharp undercurrent of nervous energy radiating off him, and it prickles on your senses like electricity.

You blink, trying to shake it off, but it’s hard to ignore the sudden wave of unease that settles around you, almost like a weighted blanket that only grows heavier with each passing second.

Your force yourself to regulate your breathing, not realising that you’re on the verge of hyperventilating until you hear Mark calling your name.

“Hey, you okay?” He turns to you, eyes wide with concern as he ducks slightly to look at your face. You can feel his fingers circle around your wrist even despite the latex barrier between your skin and his fingertips, but it doesn’t do much to bring you comfort.

You part your lips to answer, but nothing comes out. “I-“

“Mark and Younghyun, to the center of the ring,” your instructor’s voice calls out, causing Mark to inhale sharply as he reluctantly lets go of your hand. He casts Donghyuck beside you a look, who nods in understanding as he pulls you closer towards him.

“You alright?” Donghyuck mutters quietly, his arm still around your shoulder.

You nod wordlessly as you exhale, the heaviness finally leaving your chest. With your vision refocusing, you’re only now realising that Mark is no longer beside you, already standing at the edge of the ring as he prepares himself for the first round. “Just- felt lightheaded all of a sudden.”

Donghyuck is silent for a while until he speaks up. “I felt it too, you know.”

You tense as you turn your head to face him, but his eyes are not on you, rather, on Mark. You didn’t even notice how unusually grim Donghyuck is being, unlike his usual self, and that instantly tells you that something is wrong.

“I can’t read you at all.” He finally looks at you, his hand tapping your shoulder before he drops it completely. “Same thing happened with him during breakfast the other day, remember?”

You swallow. “But Mark said he had that- that thing. It’s a condition, right?”

“Yeah, but I literally managed to read him through his blanket on his first day. Could practically feel the nerves bouncing off the guy.” Donghyuck looks around before he exhales, dropping his voice. “I think his elemental has something to do with his emotions. You felt it, I felt it. And now that he left, the feeling’s gone. Don’t you find it weird?”

“I…” you trail off, shaking your head as you try to piece things together in your head. “It’s just, his energy shifts, right? Are you saying that it’s more than his emotions just affecting him… it affects everyone around him as well?”

“Exactly. It’s not easy to balance both your energy and emotions, especially when you don’t know what’s happening. I’m betting that’s why he’s been out of touch with his abilities.” Donghyuck nods towards the ongoing match, and you follow his gaze, looking at Mark and Younghyun as they circle the ring, waiting for the other to throw the first move.

This isn’t the first time these two are sparring each other. You don’t know Younghyun that well, nothing more than the fact that he’s a shadow manipulator, and that he has a particular habit of taunting Mark every chance he gets. They’re always subtle, but you can tell it gets under Mark’s skin every time— including now, as you could tell based on the downturn of his lips.

“Come on, Lee,” Younghyun calls out, voice dripping with mockery. “Thought you’d put up more of a fight. Or are you too scared to use your powers? Oh, wait,” he snickers to himself.

Mark’s jaw tightens. The comment is meant to get a reaction— and it’s working. Without warning, he throws the first punch, a straight fist aimed right towards Younghyun’s face.

The boy only barely manages to sidestep, the contact knocking him off-balance momentarily. The air starts to grow heavy, more volatile, and with the way Younghyun’s smirk drops slightly, you know he feels it too.

Donghyuck might just be right.

“Nice try.” Younghyun recovers quickly. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that,” he says lowly, stretching out his arms as he directs his own shadow towards Mark, the silhouette solidifying before it lurches foward and grabs a hold of Mark’s limbs, pulling him down harshly. He loses his balance, the sound of him hitting the ground making you gasp.

“Oh, c’mon!” Younghyun laughs as he stands at Mark’s feet. “Are you just gonna keep lying there like an injured lamb? Tsk. Powerless,” he taunts some more, garnering a few chuckles from the crowd.

Mark didn’t seem to like that.

“Shut the hell up,” he grits as he gets up. The air around him seems to hum, thick with unseen energy. The crowd falls silent, their laughter replaced by gasps of alarm, but Mark doesn’t notice it— until it happens.

A burst of white light explodes outward as he lunges towards Younghyun, the energy radiating like a shockwave, causing the latter to fly backwards before landing on the ground with a loud thud. The air still crackles with tension as Mark stumbles back, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest as he looks at his hands, trembling with the unfamiliar power.

“What the…” he whispers to himself, slowly looking back to his opponent who still lies unconscious, the only reassurance of him being alive the faint rise and fall of his chest. Relief washes over Mark for a moment, before it’s quickly overshadowed by the feeling of dread as the murmurs around him grow louder, the words “dangerous” and “unstable” cutting through the noise.

He looks around helplessly, before his eyes land on you, already looking at him with concern painted on your features. You step towards him, but Mark stumbles back, his stomach churning.

“Mark,” you say softly, but he shakes his head, feeling his eyes burn with tears he knows he shouldn’t let fall in front of you, so he does the next best thing:

He runs away.

✦ ✦ ✦

You find Mark in his room, his back turned to you as he frantically packs his bags.

“Wha- are you leaving?”

Your voice causes him to stall before his hands fall in defeat, and he finally turns to you.

Based on the redness of his eyes, you know that he’s been crying, and the sight tugs on your heartstrings. It’s a deep, unshakeable sadness that wells up in you, and you know it isn’t his emotions bleeding into yours this time— it’s all yours.

“I shouldn’t be here anymore,” he says weakly, his voice hoarse. “I can’t— not if I’m hurting people along the way. I didn’t mean to hurt him-“

“I know. I know, Mark.” You step towards him slowly, and he lets you, though he’s quick to avoid your gaze as he looks at his shoes. “It’s not your fault.”

The lights in the room start to flicker as he takes in a shaky breath, the dim glow struggling to stay steady. With each passing second, the flickering intensifies, plunging the room into near darkness before the bulbs flare brightly.

“Look at me?” You plead, gently cupping his jaw to tilt his face towards you. His tear-filled eyes gaze longingly into yours, and you make sure he doesn’t look away as you drop your arm, tugging the glove off your other hand.

Conjuring a small flame in your right palm, you raise back your hand, letting it hover steadily between the two of you. His eyes naturally follow the fire that dances in your palm, the orange hue reflecting in his glassy irises.

“Breathe,” you say gently. As the flame pulses and sways in a slow, rhythmic pattern, his breathing begins to match its cadence, each inhale and exhale drawing closer to the calm tempo you’ve set for him, until the room eventually stops flickering and returns to normal.

“Your abilities don’t make you a threat, Mark.” Your voice wavers, but you hold his gaze, feeling your own tears well in your eyes. In a way, Mark Lee reminds you of yourself— alone, misunderstood, burdened with a gift you never asked for. You understand his fear, because it mirrors your own; and it’s taken you years alone to realise that it doesn’t define nor destroy you.

“It can be tamed,” you continue softly, and the flame in your palm steadies, its gentle glow casting shadows across his pained features. You fight back the urge to hold him, to smoothen out the worry between his eyebrows, and tell him that it’s alright. So instead, you settle for a smile, hoping that your words are able to convey what actions couldn’t.

“Just like mine.”

You’re looking at Mark again, only this time, he’s standing at the other end of the room, far away from you. His features are illuminated by the moonlight breaking through the cracked window next to him, his fists glowing faintly with a power he’s only beginning to understand.

You try to call out for him, but your voice comes out as muffled. The towering shapes that surround the two of you feel vaguely familiar, along with the dust that swirls in the air and the faint smell of musty paper, but the way they’re constantly twisting and blurring into nothingness makes it hard for you to pinpoint exactly where you are.

One by one, the Umbras start to appear, and you can’t see Mark anymore with how quickly they’ve encircled him. The air is heavy, suffocating, and that’s when you hear it; a familiar voice:

“Engulf him.”

The shadows start to hiss, the sharp noise growing louder and louder with each passing second. Instinctively, you bring your hands to your ears, only for pain to flare instantly as your skin burns on contact. With a gasp, you let your arms fall, and that’s when you notice the absence of your gloves, your palms raw and red.

An estranged cry leaves your lips as the burning sensation starts to spread beneath your skin, causing you to fall to your knees. You want to call out for Mark, but you can’t, your lips feeling as though they’ve been sewn shut so tightly that you can’t do anything else but to stare helplessly as the Umbras consume him.

You jolt awake with a scream, clutching your arms as the phantom burn lingers. It was just a nightmare, but not just any ordinary one— it was another vision.

The sudden banging on your door causes you to jump out of your skin, and you’re hesitant to move from your bed, given the state of your own frantic self. It is only when you hear the familiar voice at the other side do you finally stumble to open it, and you’re instantly met with Renjun’s panicked face, his fists raised and glowing.

He sighs upon seeing you, dropping his hands. “God, I was literally about to break into your room! What took you so lo- are you crying?” Renjun halts amidst his rambling when he takes in your tear-stricken face, something you didn’t even realise until he pointed it out.

“I just, uh, had a bad dream,” you mutter, quickly wiping your eyes with your bandaged hands. You had switched from sleeping with your gloves on to wrapping them with gauze, something Donghyuck had taught you when he noticed how irritated your skin would get after wearing them for a full day. You still have yet to master wrapping them perfectly, the fabric currently falling apart at the seams, but at least they keep your palms covered.

Renjun shakes his head, as though snapping himself out of distraction. “Listen, it’s Mark.”

Your heart drops upon hearing his name.

Renjun continues. “Something’s going on. I noticed his door was left ajar when I left my room to go to the washroom, so I knocked to see if he was okay, but he wasn’t inside. I don’t know where he is.”

You swallow hard, and it feels like bile has risen in your throat at the thought of your vision coming true. You shove past Renjun wordlessly, stumbling into the hallway.

“Where are you going?” He calls out after you, but you don’t respond, your feet carrying you towards the end of the corridor. Your steps only falter when you reach a junction, and you close your eyes as you try to steady your breathing. There’s a tug in your mind, like an invisible string that’s pulling you towards the shadowy corners of the academy, and that’s when it hits you: the cracked window. The dust. The smell of old paper.

“Are you seriously not gonna answer me?” Renjun pants when he catches up to you, clearly annoyed. “I know you’re worried, but running aimlessly won’t help you find-“

“I know where he is,” you cut him off, turning around.

Renjun frowns before his expression eases into one of realisation. “Your visions…”

You nod before taking off towards the east wing, not looking behind to check if he is following after you.

You don’t remember the last time you visited the old library— or anyone, for that matter. Since the fire that ravaged the east wing a few years back, the entire area was deemed unsafe, left to rot after the surviving books were moved to a newer wing.

But it wasn’t just the fire that left the library abandoned; more so, the rumours that followed. The timing of the incident had been too coincidental, perfectly lining up to the time when your abilities first spiraled out of control. No one had ever outright accused you, but the rumours were enough to make you feel their suspicions.

You’d avoided the place since, the unspoken blame too much of a weight for you to bear. But now, as you approach the charred doorway, your stomach churns at the thought of stepping back inside.

Taking in a shaky breath, you push the heavy door open, the hinges creaking as it reveals the forgotten library.

It’s there, just like you envisioned earlier, which is why it doesn’t take you long to spot Mark, standing in between the bookshelves as his eyes and fists glow a bright white. Dark shapes swirl around him like smoke, some darting towards him only to be repelled away at the last second, as though he’s being protected by an unseen force.

Now this, you didn’t see in your vision.

“Mark?” You call out, your voice trembling as you slowly inch towards him, but Renjun quickly catches your wrist.

You turn to meet his worried gaze. “I don’t think- should I go call Headmaster Kang?”

You stall. “If we tell him, I’d have to explain how I know. You know he doesn’t know about my visions,” you reply hesitantly, wriggling your hand out of his grasp. “I can’t afford to do that right now.”

“Yes, but-“ Renjun is insistent before he lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing that nothing he could say would change your mind.

“I can’t go back to confinement, Jun,” you say quietly, and Renjun looks away.

“I know,” he mutters. “At least let me call Hyuck?”

You nod hesitantly, and Renjun gives you one last look before he raises his fists, conjuring a portal and disappearing.

You turn back to Mark, keeping your eyes on him as you unravel the bandages on your hands. You let them fall to the floor before you raise your arms, your palms heating up instantly.

As though sensing the shift in the air, the Umbras turn to you, and you barely notice Mark’s protective barrier start to flicker uncertainly before the wraiths lunge towards you at full speed.

“Not today,” you mutter through gritted teeth as you flick your wrists, sending a jet of fire through them before they screech, eventually disappearing into nothingness.

It feels never-ending, and you know you’re growing tired as the heat of the flames intensify the more you attack. Still, you ignore the pain that sears your skin, letting the adrenaline take over until the last of the wraiths vanish with a hiss, and you finally allow yourself to drop your arms.

You pant heavily, only now registering the state of the charred library shrouded with smoke; as though the fire from years ago had come alive before your very eyes.

Your knees buckle, and despite the pain that seizes your entire body, you crawl towards Mark, shifting so his head could fall to your lap. His lips are pale, body unnervingly still, but he’s still breathing; albeit shallowly.

“Mark,” you croak, your trembling hands hovering over his face as though you’re unsure of what to do with them. Your bandages are somewhere on the ground behind you, and you don’t want to accidentally burn him by touching him. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

This scene feels oddly familiar.

You fight back a choked sob, but it doesn’t do much in stopping the tears that fall down your cheeks. They burn, like acid, and you quickly wipe them away with your sleeves.

You vaguely hear someone calling your name behind you, registering the familiar voice of Donghyuck before he skids to a crouch next to you. You tilt your chin to look at him, and his lips part in shock upon taking in your face.

“Help him, please.” You cut Donghyuck off just as he’s about to say your name, and he swallows before nodding grimly, beckoning for Renjun to come over.

You scoot away to give the boys some space, and your eyes fall to your hands on your lap. They sleeves of your shirt partly obscure them, but the burns still peek through, a stark reminder of the flames you wielded, and a haunting proof of how your even visions aren’t able to save Mark.

Mark thinks he’s going crazy.

He had woken up in the infirmary with no recollection of what had happened, the marks on his skin the only evidence that something did actually happen in the time he was unconscious, but that isn’t even the worst part.

The worst part is that he hasn’t seen you since he woke up, and neither Donghyuck nor Renjun is telling him where you disappeared off to.

He finds himself in Headmaster Kang’s office instead, and the downturn of the man’s lips tells Mark that he isn’t here for a casual chat.

“So tell me, Mark. How did you find yourself in the old library?” Headmaster Kang rests his elbows on his desk as he leans forward.

Mark swallows nervously, his head hanging low. “I- I’m sorry, sir. I don’t remember.”

Headmaster Kang nods. “I understand that you’re still trying to adapt to your abilities, which might explain why these things are happening. How has training been going for you? Good?”

“I-“ Mark pauses. The answer is at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t possibly admit that to the headmaster, can he? How could he say that no, nothing has been going well for him ever since discovering his abilities, that his life has turned to literal shit since the day he knocked that kid Younghyun off his feet?

Despite his struggle to answer, Headmaster Kang smiles, as though knowing exactly what it is he wanted to say. Mark wonders if the he could read minds like Donghyuck.

“We’ve never had an Umbra attack at the academy before. This is a first, and I reckon it has something to do with your emotional resonance. As you already know, these things feed off energy, which could explain how they’ve managed to break through the perimeter.”

Mark clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t be.” Headmaster Kang shakes his head. “This is a school. An instituition. I never want my students to feel unsafe at the one place that’s supposed to protect them.”

Mark nods, not really sure where the conversation is heading towards.

“That said, a wraith attack is to be taken very seriously. It was fortunate that nobody else got hurt-“

Relief washes through Mark momentarily. That would mean that you’re okay, right?

“-but for the sake of ensuring the safety of the other students, I’m afraid that I’d have to take action to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I hope you understand this isn’t mean to be a punishment, Mark, more so a protective measure to help regulate your abilities.” The headmaster pauses, as though thinking of the next words he’s going to say.

“Solar confinement,” he finally says, leaning back in his chair. “A method designed to stabilise energy levels. It’s been used in the past for students who needed time to regain control over your powers. In fact, your friends have gone through this as well, so I’m sure you are familiar with it, yes?”

Mark stiffens, his fists curling on his lap. Of course, he’s familiar with it— it’s the one thing Donghyuck wouldn’t stop talking about ever since he joined this academy.

“You’re isolating me,” he responds, his tone stiff but measured.

“No, Mark. Helping,” the headmaster corrects. “Think of it as a period of rehabilitation. You’d be surprised what four hours could do in stabilising your inner elemental.”

Mark inhales sharply, knowing that he isn’t left with a choice. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. You can head down to the courtyard and start when the clock hits twelve. I’ll have someone check in on you hourly until it’s done. And Mark?” Headmaster Kang’s tone shifts, the gentleness replaced with a sharper edge. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Mark could only afford to nod robotically before he leaves the office, each step heavier than the last. At the rate he’s going, he’s not sure if any type of confinement could help with the inner turmoil he’s feeling.

✦ ✦ ✦

The headmaster lied.

It only took one hour in for Mark to realise that no, nobody was going to check in on him as he’s standing in the middle of the courtyard, alone and on the verge of passing out under the intense summer heat.

It’s also a weekend, which explains why the academy feels so desolate— not like that would have helped in any way, whatsoever. He’s convinced that this so-called ‘rehabilitation’ is nothing more but a thinly veiled punishment for luring the wraiths onto school grounds; as though he even meant to do it on purpose in the first place.

If it weren’t for his recently-discovered abilities— emotional resonance, or whatever— he’s sure he wouldn’t even be able to make it to the twenty minute mark, let alone a whole hour. And with three more to go, he doesn’t think even his inner elemental could help him with that.

He doesn’t notice Donghyuck walk up to him until the boy taps him on his shoulder, grimacing upon taking in his face.

“Headmaster Kang told me to come tap you out,” he says cautiously.

Mark’s hazy mind barely processes Donghyuck’s words. He’s pretty sure it’s only been two and a half hours, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. His body gives out immediately, collapsing under the weight of exhaustion. A wave of nausea hits him, and before he could stop it, the bile rises quickly in his throat before it spills all over the ground in a violent retch.

Donghyuck cringes, crouching hesitantly before handing him a bottle of water. “Pretty rough, huh?”

“Shut up,” he heaves, taking a mouthful of water before spitting it out. “How come?”

“Um,” Donghyuck seems hesitant to continue, but he sighs eventually. “Listen, I’m not supposed to tell you this, so you didn’t hear this from me! But, uh… a transaction, of sorts, has been made. Believe me, I was not on board with it at all, but she was just so fucking adamant-“

“What?”

Donghyuck glances around, as though to make sure nobody is listening. “Someone, made a deal with the headmaster to let her do isolation instead of you doing the full four hours,” he says in a hushed whisper. “You know, someone being-“

“Yeah, I got it, Hyuck,” Mark answers gruffly, getting back to his feet unsteadily as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where is she?”

“I-“ Donghyuck’s jaw tightens before he swallows. “The old library. When she heard that you were going to be put in solar confinement, she marched straight to the headmaster’s office to tell him to lighten your sentence and to give it to her instead. I don’t- damn it,” he sighs, struggling to form his own words as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “She’s been avoiding you. Blaming herself for the shit that went down. It’s like she thinks her visions were promises that she broke, or something. I keep telling her that it’s not her fault, but she just won’t listen. She’s convinced that staying away from you is the only way to keep you safe.”

And suddenly, everything comes rushing down to him. The Umbras that surrounded him, the white light that blinded him. The sound of your sobs, the feeling of his head in your lap. The way your voice cracked when you whispered his name, filled with guilt and fear.

Mark lets out a shaky exhale before he moves past Donghyuck, but the boy stops him.

“Not now,” he grits through his teeth, his eyes flickering upward momentarily. Mark follows his gaze, seeing the headmaster’s shadow behind the glass window at the very top floor. “You’re a walking target now, remember that. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Don’t have to worry about that." Mark shrugs Donghyuck’s hand off his shoulder. "From now on, I’ll just do everything my way.”

You can’t feel anything in your palms.

You’ve been trying to conjure fire for the past twenty minutes, the emptiness in your hands gnawing on the edges of your sanity. It’s not just the absence of heat— it’s the absence of you, and in the suffocating quiet of the old library, it seems that that part of you has been snuffed out.

But this is what you asked for, right?

Mark had gotten hurt because of you; went into solar confinement because of you. If isolating yourself means not crossing paths with him anymore, maybe you could stop feeling the guilt of failing. Maybe you won’t have to see Mark hurt again and know it’s because of you.

Maybe you’ll finally have some peace.

Still, there’s a nagging voice at the back of your head that refuses to be silenced. The voice you heard in your vision, commanding the army of Umbras to engulf Mark— you know it wasn't just another cruel trick of your mind; not when it's so familiar, so authoritative.

You didn't want to believe it, but in the cold, soulless library, the truth suddenly hits you with a sickening clarity. That voice you heard in your vision was the voice you hear every single day.

It was Headmaster Kang.

Your heart thumps wildly against your chest, and you almost miss the creak of the door behind you in the midst of your revelation, only frantically blinking your thoughts away when you see a white light illuminate the otherwise dark room. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Mark.” Your voice is hoarse from disuse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He ignores you, stepping further into the room towards where you are in between the shelves. His gaze sweeps over the makeshift cot you’ve been using, the scattered bandages, the faint scorch marks on the walls— your desperate attempts to summon even a spark.

You finally turn to him, and Mark inhales sharply upon taking in your features. Your eyes are swollen like you’ve been crying, and the streaks on your cheeks are raw, angry, as though your tears carried the heat of your abilities, stinging your skin as they fell.

Your vision lands on the orb of light that hovers above his palm; small, but bright enough to light the space in between the both of you. “How come?”

“I don’t know,” he replies just as quietly. The light disappears as he puts down his hand, leaving the room basking in a dim light only illuminated by the moon outside. “Guess confinement didn’t work for me.”

You nod stiffly, averting your gaze to the window to your left when Mark kneels before you. He doesn’t miss the way you clench your fists tightly.

“Let me see,” he murmurs as he reaches towards your hands.

You hesitate at first, but you don’t know what it is that makes you give in finally— whether it’s the weight of your own exhaustion, or the way your name so softly escapes his lips that prompts you to extend your arms towards him.

Mark gently takes your hands into his, the warmth of his touch grounding you despite the rawness of your skin. Pulling out a roll of fresh bandages from his pockets, he begins to wrap them.

“You know,” he starts lightly. “I used to do this a lot in Taekwondo. Bandaging hands, I mean. Usually for someone who landed a bad punch.” He glances at you through his lashes, as though trying to gauge if his attempt at humour has landed. “Though I don’t suppose you punched anyone, right?”

You chuckle softly, sniffing as you raise your free hand to dry your cheek. Mark gives you a lopsided smile before he continues, and the both of you settle into a silence.

“Does the headmaster know you’re here?” You ask, just as he’s about to finish with your second hand. Mark replies with a hum.

“I’m sure he does. He’s been watching me like a hawk the entire day. Listen…” he trails off, his eyes fixed on your hand still in his. He’s done with wrapping you up, but he doesn’t let go, his fingers fumbling over yours as though he’s thinking of something. You don’t mind.

“I know this is just how things go here, but do you really think that makes it right? Why does he keep throwing us into confinement instead of teaching us how to control our abilities?” He asks, frustration evident in his tone. Mark finally lets go of your hands, but his gaze lingers on them.

You part your lips to reply, but Mark beats you to it.

“And don’t even get me started on you.” His voice drops as he meets your eyes. “Donghyuck told me what you did. What the hell were you thinking? Throwing yourself into confinement- do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

You could feel your tears start to burn, but you’re fixed on not letting them fall as you look down on your lap. “I was just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Mark laughs bitterly. “You think isolating yourself, weakening yourself, is protecting me? You think I’d want that?”

“It wasn’t just about you, Mark,” you argue, though your voice falters. “I just thought- if I stopped having visions, I could stop failing. Stop feeling-“ You cut yourself off when you feel yourself getting choked up, and Mark’s features soften.

“Stop feeling guilty?” He completes your sentence for you, and you nod hesitantly.

“Headmaster Kang doesn’t know about my visions,” you admit. “I knew he was going to send me into confinement if I did, which is ironic because I ended up doing that to myself anyway. But it’s also because-“ you hesitate. Mark watches you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“There’s a prophecy,” you finally say, swallowing harshly. “I didn’t understand it at first. I kept seeing someone surrounded by light and shadows, but the more you showed up, the more it started to make sense. You were the centre of it all.”

Mark’s expression hardens. “A prophecy? What does it say?”

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. “They’re all vague, like most prophecies are. But it talks about light and darkness… and someone being consumed by the other. I think- I think they’re about you.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “And you’ve been keeping this all to yourself?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Mark,” you protest, almost pleadingly. “And it’s not just that- there’s something else.” You stall, unsure if you should share the next part, but you push forward. “In my last vision… there was a voice. It commanded the wraiths, telling them to find you. Someone’s been controlling them, and I think…” you exhale shakily. "I think that someone is the headmaster."

Mark stiffens, but you continue before he could say something. “There’s a reason why I’ve been keeping this to myself. I don’t know what he knows, but I knew I couldn’t tell him. Or anyone, for that matter. Not until I find out why he's doing this.”

“So, what? You decided to take this all in yourself? You thought you could just fix this on your own?” The anger in his voice has dissipated by now, replaced with a mix of desperation and concern.

You lower your head, the weight of his words pressing on you. “I just wanted to keep you safe. Keep everyone safe.”

“And what if I don’t need saving?” He asks, his voice quieter now. “What if what I need, is for you to be there with me? To help me figure this shit out?”

“I’m sorry,” you choke, tears already spilling down your cheeks at his words. Your features crumple in pain, and Mark seems to notice as he quickly takes your face in his hands.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Don’t cry,” Mark murmurs, his thumbs working in wiping the moisture away.

“Mark, stop,” you croak as you try to push his hands away, knowing your tears would burn him the way it does you. But Mark is unyielding, his palms holding the sides of your head firmly as he urges you to look at him.

“Listen to me,” he insists. “You don’t get to shoulder this all on your own. You don’t get to punish yourself because things didn’t go the way you thought it would. Whatever this prophecy means, and whatever happens next, we face it together. Got it?”

You finally look at him through your tears, and Mark offers you a soft, pained smile as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. He’s looking at you so tenderly, like you aren’t the monster you’ve convinced yourself to be.

For the first time in forever, you feel a flicker of hope ignite inside you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Together.”

The door creaks open, and Donghyuck looks up from the paperback he’s holding, brows raising when he sees you and Mark.

“Well, well, well.” He shuts his book, settling it down on his lap before leaning back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Look who decided to rejoin society. I didn’t think I’d see you until the next apocalypse.”

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, your hands brushing against the bandages still wrapped around your palms. Weirdly enough, it brings you a sense of comfort; less like a remedy for your wounds, and more of a quiet reassurance.

“Donghyuck,” you say quietly, ignoring his quip. “We need your help.”

The boy shakes his head as he stands up. “Nuh-uh. Not until you tell me what the hell is going in that head of yours, little lady. Do you have any idea how worried Mark’s been? How worried I’ve been? Seriously, I thought you’d buried yourself with the way you holed yourself up in there!”

Despite the tension in your body, you still find it in you to roll your eyes at your friend’s nagging. You know that’s just how Donghyuck is; always one for the dramatics. It’s his way of showing he cares, as much as it grates your nerves sometimes.

“Enough, man. She’s here now, and that’s all that matters, alright?” Mark cuts in, and Donghyuck narrows his eyes at him.

“Right. So tell me-“ He gestures between you and Mark. “What’d you do to get her out? Sweet talk her? Promise her eternal gratitude? Or, don’t tell me!“ Donghyuck gasps dramatically as he turns to you. “He gave you some heartfelt speech about how you’re not alone and how devastated he would be if you wasted your days in there?”

Your cheeks heat up as you look away, and Mark clears his throat awkwardly. Donghyuck is snickering to himself, but quickly stops when he registers your reaction.

“No way. He actually did that? I was kidding!” He scoffs, almost in disbelief. “You gotta tell me what you said, Mark. I might need it someday.”

Mark only groans. You don’t need to look at him to know that he’s just embarrassed as you; the subtle change in the air says it all. Based on the growing smirk on Donghyuck’s face, you know he feels it too.

“Hyuck, will you just shut up and listen? We need your help. It’s about the east wing.”

At the mention of the east wing, Donghyuck’s smile falters. “East wing? What about it?”

Mark turns to look at you, and you know that he’s leaving it to you to explain. You take in a deep breath.

“When I was in isolation, I lost my abilities momentarily. But I don’t think it was the isolation that caused that. It was the old library.”

Donghyuck’s brows furrow. “What? But it works the same way as solar confinement, doesn’t it? It weakens your abilities in general.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.” You shake your head. “Solar confinement targets your physical fatigue— it drains you, making it harder to control your abilities. There was no reason for me to lose mine when all I did was coop myself up in a room alone. The energy in there, Hyuck… it’s different. It doesn’t just drain me, it interferes with the connection to my abilities.”

You turn to Mark. “That’s also how you were able to conjure light in the library, even though you went through confinement. All of this has something to do with the prophecy, I’m sure.”

“Wait- prophecy? What prophecy?” Donghyuck interrupts, confused.

You nod. “Through my visions, I saw a prophecy-“ you pause to gauge his reaction, but his silence prompts you to continue. “Something involving light and darkness. We need to find out what it is and I think the old library has the answers we need. And Headmaster Kang-“ You cut yourself off, his name sounding bitter on your lips. “I need to find out if he’s really behind all of this.”

Donghyuck stares at you for a long moment before he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You guys really know how to ruin a perfect evening, don’t you?” He mutters, though the way he’s already putting on his jacket betrays his reluctance. “And for the record, I’ve always known there was something off about that guy.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, and Donghyuck squints his eyes at you. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet. I can’t believe you kept all this shit from me! You’re explaining everything on the way. And you.” He turns to Mark, who raises a brow. “If you hurt her, I’ll make it my mission to read every single embarrassing memory you’ve ever had. Non-stop. For weeks.”

Mark laughs wryly. “Yeah, alright. You can’t even read me properly.”

“Cocky now, aren’t we?” Donghyuck wiggles his fingers ominously. “Remember, the more guilt you feel, the easier it is for you to be read. So tread lightly, lover boy.”

You try to suppress a snort as you shove past the two boys, stepping out into the hallway to mask your own burning cheeks. “You’re insufferable, Hyuck.”

You don’t see the way Mark’s lips twitch into a faint smile as he watches you walk ahead, nor do you catch Donghyuck narrowing his eyes at him and mouthing, I’m watching you, before stalking after you.

✦ ✦ ✦

The stillness of the night is almost unnatural, but you feel strangely at ease. You wonder if it has anything to do with Mark in front of you, his shoulders loose and pace steady. The air around him is calm, no longer weighed down by the tension that used to betray his every thought. It seems that he’s gotten better at keeping his emotions in check, and for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re walking on eggshells around him.

He stops before the entrance of the old library, glancing behind his shoulder to look at you and Donghyuck. The latter is weirdly quiet, but you don’t blame him one bit. As far as you know, Donghyuck has never stepped foot into the east wing before, the fire having happened way before he even enrolled in the academy. The weight of having to use his abilities tonight must be daunting as it is unsettling.

He steps forward, eyeing the melted doorknob before placing his hand on it gingerly. You hold your breath as he does so, only to gasp quickly afterwards when you take in his reaction.

Donghyuck tenses immediately, his limbs locking as though he’s being struck by an unseen force. It looks like he’s trapped in a trance with the way his eyes roll to the back of his eyelids, chin tilted to the ceiling. You’ve never seen him react this way before, and you know it isn’t normal.

“Hyuck!” You step towards him, only for Mark to pull you back by your wrist. He shakes his head at you, as though to signal you not to interfere just yet. His free hand glows with a soft, white light when he raises it, ready for what might come next.

You gnaw on your bottom lip nervously as you wait for the situation to play out, opting to put your trust in Mark for now. The seconds stretch on unbearably, and you soon notice the faint trickle of blood from Donghyuck’s nose. Before you could react, Mark beats you to it, quickly placing his hand over Donghyuck’s.

The contact immediately breaks him from the trance he was in, and Donghyuck stumbles back with a gasp, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

“Hyuck, you alright?” You ask, your arms already stretched out in case you needed to catch him. “Did you see something?”

“Smoke,” he mumbles, his eyes unfocused as though still in a daze. “Black smoke. And… Umbras. Lots of them.” Donghyuck shakes his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes as he wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve. “This has never happened before.” “I know. I’m sorry,” you say apologetically. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No. You were right.” Donghyuck meets your gaze. “Something definitely went down in here. I saw a book.”

Mark perks from beside you. “A book?”

“Yeah. I could feel that it’s ancient. Enchanted. The problem is… it looked like any other leather-bound book in the ancient section of the library. How the hell are we supposed to find it? I mean, we could probably head over and I could touch each individual one-“

“No, don’t. That’s too much for you to handle, Hyuck. We don’t want a repeat of whatever this was.” You shake your head as you gnaw on your bottom lip, the gears in your head turning as you think of another option.

“We wouldn’t have to do that anyway,” Mark suddenly murmurs from beside you, and you turn to him in confusion.

He isn’t looking at you, his eyes distant as though he’s deep in thought. Mark swallows before he finally meets your eyes.

“Because it’s in his office. I saw it.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Of course. That’s such an amateur villain thing to do! Hiding a literal weapon out in the open?”

“How did you know it was the one?” You ignore Donghyuck, prompting Mark to continue.

“At first, I couldn’t stop staring at it. Like there was some sort of unseen force pulling at me. But then, it started to glow,” Mark recounts before taking in a sharp inhale. “My abilities weren’t awakened yet, so I brushed it off. I thought I was seeing things. Guess I was wrong.”

Silence stretches between the three of you as Mark’s confession hangs in the air, and Donghyuck is the first to break the silence.

“So… what now?” He voices cautiously.

You don’t need to look at Mark to see the glint of determination in his eyes, the shift in the air telling you all you need to know.

“We pay the headmaster a little visit.”

In hindsight, you should have known that things were bound to go awry the moment it started being too good to be true.

You’re situated in the ancient section of the new library with Donghyuck and Renjun, a mountain of books stacked on the floor around you as you rapidly skim through each one.

Renjun groaned loudly. “Remind me what we’re looking for again? You know I can’t help you guys if I don’t know what we’re doing, right?”

“Something. Anything,” Donghyuck muttered distractedly. He seemed to be considerably more productive than you, only needing to graze his palm across the surface of each book before moving on to the next one. Then again, you’re not a psychometrist.

“Anything you can find on Mark’s biological family, or the history behind his abilities. Or maybe something like…” you trailed off when your eyes catch the body of text in the book you’re currently holding, and your breath caught in your throat. “This.”

The Lee Clan of Jeonju — Rulers of the Resonant Throne 공명의왕좌

The boys were by your side in an instant, peering over your shoulders to read through the page.

“The Lee Clan was once a dynasty of empathic rulers, believed to govern not with force, but with resonance— the ability to weave emotions into power…” Renjun murmured.

“This has to be it, right?” Donghyuck blurted. “Look here. The remaining Lee descendants scattered, their bloodline diluted over the generations, and now believed to have ceased to exist. Yet, an ancient prophecy speaks of a final descendant— one who will either restore the throne or silence it forever.”

The air around you stilled, none of you daring to say anything as you slowly registered the newfound information you just learned.

Mark is a descendant of a royal bloodline— that had to count for something, right?

The double doors barges open suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear— it’s Mark, with a leatherback book in his hands.

“I got it,” he says, slightly out of breath as he approaches the table next to you. You’re quick to abandon the books on the floor as you stand up to move next to him, Donghyuck and Renjun following suit.

“Thank God you’re alive! We almost thought you’d triggered a booby trap or something with how long you took. I told you, you should have let one of us tag along!” Donghyuck chides.

“There was no booby trap, and I’m here now, aren’t I?” Mark answers wryly, setting the book on the wooden surface with a soft thump. There was no reason for him to involve you, or any of the boys in taking the book from the headmaster’s office. Not when the stakes were too high, and especially not when the wrong move could cost you everything.

He glances towards you, and you’re already looking at him with a look he couldn’t exactly decipher. Mark hopes it’s not his own nerves that’s you’re mirroring— he believes he has gotten better at controlling them. Then again, he’s pretty sure he’s still awful at concealing just how much he cares for you.

“So, what are we waiting for? Open the book,” Renjun demands impatiently.

With a deep breath, Mark flips the heavy cover open to the first page, only to reveal…

Nothing.

“What?” He exhales in confusion, quickly flipping to the other pages, each turn more frantic than the last. “It’s empty? Why the hell is it empty?”

“Let me try.” Donghyuck steps forward, all humour gone from his voice as he rests his palm on the yellowed pages, closing his eyes at the same time.

“Shit…” he mutters after a few seconds, his irises glazed the moment he opens them. “I got nothing. Are you sure you took the right book?”

“Yes, Hyuck, seeing as it was the only one that was glowing, I’d say I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Okay, calm down, you guys,” you step in, inhaling sharply. “Look, why don’t we all go back to his office and see what else we can find? And Mark, about your family-“

Your words are cut off by a sharp creak from the doorway. You spin around, your breath catching in your throat when you see Headmaster Kang standing in the entrance, his dark gaze sweeping over all of you.

“Well, well.” His voice is calm, but there's a chilling edge to it. “I suppose I should have expected this.”

“Get out of the way, Kang,” Mark says lowly, stepping forward as he blocks your path.

Headmaster Kang just smirks, stepping into the room slowly. “I don’t think I will. You should have stayed out of this, all of you. This is bigger than any of you can understand.”

Before anyone could react, he raises a hand, and suddenly, a rush of air fills the room. With a sharp gesture, he sends a wave of energy towards you, knocking everyone back into the shelves. You barely even register the pain that sears through your bones, quickly getting back to your feet with your hands at the ready for whatever comes next.

“I’ve been patient, Mark, but this little game you’ve been playing ends now. Tell me what’s in the book.”

Mark’s jaw clenches. “No.” His clenched fists already a glowing white, but you know he’s holding back— holding you back from stepping in as he relaxes his fingers behind his back, signalling you not to do anything.

Headmaster Kang’s lips curl into a thin smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think you have a choice in this?”

With a sharp movement, he raises his arms, instantly unleashing an army of Umbras which come barrelling straight towards you and your friends. You’re quick to conjure the flames in your palms, but Mark is much quicker as he summons a massive shield, just in time to deflect the attack— but not for long.

Mark’s shield pulses and flickers as he struggles to keep it steady, and you know it would only be a matter of time before it breaks. Your lips part. “Mark-“

“Take the book, and go,” he grunts through gritted teeth, glancing at Renjun. “Conjure a portal and get out of here.”

“Are you crazy? He’s going to fucking kill you!” Donghyuck cries.

“He doesn’t know that I can’t read the book. So long as I can keep him distracted, I can buy you guys some time,” Mark pants, ignoring the younger’s claim. He finally turns to you, and your heart drops at the sight of his paling lips— his shield is weakening, and you know it won’t last much longer. “Go.”

You want to argue, but you don’t. You know what he’s asking; the risk he’s taking for you to figure things out.

So you settle for a nod, already feeling the tears burn in your eyes as you grab the book from the table. You barely hear the headmaster’s furious shout before Renjun’s portal opens up, and you step inside.

The last thing you see is Mark’s smile— a tired one, but one that makes your heart swell tenfold nonetheless.

You find yourself in the courtyard of the academy. From the outside, the building looks as unassuming as ever, untouched by the havoc unraveling within. As though it isn’t infested with evil; as though Mark isn’t still inside, holding the line with everything he has.

It’s silent, save the laboured breaths coming from you, Renjun and Donghyuck. You’re still hugging the book tightly against your chest, and you finally loosen your grip as you let you arms fall to your lap.

If you weren’t already staring at it so intently, you would have missed it— the amber glow that seems to emit from within, through the gaps in the pages. Your skin tingles before it quickly starts to hurt, the contact between the hardback cover and your hands burning you in a way you’ve never felt before.

You release the book with a startled gasp, even kicking it away in the midst of your panic. You vaguely hear the boys calling for you, but you don’t turn to them, your eyes trained solely on the book, now glowing amber.

You let out a shaky exhale before swallowing harshly, pushing yourself off the ground to reach for it once more.

“What the hell are you doing?” Renjun asks.

You ignore him, hastily flipping the book open to a random page. Surprisingly, it doesn’t burn you anymore, and what greets you instead are the once-blank pages that start to fill slowly, bodies of anxient texts and symbols swirling before your very eyes.

“What the fuck?” Donghyuck murmurs from beside you, proving that you aren’t the only one seeing this.

“The prophecy,” you whisper shakily as the words begin to form across the pages, loud and bold.

When the bearer of light and the flame that defies the abyss stand as one, the veil shall break and fate will awaken. By nature's decree, only the fittest shall endure, and balance will be restored.

Silence.

“So you’re the final descendant of the Lee clan? What the fuck? Does that mean you’re related to Mark?”

“No, you idiot!” Renjun smacks the back of Donghyuck’s head, the latter crying dramatically in return. “It means-“

“-that I need to go back in there.” You finish his sentence for him, finally looking at your two friends. “This is why I’ve been getting those visions. Mark isn’t supposed to fulfil the prophecy alone-“ you pause. “It’s because I’m supposed to fulfil it with him.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Mark could taste copper on his tongue.

His vision is starting to swim and his limbs are heavy, but he forces himself to push through. He couldn’t give in now— not when the Umbras are still barelling towards him at a hundred miles per hour; not when Kang is still alive and breathing.

His shield flickers weakly in front of him, the toll of every attack weighing down on his bones. The old library is engulfed in darkness, the light he emits not bright enough, making it difficult for him to tell between wraith and shadow, and his blind attacks aren’t doing much to ease his fatigue.

That is, until he feels a shift in the air; a warmth cutting through the cold.

Of course. Of course, you’re here. As much as he had been counting on you to stay outside, he couldn’t say he’s surprised that you’re back.

“Mark, listen to me!” Your estranged yell cuts through the loud hissing of the wraiths as they burst into flames at your constant fireballs. “I need you to stop channelling!”

The white glow emitting from his palms falter slightly at your words, but Mark doesn’t turn to you. “What?” He rasps as he continues to unleash orb after orb. “Are you- no! It’s too dangerous!”

“Trust me, please,” you urge. “I saw the prophecy. You have to trust me!”

Mark glances at you— just for a split second— but a split second is more than enough; enough for you to know that he hears you.

He trusts you not just with his life, but with the parts of himself he’s never dared to give away. And maybe that’s what scares him the most. Not the battle, not the prophecy, but just how much you mean to him.

Which is why he decides to let go.

He relaxes his hands, and the white light that surrounds him fractures like glass. You see the power leaving not just his fingertips, but his entire being, and you lunge towards him to keep him from falling.

With his shield gone, you conjure your own, the wraiths around you bursting into flames instantly.

“Mark,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel your muscles begin to strain with the weight of your shield. You don’t hesitate to take his hands into your shaky ones even despite the absence of your gloves, knowing now that your abilities won’t hurt him. If anything, it’s necessary.

“When the bearer of light and the flame that defies the abyss stand as one,” you say through clenched teeth, feeling your chest grow heavy with each word that escapes your lips. The air around you starts to shift, but you press on.

“By nature’s decree, only the fittest shall endure...”

Your ears are ringing at this point, and you could barely hear yourself with the shrill hissing of the restless Umbras around you. Headmaster Kang’s strained yell cuts through the noise, and even though you can’t see him, you know he’s getting weaker.

“…and balance will be restored.”

Your shield breaks, and when you finally open your eyes, you’re met with a blinding light— white and amber, burning side by side but never merging. You look at your hands, still intertwined with Mark’s, the glow mirroring the colours you see above you. The Umbras are no longer coming towards you; instead, they surge towards Headmaster Kang like moths to a flame.

Shadows coil around him, clawing and tearing as he thrashes, until his screams are eventually swallowed by darkness and his form unravels into nothingness.

As quickly as they came, the Umbras vanish, leaving only silence and emptiness in their wake.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, your eyes instantly blurring with tears.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

You look down at Mark, his head still in your lap, and you’re surprised to see that he’s already awake and looking at you, a weak smile on his lips.

“You did it,” he says quietly, the awe in his voice stirring something in you. He reaches for your face, his thumb carressing your cheek softly to wipe the moisture from your skin. “S’proud of you. My Azula.”

Despite yourself, you find yourself laughing. You still don’t know who or what an Azula is, but his usage of my made you so giddy, you don’t let yourself think twice before lowering your head and crashing your lips against his.

Mark meets you halfway, and the way he smiles into the kiss tells you everything you need to know.

Despite the steady stream of people coming and going on the academy grounds, you stay seated on the floor of the courtyard, far too exhausted to move a limb. All around you, students carry boxes and bags, their footsteps quick and voices a blur of confused questions and hurried farewells. You can’t find the energy in you to go back inside to pack your belongings, even if it’s to leave this place for good— not after everything that had just unfolded.

“So…” Donghyuck exhales. “What now?”

“It’s gonna take a while for the ministry to rebuild the school. Even then, I don’t think there’s any use in waiting,” Renjun sighs, his head lolling against his hand as his elbow rests on his knee. “Should I go back to China?”

“Can I come with you?”

“Fuck no. You’re a liability. I can’t risk getting stuck at customs because you decided to read the airport staff during security checks,” Renjun mutters.

“I told you, that was one time!”

You let their bickering blur into the background, not really wanting to get involved despite how amusing you think it is. You glance to your left to see Mark, staring into the distance with a content smile on his lips.

“So,” you start. “What are you gonna do after this? Are you going back to your dojang?”

“Naaah…” Mark shrugs, resting his weight on his palms as he leans backwards. He finally turns to you, his boyish grin growing wider at the sight of your face. You don’t miss the pink hue that paints his cheeks.

“I was thinking, um,” he stalls as he tries to find his words. You stay silent, prompting him to continue. “I was thinking of going to Jeonju. You know, find out more about my biological family, and all that.”

You nod in understanding. It only makes sense, seeing as you had only managed to tell him briefly about his ancestors earlier. You make a mental note to pick up the book from earlier later after packing your items.

“Do you wanna come with me?”

His question causes your eyes to widen, and Mark’s smile turns bashful. He chuckles nervously.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course,” he hurriedly explains. “Seoul’s your home. I’d understand if you don’t wanna-“

“Yes, Mark,” you cut him off with a beam. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Mark exhales, a mixture of a relief sigh and laughter. “Yeah?”

You nod, and Mark brings a hand to cup your cheek as he smiles at you softly. You lean into his touch, savouring his warmth.

This is it, you think. As the sun rises above the academy and casts a golden glow over the ruins of the past, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

#mark lee #mark x reader #mark imagines #mark fluff #mark angst #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #huang renjun #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines

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omamervt · 3 days ago

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Ok so while yes, City of Mist is incredibly simple to play in actual practice, it does have a LOT more character management rules than most PBTAs, and the Tracking Card system is something you really have to see in practice to understand.

Plus, while it's my understanding that the divided Player Handbook and MC Toolkit clarified a handful of things that were missing or unclear in the original Tome, I was not gonna spend $70 on two books to replace my single $50 one, and besides, we had started before Knights of Payne Town crowdfunded.

So long story short, there were a handful of things that, when we started, I was unclear on how they worked, and what their limits were supposed to be, and so I, wanting to be a "Good DM" (my only other experience at that point was D&D 5E) decided, "power to the players!" and let players add as many tags as they wanted to rolls.

(legitimately, the only point in the original tome I could find that said there was a 3-power tag-limit was a play example, it wasn't in the base rules in the gameplay section! Apparently it was buried somewhere I wouldn't have thought to look, but I didn't know that until much later when I was talking about something in the Facebook group.)

I also was kinda lax about the single-scene effects of some moves, because it came up so rarely. And, on the MC side, I was so nervous about not using stuff after over-preparing scenarios for the first few sessions that I'd developed a habit of delaying stuff until the party had a chance to arrive.

For the most part, I was still able to make an engaging adventure by taking advantage of what you could do with NPCs' power tags/statuses, but then The Incident happened.

Now, there were probably some other contributing factors here. First, one of my players had recently joined a D&D table, and between that and the way I'd handled my table, he was starting to develop an attitude that I was supposed to indulge anything he wanted to do so long as he rolled a Great Success. And for reasons I still don't understand, the entire party had chosen to just straight-up ignore information one of their allies had given them, opting to spend the rest of the session trying to find some other piece of evidence to back up what he was saying, but weren't satisfied with whatever I gave them.

As written, the Investigation move in CoM says that you can ask as many questions as you have Power invested on a Great Success. So this dude dumped 6 power tags into an Investigate, and spent an hour dragging it across 3 locations, upset I wasn't giving him the answers he wanted, but not telling me what he wanted to learn beyond "what are we supposed to do next," but like the rest of the party, was unwilling to accept "you already know where your target will be next. The lead you were given was real!" I ended up having to call the session early, I was so mad.

That player might have still developed the attitude that I needed to indulge every success, especially after joining the D&D game, but if I had trusted the samples in the book and every other sample of play I'd heard elsewhere, then he would have gotten 3 questions, max. If I had restricted his investigation to a single scene like I knew I was supposed to, he wouldn't have been able to drag it out for an hour.

And if I'd followed the general PBTA GM principle of "treat the world like it's alive and the story doesn't solely revolve around your players," they would have simply seen that they weren't being lied to on the news after their target did what they knew she was going to do, in the place they knew she was going to be, and got away because they were all wasting time elsewhere.

They still wouldn't have been happy, probably, but there's not much I can do about that, since they wouldn't tell me why they were rejecting clues like that.

Yes, that's the short version of events.

It ain't easy making it as a TTRPG design studio when it takes a baseline amount of effort just to convince a lot of people that your profession is even real. Like, those rules and numbers, we didn't just fill the pages up with a bunch of random nonsense, we put those in the rulebook for a reason, so that following them would result in particular challenges and experiences.

Game design is real! It is possible to play a TTRPG wrong, because the TTRPG's rulebook exists solely to tell you how to play this particular TTRPG right, and in a well-designed game, that will lead to a particular experience that the authors are trying to sell you.

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cupidbedsy · 1 day ago

Note

congrats on 1k my love, you deserve it & so much more 🫧🤍

can i please request the most sunniest sunflower 🌻 with the prompt “frantically making out to try getting sleepy” with our beloved bedsy? feel free to expand on this however your heart desires :)

✿ CUPID'S FLORAL SHOP ✿

here's a freshly picked sunny sunflower 🌻 !

warnings: not being able to fall asleep

word count: 0.9k

florist cupid: thank you so much livvy! i love you 🙁 also thank you for requesting bedsy boy bc i am such in a bedsy mood rn

you've been tossing and turning in the bed for the past 15 minutes and you have still yet to fall asleep. connor's game had ended about an hour ago and during it you had almost succumbed to sleep every time they stopped the play, but now sleep doesn't even bother to make an appearance in your mind.

you had texted him sometime during the third period, telling him how tired you were and that you might be asleep when he got home, and after the game when you were on the edge of sleep, you texted him congratulations and how proud you were of him.

then, you ended up asleep... for all of 30 seconds, and now here you were wide awake and staringly frustratingly up at the ceiling. which you suppose, the only bright side of having to be awake is that now you can see connor has soon as he gets home.

you can hear the faint creak of the door and the soft thudding of shoes being kicked off. moments later, connor's walking through your bedroom door, hair messy and eyes tired.

his gaze lands on you instantly, unable to keep the smile from growing on his face, "hey baby.."

you return the smile, pulling the comforter up to your neck and turning so you're laying on your side, "hi."

"thought you'd be asleep already," he walks over, leaning down to kiss your forehead and run a hand through your hair.

"tried, slept for 30 seconds and then i couldn't go back to sleep."

he frowned at your words, continuing to play with your hair, "'m sorry, babe. let me change and i'll lay with you, yeah?"

you nod, watching as he stepped back, heading towards the closet to grab his clothes. you closed your eyes as you waited for him, attempting to fall asleep once again.

he came back a few minutes later, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a random shirt. he slid beneath the sheets, arm immediately finding home around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"how was your day?"

you rambled softly about your day, the highs and lows and everything in between, and he sat there listening like he always did, playing with the ends of your hair.

when you were done, you could feel yourself growing more tired but not enough to fall asleep yet, so you let connor launch into a rant about the game, eyes lighting up as he spoke about the goal he scored.

and still, by the end of his game recap, the two of you were still awake, staring at each other with more than tired expressions. connor's hand trailed to your hip, fingers brushing across the sliver of skin that was exposed.

the unexpected touch sent a small shiver through you, but you welcomed it nonetheless, fluttering your eyes closed as you focused on it.

his touch did nothing to lull you asleep, in all honestly it made you even more awake and aware. as you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, causing your cheeks to heat, "why're looking at me?"

"what? am i not allowed to look at my girlfriend?"

"not what i said," you mumbled.

he tightened his grip on you, bringing you closer so your foreheads rested against each other's. it was silent for a while, both of you just taking in the other's small details, until connor's low, mumbled voice made it's way to your ears, "y'know, i do have a solution for our problem here."

you raised an eyebrow, amused by the slight cheekiness in his voice, "and what's that, connie?"

he didn't reply, just cupped the back of your head, kissing you softly with the slightest bit of heat behind it. you instantly melt into the kiss, moving to tangle your hands into his hair.

you can't help the giggle that escapes you when he groans as you tug at his hair, pulling away to look at him. you can see a growing pout on his face, poking his cheek to try and get a smile out of him, "what's the pout for?"

"you pulled away." his frown was prominent now, his eyes almost glaring at you.

"oh poor baby, c'mere." he grins as you pull him back in for another, kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist.

it doesn't take long for things to escalate after that, connor sitting up so his back is pressed against the headboard, lifting you into his lap, and moving to leave kisses across your neck.

and after, ten five minutes, the two of you pull apart, lightly panting as you stared at each other. connor lifts his hand, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear, "you're gorgeous, y'know that?"

"connie," your whine echoes through the room as you bury your head into his neck, a soft blush covering your cheeks.

he scratches your back, dragging his fingernails up and down your spine, "what? just complimenting my girl."

seconds pass and you could finally feel your eyelids start to get heavier and heavier, breathing evening out. you mumble out a 'yes' when he asks you if you're getting sleepy, and soon you pass out against him, grip going lax.

he shifts so the two of you are lying side-by-side, pulling you impossibly close before he drifts off to sleep as well.

back to the shop ! ; navigation !

#. ˚◞ ✿〚 cupid's floral shop 〛#˚ ༘♡〚 cupids writing 〛ₓ｡#˚｡⋆〚 blurbs 〛#˚｡⋆〚 connor bedard 〛#connor bedard #cb98 #connor bedard x reader

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ziminy · 2 days ago

Text

Coming back to you

How to get back with your ex

Tags: smut, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, f!reader, normal au (because we suffered enough), my bbg Caleb the manipulative king he is (break me in half and all I'll say is thank you), implied stalking (if you squint), creampie, oral (f! receiving), fingering, marking, dirty talk, praising, size difference, little bit of crying, not proofread

Author's note: almost lvl 60 affinity with him, it was hard work and a lot of dedication. Trust me when I say I won't be able to recover financially from this any time soon.

Masterlist

Life was good when you were together, and somehow it even better after breaking up. It's not like your split up was messy, because you two parted ways on mutual accord, deciding that this isn't going to work since both of you were so busy lately. Why dragging the other down when you have your futures set?

In fact, the break up wasn't even supposed to be a break up, you were supposed to take a little break from each other that turned into a break up some time later. You said that you'd still be friends, that it's alright to talk and greet each other if you somehow managed to meet again.

But it was all lies. Both of you knew that. Because you never texted each other after that, and somehow you tried to avoid all the places he might be at. You don't really know why you're doing that, if just.. you feel a little uncomfortable looking back at what you two used to have.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, how he leaned down to talk to you, or that dumb smile that made your heart skip a beat.

He was caring, attentive, maybe a bit obsessive, perhaps a bit insane too. And maybe that what scared you, kept you away from dating again. Finding another one like him. God, what if you had the misfortune to wake up with another one like him at your door? You'd rather jump out the window than have the luck of getting another Caleb.

But he was good, in his own ways.

Well.. you can't really name any of his good traits at the moment, but he was a great guy. If you put aside his manipulative side, that he doesn't even try to hide to begin with.

You promised yourself to not fall for another guy like him, that empty words mean nothing to you. Threats had no effect, and you don't feel guilty anymore over things that you shouldn't be to begin with.

So, why was he here? You were supposed to meet with the old friend group, to reconnect and talk about the old days and how college used to be. I mean, he was part of the group, but why exactly was he here? And why did nobody told you he was coming?

"It's so good to see you guys!" one of your friends said, instantly jumping from person to person to hug.

"I feel like we're young again." someone else said, making you shake your head and let out a soft laugh. You can't show that you're affected, you're all grown now, you matured. He had no effect on you anymore. Even if it only been a year, you're still a different person that you were a few months ago.

"We aren't old to begin with." you said with a smile on your face. "How haves everyone been?" you sounded so calm, like you forgot how much stress was put on you back then. Everybody looks in much better shape after graduation, perhaps that place was rough for everyone.

"Let's just skip greetings and drink." of course there was that one person. "Caleb, you pay." everybody's eyes were on the tall man.

"You brought your wallet, no? Why should I pay." your eyes made contact for a moment, and you felt your face getting hotter. This night better go quick, because you don't know for how much longer you can handle this.

Everything was how it was back then, the way you sit in groups at the bar. How you found yourself next to the same girls you used to, deciding that you don't want to be loud and take it easy, just like before.

"So, how have life been for you? Haven't heard anything from you after we graduate." one of the girls looked at you, reminding you of how you chose to go no contact with everybody after your breakup.

"You and Caleb broke up? I thought you'd last a life time." is there nothing better to talk about?

"I'm a career woman now." you decided to change the subject, rather chosing to talk about work that your failed relationship.

"Oh?" why everybody looked so surprised was a mystery. But somehow you understood their reactions, you're also surprised you went this path.

"Got any boyfriends?" they still want to get info on your personal life, huh? Well, guess you won't be able to dodge that question any time soon.

"Nothing at the moment. Just focusing on work."

"I guess it's hard to date again. Normal guys must be so bland, not comparing to that piece of meat over there." you looked displeased with your friends choice of words. Yes, your ex might look good, but looks isn't what matters right now. Your well being was your top priority, and you enjoyed the freedom you had way too much.

"I'd be like that too if I had your ex. Imagine recovering from that." you don't even have to imagine.

"Is it even humanly possible to find somebody who's better than him?" their questions doesn't affect you, because you already know that you're the best you'd find. You understand and give yourself more than enough space that it's needed. So the right questions was if he will be able to find someone as good as you, because he won't.

"He's looking in this direction." the girls started giggling, and somehow, this was nostalgic.

Didn't this happened already? Before you started dating, right before you two confessed your feelings. Because somehow, you managed to do that at the same time. It was funny, if you're thinking about it. How you two were so in sync, you had no idea.

"Go talk to him." the girl next to you tried to push you, to make you get up and walk to the dark haired man.

"Don't want to." you kept avoiding any eye contact ever since you got in that bar. If you don't acknowledge him then he doesn't even exist to you.

"But he's looking at you." you grabbed the drink in front of you and gulped everything down your throat, trying to ignore him.

"Are you shy?" the girls started giggling again.

It was annoying. Why can't they understand that it's over? He understands this, so why can't they do it as well?

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"But he seems to want to?" it doesn't matter even if they point it out. It's been a long time already, you both moved on.

"Isn't there anything you want to tell him? Like things you didn't got the chance to while you were together?"

"This is the time to clear any bad blood between the two of you." but that wasn't necessary.

Frustrated, you looked in his direction. Eyebrows furrowed and biting on your lip so you wouldn't let out any curses you wanted to say at the moment. That classical expression, looking like he's good, even if there was no smile on his face, but he kept nodding to what his friends were saying. His eyes were betraying him however, those sleepy eyes, looking at you like you were more interesting, like he had to or else you'd evaporate from there or who knows what worse. It wasn't often when you'd see him like that, so you can't even answer your own questions on why he seemed like that.

No, if you payed attention to his surroundings, his friends might be annoying him. Saying something that he doesn't like, or.. they were talking about you. Just the way your friends were talking about him.

Was he feeling like that because he didn't want to talk to you either? No, you doubt that. It's probably because you refuse to give him any attention.

You turned to face the girls around you, who still seemed to push you to him. Maybe you should in fact go for it?

But, was there really anything that needed to be said? You don't have any regrets, you can't think of anything you want to say. And he's the same, even if he looked like he was holding back from time to time. You doubt he ever did something he's regretting. After all, you matched each other's freaks. You managed to stay together for that long just because you completed the other, understood yourselfs on a level no one else around you could.

Was this why you were pushed to him? Because everyone knew how well you fit each other?

You looked at your friends one more time, sighing as you finally gave up. You're still afraid to approach him, because he was still intimidating in a way you can't explain.

Or you can, because whenever you look at him you feel a chill down your spine. Your head was filled with stuff you said to him in the past, memories coming back to embarrass you, to make you forget what you want to do so you'd fuck up in front of him.

You stopped in front of him, staring at him as he looked at you. He still had that expression on his face, like you're still his softest spot, his weakness that makes him weak in the knees when he's around you. You opened your mouth, trying to say something but then forgetting everything once you looked into his purple eyes.

You can't be like this forever, you had to step up your game. You really had to move on, and maybe that's what you have to talk with him. Because he seems to be stuck in the past too. "You have time?" you noticed the way he almost raised his hand, to grab onto you and drag you closer like he always did. But he held back, because he knew this wasn't the time.

"Yeah." he tried to keep it nonchalantly, but you could see past his poorly executed facade. Should you feel happy with how you still affect him? You feel like you could laugh.

"Wanna talk outside?" you don't even know why you said outside of all places. You wanted to stay inside, where everybody else was. You wanted to have a reason to keep it cool, to not lose yourself in your emotions, because you know you'll fuck up if you're alone with him.

He got up, standing much taller than you as he followed you quietly. Seriously, this was like a deja vu. You still remember how you used to follow him just the way he's doing now. Not questioning a thing, and trusting him a bit too much. But you also had no idea where you're going. All you know is that you want to go outside, take some fresh air, say a few words and then go back to your friends.

For a moment, he got in front of you, opening the door and letting you walk out first. He used to do this all the time, didn't he? You almost forgot about it.

You walked a little further from the bar, resting your back against a building's wall as you looked at the sunset. No one said a thing, and the distance between the two of you was colder than the night's breeze.

"So.." a few words and then go back, that's all. You can go to your friends after this and rest. "How have you been." avoid eye contact, because you don't know when you'll fuck up, look forward, don't let yourself be distracted.

"Busy." his voice still makes something in your head ring, like a little bell that seems to not calm down until he said so. "You?"

"Busy." you couldn't even think of what to say, just biting your lip in frustration.

It was quiet again, like both of you forgot how to communicate.

For a moment, you looked to your left, at where the bar was, and then at him, catching him staring at you with a expression you can't quite explain. Sadness? No, it was a mixture of sad and frustration. And you understood him. He had you this close, next to him, and yet he couldn't do anything.

"You're bigger than I remember." you don't even know why you said that. It's just.. he looks different and you can't exactly say what it was.

"I stopped growing a long time ago." he kept looking at you, at the way you were scanning him for anything that it might have changed. "Maybe you're the one who shrinked." he extended his hand, he doesn't really know why, but it seemed alright in that moment. Like he knew you wouldn't run anymore. "My hands are still the same."

You looked at his palm, at his long fingers and at the way he looks so familiar, yet new. Like you forgot how his body looked for a moment, like you were back in the past before you two started dating. Because you did this back then too, you were in this situation before.

How he was trying to tame you, let you touch him just the way you want, explore and discover more. All just to show you how inoffensive he is, that he's not a threat.

And you bite the bait every single time. Taking his hand in yours, slowly touching it just to see if it was indeed like what you remember.

You should put more effort if you don't want him back in your life. Just look at you, you look like you've missed him so so much. You shouldn't be this sweet or else you might not be able to break up again this time.

He tried his luck, interlocking his fingers with yours, and showing you more of that size difference you haven't seen in a while.

You don't reject him, his actions only made you be more curious. What else was he hiding? You looked up at him, only to see that expression again. You really didn't understand how his eyes can be just this dark, like there was absolutely no life in them, only a purple abyss that seems to drag you in towards him.

"It's getting dark." he said in a low voice, forgetting that he was supposed not to scare you for a moment. "Let me drive you home." he's the same as ever. Getting ahead of himself just because he was able to feel your perfume for once, the same scent that you had since back then. It suited you, and he missed it.

"Alright." he always knew how to calm you, let down your guard so he can get more under your skin. Or perhaps you were doing that voluntarily, because he doubts you'd be like this just for anybody.

The ride back to your place was quiet, only the radio on, playing some mainstream songs over and over again.

The silence was loud, but not uncomfortable. It was better this way because you had nothing to say. And he will not talk until you talk.

But once you got to your house, you somehow didn't wanted to get out the car just yet. It's just.. can't he stay? You don't know why you want him there, and you don't want answers to that.

"You're.." you played with your fingers. "You're not busy, right?" you avoided his eyes, or to look in his direction at all. This was all his doing, wearing that one fragrance that made your head spin, and the shirt that he knew was your favorite. "Want to come inside?" you're doing this on your own accord. Because he wouldn't push you over your limits like this, especially when you just met again after a long time.

You came to him, you talked to him, and you dragged him into your home on your own. He didn't do anything, this was all your doing.

You were brave enough to make the first move, so he might as well reward you for it, no?

You didn't looked surprised when you started kissing the moment the front door closed behind you, you also looked unfazed when he started taking off your clothes, now going towards your bedroom, looking for a bed so he could place you on it.

How could you forget this feeling? Or the way he used to take care of you. Always stopping you from lifting a single finger, not letting you do anything until you start begging him, or worse, do things without even warning him first.

"Tell me if it hurts." he placed a kiss on your cheek before going down, biting softly on your skin and leaving kisses all over the places he touched. He was going to mark all of your body, so people would see a part of him on you even if you're not together.

He stopped when he got to your pussy, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh, before placing his lips over your heat. He was going to scream, he missed this so much that he just couldn't help but let out a lustful moan deep from the bottom of his heart.

How could you left him? Take this away from him, leave him all alone to suffer. If he didn't craved so much for you he would have punished you for it.

"You're so tight." he said as he got two of his fingers inside.

"It's been a while since I did it." he looked up at you from between your legs, placing a kiss on your clit.

"Have you done it with someone else?" he was asking as if he didn't knew everything you did while he was gone. And yet, hes jealous.

"No." you shook your head. "What about you?" are you questioning his loyalty?

"Did you touched yourself?" if this was his way of changing the subject, then it wasn't working. Because it only made you want to ask the same thing, embarras him just the way he did to you.

"Did you?" he should feel embarrassed, ashamed or anything between those two, but no, it was just you who feeling that way.

"Every time I missed you." seriously, can he calm down for a moment. You can't take it. "You didn't do a good job." he said, licking on your clit as his fingers curled up. "But I guess you can't do much with those fingers of yours." you couldn't face him when he was saying such dirty words. "Did you had a hard time stuffing yourself? Don't worry, I'll do it for you from now on." you placed a hand over his face, to cover his eyes so he would stop looking at you.

"Don't look at me." you whimper. "It's embarrassing." you were always so easy to tease.

"Alright." he moved your hand away. "I'm sorry." he was in fact not, but if that's what you want to hear then he'll lie again and again, as long as you're happy.

Your pleasure was more important to him. So he focused on that, paying attention to the places that made you melt, on your soft voice and your touch. You're still so hesitant, like you don't really trust him, like you're still testing the waters.

What more do you want from him? What can he possible give that he haven't gave you already? You have his heart, you have his mind and soul, his well being is all yours, his body and everything he owns. So give him attention, touch him more and tell him that he's doing good because he's about to burst.

For a moment he looked up at you, just to see how you're doing, to check on you and make sure you're alright.

How did he lived for so long without looking at you was a mystery. Why he accepted you leaving him and trying to move on. Who else is going to make you feel like this? You need him, you needed his cock and his touch.

But he's not going to fuck up, since it's been a while since you last did it, he shouldn't push you. So, he placed a last kiss on your clit before taking his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and waiting for more. He didn't even let you cum, how mean of him.

Still, how dumb of him, to come here with nothing on him, not even a single condom. I mean, it wasn't really his fault because he never knew he'll end up like this.

"Take it off, your clothes." you were all naked while he was still fully dressed. He also looked like he wasn't planning on getting undressed any time soon and it was annoying you.

"I don't have any condoms." that was the problem?

"It don't matter." you took him by surprise. "Come here." you knew how rail him up. And you better not regret your decision later.

You looked at him taking off his shirt, his defined muscles jumping right into your face. You were right when you said he looked bigger, he must be working out a lot more lately. He took his pants off after, your eyes on his hard cock as he came back next to you.

"Relax." he said when he got between your legs. "Look at me." it would only be harder for you if you keep overthinking. Yeah, he was big, so what. He's going to give you all the time in the world until you adjust yourself to take him. It's gonna be hard at first, but it's going to be so much easier once he models your insides into the shape of his cock. And that's a promise, believe him.

He slowly pushed the head of his dick inside your wet core, making you move a little from how it was feeling, trying to find a better position. He lowered himself, now his chest pressed against yours, placing kisses all over your face as he kept pushing more of him inside your warm pussy. It's alright, take your time. He's not going anywhere, he'll wait until you're ready for him to move.

"You're doing good." he whispered in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I'm all the way inside, see? It doesn't hurt." it hurts a little, maybe more than just a little. But wasn't it normal when he was stretching you like that? But just as much as it hurts, it also felt good, in a way that left your mouth watering. He was going to be the end of you, really.

"Move." you ordered him, wanting to feel more. Just being stuffed to the brim wasn't enough, you needed much more than that.

He followed your orders, moving his hips slowly, paying attention to your next move.

You were so cute when you're sticking to him like that, holding onto his shoulders and trembling every time he touched that spot deep inside that he wasn't trying to touch to begin with, to not overwhelm yourself.

He's going to give you everything you want, there's no need to rush. If this was how much you can handle then that's how much he's going to give you. So why were you grabbing him like that, and asking for more? "Deeper." but you couldn't take it? You're going to say that he bullied you later, and he doesn't want to take the blame for something you made him do.

"You're sure?" you nodded, looking at him through your eyelashes with a pout on your face. Alright then, if that's what you want. How could he refuse you?

So he got deeper, hitting that spongy spot with long slow strokes that seems to work wanders on you.

He kissed you, again and again, to mark everything that missed his touch. To make sure you feel him, more than just inside.

"Is it good?" he asked as if he doesn't know your body like the back of his hand.

"Mm." you nodded, leaning in to feel more of his warmth.

"Then say my name. Let me know how good I make you feel." how could you forget he was like this. He always had to mark his territory as if you're not already his. But unfortunately for him, you're not in the mood to fulfill his desires. Screaming his name seemed nice, but at the moment all you wanted was to feel him, have him to yourself and let nobody know about your business.

Maybe his greedy side rubbed on you, or maybe it's the other way around. Or not, because at the end of the day you both knew that your unsolved issues can't be fixed that easy, and it can't be passed into the other when both of you are insane.

That's why you're trying to consume each other in other ways.

Kisses that seemed way too loving for someone who just got reunited after a long time. Touches that linger on the other's body even after moving away. Whispers and words that really makes it seems like you two were just a day apart, talking about moving with him, how you don't need anyone else but him. And at the moment you're too drunk on him to even realize that you're nodding, agreeing to every little degrading thing he's saying.

You want him, don't you? You missed him, you were such a mess without him. Right? Why did you permited him to leave when he's made for you. "I love you." that's the most normal thing he said tonight. "I love you, you heard me?" you heard him, but if you're giving him an answer that satisfies him, you'll never make him pay for the pain he caused you.

"You do?" you didn't sounded loving at all, even if your arms were wrapped around his neck, looking at him in the eyes with something only he saw before, your lust and obsession.

"I love you." he'll say it until you finally give up. Placing a kiss right next to your eye, he caged you in his arms, a hand under your ass and lifting up so he could go even deeper than before. Move in even more, since you said you wanted deeper. He'll show you places you didn't even know existed if you're asking for it.

He can't say that he's a brat tamer, because he's not. He likes everything about you, your sweet side, your mean and angry side. He likes it when you punish him, it shows him that you care. And if you believe that he's not doing enough to deserve your love just yet, then he'll do more.

He liked trying after all. And he'd be damed if he said that he doesn't want to show you just how far he can go. Because trust him, you can't handle it.

He's going to eat you, or even better, sacrifice him as you see fit. He wants to be inside you forever, be part of you. Because he feels like he's finally at home only when he's with you, in your arms. And when he's balls deep inside you? He's in heaven.

"Does it hurts?" he licked your tears away, wanting to taste them and claim them as his.

You nodded, feeling his cock twitching before moving in a way that got you throwing your head back. This fucker. He thinks that he can just do this to you and not pay a price? And perhaps sometimes he forgets how you can be so cruel, mean, and play with his feelings in a way only you could.

All he needs is a look from you, fluttering those eyelashes in a pretty way, and a sad expression that he can't resist.

You win, if you wanted him to fumble, then you win. He's all yours, do whatever you want with him because he doesn't have the ability to think anymore. "Cum with me?" what gives you the right to ask such a dumb question when you knew that's the only thing he wants. If you're not, the he's not doing it either. He knows he's asking for too much, but let the man dream.

"I'll fill you up nice and pretty, alright?" he made it sounded like a question, but you both knew he was just letting you know.

"Mm." you nodded, your lips smashing together the next moment. Eating each other out as you were both so so close. Touches becoming more and more desperate, his grip on so tight you won't be surprised if it leaves a bruise. But it's alright, because you feel like that's not quite enough.

More, you both needed more. And some heated sex after fucks knows how long won't be enough to satisfy the empty holes in you. You needed so much more.

Will you even be able to get out the bed tomorrow? Both of you. Because from the way you drag each other back, refusing to give up just yet was more than enough proof to show you won't step back any time soon.

But who knows, maybe you'll finally be happy by the time you both dry your energy out.

#lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb #love and deepspace #lads smut #lads x reader

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ludinusdaleth · 3 days ago

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seeing unsure newer cr fans as the older cr fans are excited so: yall will be ok. finale episodes are always an incredible spectacle and party stories arent ever finished just because the specific plot their campaign centered around is over. soon yall wont really have a thought in your head about the fandom discourses and worries that plague your first touch with a campaign finale. soon c3 will be wrapped in nostalgia and you might fight urges to bully c4 fans as past campaign fans bother you - learn not to listen to that urge. literally no one really cares about wrap ups or any discourse around them in time - c2 wrap up was very unorganized. do people care now? no. and it will most likely be the same here. take a deep breath. dont look at the wide net of takes next thursday and just enjoy it on your terms - this is the best advice i can give. having once been a newbie to this who also enveloped myself in belief of the worst theories about how things could go - it's a phase you will phase out of in time and find silly later as you see the cycles of campaign discussion repeat.

#van speaks #campaign 3 #psa #critical role #i would honestly also bet that the fires crunched together wrap ups. they seem to have a strict schedule thats fucked now

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joelmillerisapunk · 15 hours ago

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MILLLLAAAAAA I have not known peace since reading this

First of all, the tension. The history. The forbidden desire just simmering under the surface, waiting to explode. Every single moment had me gripping my phone like it owed me money.

The fact that they had all this unresolved emotion and then bam—thrown into the most intimate scene imaginable??

This was SO intense, so raw, so emotional—and the way it all came back to them in the end??? Like, she wrote the script for him. She was always going to find her way back to him.

I am never recovering from this. EVER I am crying in the club, hiding in the bathroom, sobbing into my pillow. okay favorite parts timeeeee - and this is my live reaction so excuse every emotional rollercoaster I hit here....

-> WAHHHHHH FJSDKJSDKLJF already killing me goddamnit He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. It could only be you. That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.that’s fucked up, Will*Will calling* -> OKAYY I SEE HOW IT IS YOU WANT ME TO CRY ALREADY HUH? “It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

-> WHAAAA I CANT DO THIS I CANT BUT I WILL IM SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more. He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again. Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.” -> she is so relatable omfg I would be doing the same You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal. -> SOBBING EXCUSE ME SIR? WTF YOU DOING SHAKING HER OFF LIKE THAT NO SIR NO SIR So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up.

-> my good goddddd im dying over here i am not okay sos help me He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

->idk Milla, i think you write the most beautiful things and you really wanna make my heart fall out of my ribcage. The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

-> ooooof THIS IS BUILDING UP OMG OMG OMG SMDFKSDA “Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally. “Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

-> stab me it might hurt less than this In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

THE ENTIRE INTIMATE SCENE HOLY SMOKES IM DIZZYYYY

-> I have no thoughts just thots my brain empty but this is delicious “I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,”

AND THE END AHHH IM SOBBING

Close-up

8k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. ex lovers reunited, angst, mostly Joel pov, Joel can act cold out of defence mechanism, he has trouble accepting his own feelings, pining, slow burn, pet names (sweetheart, baby), semi public sex, just the tip, soft!joel, oral (f), piv, creampie. Pic for mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

a/n: this is written for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge (prompt here) thank you for this challenge Jo, and it was such a cool prompt 😍😍😍 Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for reading this one soooo many times 🥹😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

I sent you a script, tell me what you think tell me more just read it, trust me

The informal messages between Joel and his agent, Will, were usual. They had known each other for a long time, they were friends, and Will had always found him perfect roles.

So as always, Joel trusted him- even though the first page of the script, delivered to him by a courier, was not completely filled, making him wonder why.

In the evening he put his cup on the coffee table, and lay down on the sofa, a soft light lamp behind his head. With his back leaning against the cushions, shirt, jeans, bare feet. Always the same ritual, always the same setup, when he was about to read a new script.

He started reading it, taking a sip of coffee from time to time, until his heart leapt in his chest as he got to a particular scene.

He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank.

It could only be you.

That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

“Yeah,” he grumbled as he picked up, without even trying to hide his feelings, then he got up to pace the room.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Joel. But she’s a great writer and actress, you know it. We’ve been looking for a good drama movie for a long time. This one’s perfect.”

“It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

“Joel, listen to me and think about it. No one would know. And it can be therapeutic.”

“Thera… jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Joel sighed as he hung up and threw his phone on the couch.

Why the fuck would Will do something so stupid and inconsiderate, giving him a script from you?

At the beginning of his career, his agent sent him one project for a movie in which you were expected to play too. Joel confessed that you two had been together, and added “you don’t bring her up. Ever,” to end the conversation. So Will never did.

Until today.

He sat back down on the sofa, resting his forehead on his fist, resisting the urge to throw the cup of coffee across the room. He was surprised by his own reaction, his nervousness. His anger. Barely able to control his emotions, he felt so weak, like his heart was about to tear in two again, swallowing him whole. He was affected, years later, as if it happened yesterday.

So, sure, a long time ago he asked Will not to talk about you anymore. But they might have been friends, his agent might have known about you, but he didn’t know the details. Didn’t know how profoundly the break up had hurt Joel, how much you had gotten under his skin, back then.

And in Will's defense, it wasn't like you never saw each other again, at parties or ceremonies, under Will’s gaze who thought that it wasn't that bad, after all. It was years after your separation, now having the job that both of you dreamed about, talked about, sweaty young adults in a messy bed where he had just made you come.

Will wasn't aware that it was actually that bad.

Because he didn’t know the way Joel looked at you, when you were together. He didn't know how sweet and caring Joel was with you. He didn’t know how much he loved wrapping his arms around you, and having you curl up against him.

He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more.

He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again.

Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.”

The first time you saw each other again, was in a place full of actors, agents, writers and directors.

You couldn't believe he was here, a few steps away from you. Of course, you knew you'd cross paths one day, but suddenly he was closer to you than he had been in years and you felt your heart racing. He was even more handsome than he was back then, if it was even possible. You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him.

But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal.

So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around.

It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up.

If you had looked up right away, you would have seen guilt sweep through his eyes. But when you finally raised your head, seconds later, he was on the other side of the room. The only thing you could see was his back, which he undoubtedly presented to you deliberately, as if his glare hadn’t been enough to make a point.

All evening, you struggled to keep conversations going, to concentrate, to think of anything other than his dark stare, furrowed brows, and the way he shook his head at you without any hesitation. For years, you had been wondering what he had thought of you, after those years. You just got the most brutal answer to that question.

The second time, a journalist had done some research and discovered that you attended the same university, graduated the same year. He took the opportunity to bring the subject as Joel was walking by. He probably hadn't seen you amongst all those people, because you were sure he would have gone the other way, otherwise. You didn’t have much choice than to kiss, feigning a friendly closeness that had never existed between you. You had been lovers, then strangers. No in-between.

His scent, so familiar, invaded your nostrils. He always wore the same perfume, the one you had given him for a birthday. It surprised you but you didn't have much time to think about it, as he ended the hug quickly.

Joel's eyes were shifty when you looked at him, a fake smile plastered on his lips. Which could probably seem real for people who didn't know him, but not for you. Not even years later. You answered the journalist's questions as best as you could, until Joel leaned towards to give you a hug that was as neutral as his eyes on you, cutting off the questions. Then he walked away, leaving you facing the journalist who was delighted with the exclusive material and oblivious to the unspoken scene that had happened in front of him.

Joel thought back to those two evenings, after he’d hung up on Will and before he’d put the script away in a drawer. He needed to regain control of his emotions, and to do that he couldn't continue reading your words, at least for now.

He went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and despite him trying, his mind wandered to lazy mornings where he would get up to make two coffees and then come back to the bedroom. He’d put them on the nightstand, before cuddling up to your warm body under the sheets, hearing you moan gently. Sometimes you would fall asleep in one of his shirts, and he loved smelling his scent on you, as if you were marked by him, somehow. It always made him feral, possessive. He didn’t know he had that side in him, until you.

You'd always grab his hand to kiss the tip of his fingers, before sliding them along your folds, feeling his cock harden against your ass and your pussy starting to drool. He would make you come with his digits, his lips against your ear, caged in his arms, then he'd slide his cock between your thighs and your soaked folds, just in time for your last spasms to squeeze his tip. Sometimes he would keep fucking you like that, lying behind you, and sometimes he would roll you on your back, taking his place between your thighs. Until he’d come, grunting, growling, his hair disheveled, and you often fall back asleep, his cock softening inside you, the cups of coffee cold on the nightstand.

He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

The next morning he woke up groggy. He put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, poured himself a cup of coffee, and put aside his good resolutions. He didn’t need the script to think about you, anyway. Time never healed his wounds, he never forgot you or the pain he had felt when you’d left. His thoughts were always hurtful, possessive and raw.

Even years after the break up he couldn’t help but think about you when his wrist fucked his shaft. Even sometimes when he was in a relationship. He hated himself for that but couldn’t help it. He missed your cunt, your hands, everything. But he couldn’t accept the idea that he was simply missing you.

He always thought that your bodies were made for each other, and you always breathed the same words. He knew you meant it, his cock buried in you, his eyes fixed on yours rolling to the back of your head and his ears filled with your moans, barely able to tell his name.

Until it was over.

He knew it could happen, you always told him that you'd have to leave for California one day in hope to live your dream, that you couldn’t do it in Texas. But he brushed it off, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to think about it. He hid it in a corner of his mind, until he had no other choice but to face reality. Until it hit him. That day, he realized that he wouldn’t get to wrap his arms around you for the rest of his life.

He lay down on the couch and started to read. And the more he read the script, the more he realized that you wrote only the moments that had really happened.

The story, background, was slightly different, probably so that no one could ever make a connection to the two of you. But the moments were real, and it made him dizzy.

You wrote that dance in your small apartment, first for the both of you, that you rented after graduation. You worked as a waitress and Joel was a barista, and you two went to as many castings in Austin as you could, dreaming every day about being actors.

That night you put on some music and danced. He kissed your hand and looked at you. He felt warm. He loved you so much that his heart was aching. He made you spin and you laughed, and it was like a spring breeze in the apartment, filling his lungs with fresh air. When you stopped twirling you brushed his hair and then kissed him.

The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

Over the next two days, he took the script out of the drawer regularly. Slowly touching the paper that already bore the marks of repeated handling, him lying on his couch, taking his time before opening it.

He read it all, and the sweetness, the sensitivity with which you described your moments moved him profoundly. The person he had loved, cherished, cradled in his arms, wrote that.

All the intimacy, the love and care you both felt for each other were there. For several years he made everything to forget the good moments, to focus only on the ending to feed his bitterness, but the fact was that there had been so many beautiful moments. And he could read them, feel them again. Couldn’t deny them anymore.

Your words were so familiar, so true to your love story, that his anger slowly gave some place to something else: nostalgia. Finally allowing himself to miss you and what you two had. He was still wondering why you had written the script and sent it to him, but now he was ready to learn the answer. And he wanted to look you in the eye when he’d ask you this question. But he wasn't sure how he’d behave, when you met. Didn't know if bitterness or nostalgia would fill his heart.

So after two days of silence, Joel picked up his phone and sent Will a message.

Ok, set up a meeting

Because of your busy schedules you could meet only in two weeks. The delay was driving him crazy.

He made a copy of the script, his copy, which he filled with annotations, dates. Underlining moments or words erased from his mind, out of grief, anger or self-protection.

He got hard several times, while reading some scenes. And sometimes anger would come back to creep into his thoughts, whispering to him that you never should have sent it to him, when your separation had been so painful for him.

And Will was not the only one Joel said “you don’t…. ever.”

To you, it’d been “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.”

That morning, as he got used to doing several times a day, he grabbed his copy of the script. He had handled it so much that the sheets were already damaged, some pages peppered with annotations.

As he was reading, he remembered how you had loved to run your fingers over his jeans when you were watching a movie on your little couch. Playing with him, your hand going higher and higher, just to hear his breathing slow down, just to hear him murmur a needy and low “sweetheart, what are you doing?”, making you smile widely. Knowing that he would manhandle you two seconds later to be under him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his thick length into you. He remembered the feeling of your breasts against his chest, how you whimpered in his neck while he was fucking you hard and deep.

He was nervous the morning of the meeting. He took a shower, hoping to get rid of the fatigue and headache from the lack of sleep the night before. He put on a shirt and jeans and grabbed his car keys, put on some music when he started to drive, trying to change his mind, but it didn’t work, he was still anxious. He parked near the building. Once inside he found the meeting room and knocked on the door. He heard you say “come in” and took a deep breath before twisting the handle.

You were alone, sitting in a chair, and he quickly pushed aside the thought of how pretty you were. Joel immediately noticed your hands, pressed together nervously, before you stood up to greet him. He stopped when you walked towards him and your smile faded like that time.

“Wait,” he said, his hand raised in front of him, as he was trying to control his emotions. “I just… Why did you send it to me?” he added without any preamble, his tone harsher than he intended.

“Oh�� ok. Straight to the point, huh?” you said, sitting back down, and removing an imaginary crease on your sleeve, eyes lowered to the desk.

“I never…” you started to say, before stopping and taking a breath. “I think I needed to write our story down.”

Joel’s sigh stopped you. You tried to keep a low and calm tone, not to show your anxiety. You knew that facing him wouldn't be easy. He had given you a glimpse of his coldness after the situation with that journalist.

“Joel, please, listen to me.”

You looked at him, and yet you had no idea how his name, escaping your lips, tore his heart apart. He never thought he’d hear it again, and the familiar intonation made him shiver.

“I honestly think it would make a great movie,” you said. “And you must think so too, since you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. Except that I want to know why.”

“Would you have preferred to discover it once the movie was out, your role played by someone else?”

His gaze on you, dark and possessive, made you freeze.

“No, I really wouldn’t have appreciated our story, my life, played by someone else, Jesus,” he growled.

He put his hands on his hips, a stance you’d seen him do dozens of times before, searching for words, and then he sat in a chair, pinching the place just above his nose with two fingers. Trying to stop the headache that was threatening to come again. It had started off badly, and he knew it was his fault. He was too stubborn, too cold.

“Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally.

“Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

“You?”

A part of him, that he thought was gone the day you had left, woke up with a groan. He couldn't imagine the movie being made, you playing... well, you, and him being played by another man. It was unthinkable and made his jealousy and possessiveness stir painfully in his chest.

Unlike you, he hadn't watched your movies. He tried though, when he saw your face on a movie poster for the first time. He went to the cinema, but he walked out of the theater the moment that actor leaned toward you to kiss you. He couldn't stand to see someone kiss you, when he couldn't do it anymore.

“I’m the best person to play this character, aren’t I?” you said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Just like you’re the best one to play the male lead. Look, I know you’ve been rumored for a role like this for years. I know you’re not opposed to it. So why not?”

“Because it’s not about playing a role here,” he sighed. “It’s playing in front of a camera, things we said, did, years ago. Intimate things that belong to us.”

“I changed some things, no one has to know it’s autobiographical,” you started to say, before he quickly cut you off.

“I know it is. And so do you.” He walked over to the window to stare at the buildings in front of him. “When you leave someone, you don’t do that. It’s unhealthy,” he said, almost softly. Resigned. He turned to you before adding, “Why stir up something that died years ago?”

He didn't expect to face the sadness that clouded your face, and once again guilt seized him. You were sad, upset, and despite the bitterness he’d been feeling for years, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore,” you answered, standing up and walking towards him. You stopped a few steps away to respect his boundaries, before you'd see his body stiff. “I left because I had to follow my dream, and it wasn’t working in Texas. And you wanted to stay in Austin, to take care of Tommy. We ended it because a long-distance relationship would have been too painful, because I didn’t want us to be unhappy, barely seeing each other, not being able to feel each other often enough. So I left. And I told you all that. You knew it, you knew why.”

You took a breath, after formulating what was oppressing your heart, waiting for him to answer.

“Playing with feelings is dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“This isn’t a game, Joel. I'm not playing. I’m sure it would make a great movie. And maybe we need to express all that, even years later.”

“Do you remember what I told you that day? The last day?”

“Of course, I do. You told me not to call you. You told me that if we had to meet again… then it would happen. Well, it's happening, Joel.”

He looked at you, confused, and headed towards the door, brushing past you lightly as he passed.

Just before leaving, without looking at you, he said in a low voice, “my agent will give you my answer in a few days.”

Once the door closed behind Joel, you remembered the day you left.

In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

At that moment you were wondering if you had made a mistake. You kept wondering for years. To be honest, you still weren’t sure you made the right choice that day. You followed your dream and succeeded, but it cost you the love of your life.

You didn't know what to think about the meeting. It could have been worse, he could have left after two minutes of being there, you knew it. You could have said more, too, but you didn't want Joel to withdraw more into himself. And for sure, you couldn't have told him that you always thought of him when you were in someone’s else’s arms. That you tried not to let jealousy invade you when you thought of his personal life, knowing that you had no right to be. You gave up on that when you had left.

You knew what he thought, how he reacted. Now he needed time to process everything, and you just had to wait for his agent to contact you. You couldn't do more.

Joel got to his car in a blur. He realized where he was only sitting behind the wheel, too many emotions swirling in his head. Years without seeing you and it had gone by at the speed of light. He blamed himself for being cold, blamed himself for not being cold enough, and he was even more lost than before he saw you. He started to drive, the feeling of having mishandled things weighing more and more on his shoulders.

He took another shower when he got home, as if it could wash off his remorse and regrets, the words exchanged playing over and over in his mind.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“I had to follow my dream. You wanted to stay in Austin. To take care of Tommy.”

“You knew it, you knew why.”

Did he really start to believe that the events had happened differently, after you left? Had he really done it, to the point of omitting certain things, because he needed someone to blame, to keep moving forward?

Had he really been that guy? Blaming you when there was no one to blame, just life and the choices that go with it, that we all have to do?

Had he really denied for years that you had left with a broken heart, too? That he had told you to never call him, after those wonderful years together? He felt like he was waking up with a monstrous hangover, and guilt gripped him. Truth is he let you down, and reality was hitting him hard.

Because you were right, you didn’t leave just like that. He didn’t want to acknowledge it for years, kept sweeping it under the rug, but deep down he didn’t forget it.

And you were right, he hadn’t been able to prioritize your relationship. Couldn’t prioritize himself either. He had always been protective of his brother, but it reached another level when he came back to Texas after being dismissed. Tommy wasn't the same, and Joel knew that he would have constantly wondered if his brother was okay if he had left for California with you. Worried that he could be in jail after a fight, with no one to bail him out. Or that he could be drunk in an alley, alone, spending the night there. Or worse.

“I can’t leave Tommy here alone, with all his drinking and partying,” he told you, expression determined.

“But you need to think about your future, our future too, Joel,” you replied desperately.

Joel had probably hoped that you wouldn’t have left, that you’d have chosen him, until the end. And you probably hoped the same thing, too.

Right person, wrong time. Fucking sad, but so banal.

So to forget that he was as responsible for the breakup as much as you were, he let his pain turn into anger, and he never let nostalgia set in, or his feelings show up.

And everything blew up when you sent him that script and he started reading it. It was impossible to continue to deny the obvious, to keep thinking that his feelings were stronger than yours and that’s why you had left. It was impossible to forget that he had told you, “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.” That he was the one who had cut everything off, once and for all. To protect himself, of course. But still.

So once you were gone, he did what he had to do, he took care of Tommy. Except that he started going to bars with him, at night. Drinking less than him, but still way too much. He took sleeping pills when he was obsessed with your absence, tired of squeezing your pillow way too tight in his fist, his jaw clenched with anger. He moved to a new neighborhood because he couldn't stand living in that apartment anymore where everything reminded him of you.

When they were children and then teenagers, Joel and Tommy’s father taught them to work with their hands, and it helped them to find jobs on construction sites. And that he finally pulled himself together and helped Tommy the way he had to. It took him months, but he did it, and his parents would be proud of him, of them, if they saw their sons.

He worked hard, kept doing castings when his work allowed it, and eventually it paid off, even if it took time.

He thought about it all, and realized he needed to see you again before deciding on the movie. Needed to behave normally, to let go of his mask. So he asked his agent your number, then texted you:

it’s Joel. Are you still in LA? I have some questions about the script can we meet again? I am. When do you wanna meet? tomorrow night, my place? I’ll cook Sure!

He took a deep breath as he sent you his address. He let his emotions take over on purpose, to dispel the bitter taste in his mouth since you saw each other. Now he had to trust them.

The next day he started to cook during the afternoon, the dish that he hoped was still one of your favorite. He knowingly chose to invite you over to his place, to keep his mind occupied at least while he was busy in the kitchen.

Once the dish was in the oven, he did a running session on his treadmill and showered.

Anything to keep his mind busy.

You arrived right on time, a bottle of wine in hand.

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

As you approached the kitchen it smelled so good that you stopped there.

“Still one of your favorite meals?” he asked.

It was.

You tried not to show that you were moved. Acts of service had always been his way of showing that he cared, and you weren’t expecting that when you showed up.

You sat down on a high stool in the kitchen and he opened the bottle of wine. You had a few sips, silently. Neither of you really knew what to say, at first. Then everything set into place, naturally, instinctively. A little shyly at first, bringing up things from your respective pasts, or present. You asked him how Tommy was doing, and he told you he was fine, that he was engaged to a woman named Maria and that they were going to be parents soon. You were happy for Tommy, sincerely. You had always liked him.

Joel was trying to act normally, to not pay too much attention to the ease with which you were chatting. How easily he opened up to you, telling you about his years in Austin, then his first ones in LA. His first roles, his doubts.

He was glancing at your hands when you weren’t looking at him. At your hair.

He loved to see your eyes shine when you were talking about something that was important to you.

But above all, he loved to see them sparkle the first time he made you smile, that evening. It hit him, how much he missed it. Making you smile.

His emotions were so familiar that his heart was beating a little too fast, like a horse freed from its reins.

And suddenly he wondered how he had been able to spend so many years without you by his side, when you had always been his sunshine, liberating his grumpy, reserved nature.

A part of his brain told him that he was smiling a little too much, but he felt more alive during those moments with you than he hadn’t been in so long.

Whether in a relationship or not.

And then he felt the atmosphere change, felt that you got nervous, an impression confirmed when you began to scratch your thumb. A habit that dated back years ago, and he'd always take you in his arms, kiss your thumb and tell you that he was there and that everything would be okay. Today, for the first time he couldn’t do all that.

“Are you ok?” he nevertheless allowed himself to ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… listen, I know you wanted to ask me about the script, but ehm... there’s something you need to know.” You took a deep breath before adding “there won’t be any movie if you don’t want to do it. If you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not saying this to put pressure on you, it's just… I just want you to know that your choice is completely free. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, for whatever bad reason.”

“I appreciate that you’re telling me this, thank you,” he said, in a tone you couldn’t quite define, half defeated, half tender. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

“Yesterday. I didn’t really know how to handle all of it. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a lot of emotions since I read the script. Including anger.” He didn't expect to tell you that, but the need was too much to bear. He needed to make things right.

“I know. I expected it to be complicated, after our two previous meetings,” you said, without animosity or bitterness. Just being factual.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to apologize, before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for that too. My attitude.”

“That’s your way of handling things, it always has been, I should have known. But I appreciate it too, thanks Joel.”

He nodded, then added “do you think we’ll be able to do it?”

“To do what?”

“Work together. To be coworkers on a movie?”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you took the time to think before answering.

“Well… the evening’s going pretty well, right? You haven't shook your head at me yet, to show me the door.”

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

“Too soon?” you asked, lips curled into a smile.

“A little,” he laughed.

He enjoyed it, that little moment. You’d had so many of them before.

“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” he wanted to ask.

“Aren’t you afraid of reliving things, that I’ll fall madly in love with you again and that the scenes we’ll shoot, my acting, will just express the reality of my feelings?”

But he couldn’t ask you that.

He wanted to ask you if you had sent him the script because you still had feelings for him, but he couldn’t say that either.

“It’ll be a low budget movie. I mean, if we do it,” you said. There’ll be some outdoor scenes but not that many. Not many other actors either. It won’t be a long shoot.”

He nodded and said, “can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “Thanks for the meal, it was delicious,” you said as you stood up. “You can text me if you have any questions.”

He thanked you and you complimented him on his house as you put your coat back on. His taste hadn’t changed. The rooms were simply decorated. As you walked toward the front door you glanced inside one of the rooms, and saw a table with a wooden sculpture on it.

“Oh my god, Joel? You still do the carving?”

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

“Sure,” he opened the door and you slipped through the gap, brushing past him lightly as you passed and you had goosebumps at the familiar scent. Still the perfume you had gifted him once. Reassuring. After all these years, instantly, it was there. Enveloping you.

You approached the table and leaned over a piece he was working on, admiring the figurine that was being carved. A rodeo cowboy on a bucking horse.

“Wow, Joel… you were already very good at this back then, but now it’s incredible. The level of detail is mind-blowing.”

You looked at the shelves, covered with other sculptures. You approached them: bears, deer, wolves, rabbits.

“This is really amazing, you’re so talented. And… Do you still play guitar?”

“Sure,” he answered, nodding at a guitar case. “I usually play in the dining room. My guitars are over there. This one needed a little TLC. I just got it back. It’s… well it’s the one you gave me.”

You looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“You kept it?” you asked, trying to hold back your emotions.

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you said. “Tell me about the movie, ok?” You looked at him hesitantly, but when he leaned towards you and wrapped his arms around your torso, your eyes closed at the feeling, so familiar, before you pulled away, told him good night and left.

Driving your car, you replayed the images of the evening in your mind. Of course, you had felt his gaze on you several times during the evening. And sometimes you could see Joel again. Your Joel.

Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Did he suspect that you had sent him this script in the hope of getting back in touch with him? Did he know how much you missed him, all those years?

You had wondered so many times if he had been thinking about you. You thought about the hug, as comforting as before. You missed him so much.

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

He kept looking at his phone after sending the message. The read indicator appeared quickly, then the writing bubble.

“Great, I'm so glad! I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing!!”

He hoped it would be. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

He had to leave LA for several weeks for a shooting, and the organization of the film was put in place.

You sent each other a few messages in the next few days. Then the messages became more and more regular, while remaining purely friendly.

Several months later, the day before the shooting started, he knocked on your trailer to say hello.

You had rehearsed some scenes with the crew, and everything was ready.

The less emotional scenes were shot in the first few days. He didn’t ask for it, but he was glad. Every night he came back to his trailer, played the guitar, and thought about you.

Seeing you every day was a very strange thing that he had trouble to define. He was happy to see you every day, to see the person you had become. And sad that you were no longer his. Filming these moments with you was like constantly reopening a wound that had never really healed.

That night, he took out the script, and reread the scene planned the next day.

EXT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He parks downstairs at their apartment, it’s dark. He knows she’s back from a week at her parents’. He’s eager to get home and see her again, he’s missed her. He quickly climbs the outside stairs and unlocks the door. INT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He puts his keys on the hall cabinet, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. We follow him as he walks in the apartment, until he sees her in the doorway of the dining room. He smiles, we see love in their eyes as look at other. HER Hey baby He goes to her, they kiss, he takes her in his arms. She closes her eyes. HIM I missed you, baby. He brushes her cheek with his thumb. HER I missed you too. She takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He stopped reading there, before the next scene, that was the most intimate, the one that made him anxious just to think about.

“I missed you, baby,” he said the line. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, like he had done so many times before. His eyes were fixed in yours. He wondered if he was imagining what he was reading in them.

“I missed you too.”

You took his hand and you headed out of the frame.

“Cut, it was perfect, guys! Go get ready for the next scene.”

He picked up his water bottle and took a sip. He felt dizzy.

You were both wearing underwear and bathrobes. Waiting to shoot the scene.

“Ok guys, you’re ready? Great, let’s go.”

The scene was a close-up of both of your faces during a sex scene, at night. You lay down on the bed first, after taking off your robe. He took off his too and lay down between your thighs.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

You started to kiss, tongues quickly brushing against each other. His hands cupped your cheeks as he rolled his hips towards you slowly, careful that your crotches wouldn’t touch.

It was overwhelming to feel you against him, your breasts against his chest, with only your bra between the two of you. It was a whirling moment, to kiss you in such an intimate scene, playing something that you had lived for real before. He groaned and slid his hand to the back of your neck to hold you as close as possible against him.

He felt you shift slightly, turning your hips to face his. He wanted to ask you what you were doing but he couldn’t. He was half hard from the moment he laid against you but now his cock was hard as steel. You pushed your pelvis forward and the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, pointing against his boxers.

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you recited your line, and he growled.

He couldn’t believe you would act like that while shooting a scene, couldn't believe you were using him.

He pulled away to look at you and you murmured an unscripted “please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he nodded slightly. His fat head found its way, and his tip pushed your panties in.

It was hot, filthy, forbidden. So unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized your moans, and the small team around you probably thought it was perfectly faked, when it was music in his ears. The music he thought he would never hear again.

Your hands tightened on his biceps as you came. So quickly. He felt your walls squeezing his tip and he almost forgot to move, forgot the script, forgot you were shooting a scene. He pulled out, afraid he would come too, and faked his orgasm, neck tense and veins bulging, your hands caressing his hair at the back of his neck.

You said the next line “I love you, baby. I missed you so much.”

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

There was a pounding on your trailer door as you got out of the shower. You quickly threw on a bathrobe and went to open it.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled.

“Keep your voice low Joel, damn… Come in.”

You closed the door behind him, searching for the right words, pressing your hands together.

“I, huh…” you stammered.

“No! No, talk to me. Tell me. You can’t… you can’t do that and stay silent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

“Having you so close to me, against me… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming.”

“Everyone could have seen, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, that’s the point, Joel! And they didn’t see, anyway.”

“Jesus christ you can't do that. You can’t just use me like that.”

“I know, Joel. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“What?”

You sighed, and that time he didn't try to rush you. You felt him soften, giving you time to find your words.

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't… Please, don’t say that.”

“I missed you the second I left and it never stopped.”

Hearing the tone of your voice and reading your eyes, this time he had no doubt that you really meant it. And he felt all the tensions in his body relax, as if he were freed from everything that had been oppressing him for years. You approached him slowly, eyes raised to his, and you slid your hand into his, and his large palm gently closed over it. You caressed his cheek with the other, and for a moment he shut his eyes, pressing his face against your hand.

“I miss you,” you said again and he rested his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, before kissing your lips softly. He heard your breathing hitch for a moment, then you moaned slightly as you pulled away, just to look at him, Joel, not the actor, for the first time in years. He pulled you closer to him and brushed his tongue over your lips, as if asking for permission to push inside. Greedily, you slid yours to his, licking his tongue and lips, until he crashed his mouth against yours. His hands rested on your waist while yours moved up his back, pressing your bodies together. You whined when you felt his hard cock pressed to you.

You pulled away from him again, just to look at his face, and he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure you were not some dream that would leave him disillusioned and alone when he woke up.

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

He pulled on the knot of your bathrobe slowly, making the two sides of the garment part, revealing the curve of your breasts that he caressed with his fingertips.

Your chest rose quickly as your eyes were plunged into each other, until he lowered them to your pussy. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he was afraid it would explode.

He raised his gaze to yours, silently asking if you were okay.

“Yes,” you said. As if you knew he would want to hear it, that a nod wouldn't be enough.

He slipped his hands under the fabric of the robe and slid it down your shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving you naked. So vulnerable, and yet you were the strongest woman he ever knew, following your dream by leaving for a city where you didn't know anyone. And made your dream come true.

But now you were here, in front of him. So pretty, so sure of yourself, of your desires.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled you back, guiding you with his hands on your hips as he kissed you, until the back of your knees touched the bed.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname was so familiar in his mouth, so normal. You did as he asked, moving back until your head rested on the pillow as he watched you, still standing at the end of the bed. Then he took off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and got rid of them and his boxers.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Haven't felt better in a long time, actually.”

“Me too,” he added, laying on the bed, his hand caressing your inner thighs that he kissed, then he spread them with his hands.

He ran his thumb over your folds, covering it in your wetness until he reached your clit and gently rolled it under his finger. You moaned, spreading your thighs wider.

He leaned down, his shoulders taking possession of the space between your thighs, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. He licked a long stripe from your drooling hole to your clit, then placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pressing your knees against the sheets, and you willingly let him do it, your hands sliding into his hair. He pushed his tongue into your cunt, growling against your folds. He never thought he would taste you again and an overwhelming feeling was running through his whole body. You were leaking into his mouth, down his throat and he pressed you against him, greedy for what you were giving him as your hips rolled towards him. His nose brushed perfectly against your clit, like it always did before. You clung to his hair as your moans were getting louder and louder.

"I'm so close, Joel," you murmured, hands lost in his curls. "Please, baby, please."

“Take what you need, use me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m coming, fuck!”

He didn't let go of you, leaving his tongue buried in your pussy and his nose against your clit, gripping your waist with his hands, as if they were in their natural place, your flesh welcoming them.

“Joel…” you whimpered.

“Another one, please, baby. Let me give you another one, ok?”

“I’m not sure if I can… I don’t know if I can,” you panted.

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

His tongue left your pussy, licking your puffy folds before teasing your swollen clit. His middle finger slid along your folds before he pushed it in you gently, immediately adding a second digit. His fingers pumped into you, making your wetness flow down to the sheets. He kept you pressed against the mattress, as he had done so many times, drunk on your taste and smell. His cock ached but he resisted the urge to grind himself against the bed, afraid of not being able to hold back and come on them.

“I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,” he added, still pumping your drooling cunt with his thick fingers, then licking and sucking your clit.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whined, just before you came on his diggits, clit pulsing against his tongue.

He crawled over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smashed his lips against yours, your wimpers now disappearing between them.

“I wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you breathed against his lips, but he shook his head.

“Sweetheart… I'd love it too but I’m gonna come the second you’ll take me in your mouth,” he said. “And I really need to feel you around my cock. All the way this time, not just the tip. You’re ok with that, baby?”

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

“Damn you’re so pretty,” he said, and kissed you.

He grabbed his cock in his hand, the tip leaking, swollen and red, and nestled it at your entrance, pausing there for a moment before thrusting in.

“Oh fuck…” you whined, making him stop.

“No, no no, don’t stop, I’m ok. Need all of you, please,” you whimpered.

Like years ago, he would give you everything you needed from him. So he didn't stop until he bottomed out.

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling his balls tightening, ready to explode. He was struggling so hard not to come, but his breath was hitching with every thrust since he felt your pussy around him.

You kissed, hips rolling towards each other softly and slowly. He loved to feel you around him again, and again he thought that your bodies were made for each other. He was sure of it more than ever. He slid his arms under your shoulders and you licked his neck, right at his pulsating point, then kissed the thin and delicate skin crossed by its veins.

“I won’t last, baby, I’m sorry…” he panted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking him deeper.

“It doesn’t matter, fill me, Joel, please, just like before,” you begged, making him grawl, and he placed his thumb against your clit. It was enough to give you soon another climax and you pulsed around his shaft, digging your fingers into his skin as you came once again. He thrusted in a few times before burying himself, balls deep in your cunt, and shot his cum into your core, filling it to the last drop, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

“I know,” you breathed. “Just like before.”

For a few minutes both of you were panting loudly, waiting to catch your breath.

Then you caressed his cheek and he kissed you until he pulled away and lay down facing you.

“Come here, baby,” he said, welcoming you against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, the way he always liked it so much. You stayed like that for a few minutes without talking. He just wanted to feel you against him, to hear you breathe slowly, to feel your skin against his.

“I should have left with you,” he said suddenly.

You straightened up to look at him then said softly, “hey, no, don’t… Don’t hurt yourself by thinking that. You did what you had to do, and so did I. And we met again, like you said back then,” you added, and kissed him, then curled up in his arms again.

“We did,” he agreed, brushing your hair delicately. “So, that script?” he asked. “Was it to… like… get me back?”

“Of course it was,” you smiled against his torso, and he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m happy you sent it to me, sweetheart.”

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