#she said that was not a universal opinion but like she can’t hold a wooden spoon bc she doesn’t like the texture so I think we’re even | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

byunbaekby · 4 years ago

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

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

—DAY ONE.

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

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

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wants you.

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

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

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

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

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

“You’re giving it up or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying,” he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TASTE.

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

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

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

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

He hums in response, turning to look at you.

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

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

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

Does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a puff.”

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

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

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

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

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

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” is his response.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops.

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

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

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but I…”

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tease me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

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

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

Cocaine.

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

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

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

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

“So, can I have some?” You ask again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathless, you nod without words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

Luckily, neither will find out.

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

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

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

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

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

But that hadn’t happened.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST BURN.

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

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

When he wakes, you’re burning up.

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

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

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

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

It’s the cocaine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

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

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

God, he’s fucked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

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

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not alone.

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

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

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

He’s too late. Maybe much too late.

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

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

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

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

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

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re different now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

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

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

He’s learned his lesson.

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

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

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

“It’s not that, I—”

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

“... Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

“That was the last time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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adorethedistance · 4 years ago

Text

Baby Fever - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: swearing, discussion of reproduction, a child (no-)

Words: 2502

Summary: You and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own.

A/n: This was written in like three hours and I’m exhausted it’s skimmed at best but this is just something I’ve had in my mind and as y’all know by now, writing fics is how I retire my dreamland scenarios of romance. Enjoy my brain giving 82% of her all :)

“You ready, little one?” I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat. Owen and I had been wanting to plan a zoo date for the longest time, but never had the opportunity to until now; when Jer and Carolynn needed a well-deserved day of rest, and Charlie was back in Dieppe for the next month, that left Owen and me as the next in line to take care of 10-month-old baby Shada. The two parents hadn’t decided on a name until after she was born, so the rest of our friends got comfortable with referring to her as ‘baby Shada’ or ‘CJ’ short for ‘Care and Jer’s’ kid.

Owen and I left the house at 8:45 sharp to get to the park in a timely manner. We weren’t too concerned with arriving when the park opened seeing as it was a Wednesday morning in the middle of February. Children should be in school, non-actors should be in the office, and surely other young babies and new moms should be attending mommy and me yoga classes or something.

“Do you have the bag?” I ask, surveying the car for any loose items.

“Yeah, it’s on the floor. Do you want me to carry the bag or the baby first?”

“You babysit first. I can handle tickets.” Owen nods and gingerly unbuckles the car seat to scoop up the currently calm child and slip her into the black baby carrier we opted for instead of a stroller. I put on the backpack with all her baby items and some of our essential possessions, and together we walk to enter the park. CJ is smiling brightly as she takes in all the different sights and sounds of the entrance. The image is just too adorable, I have to make Owen stop under the giant sign to take a picture of the two of them. I send it to both parents as the first update of the day, knowing they won’t treasure the photo as much as I will, because they aren’t in love with Owen in the way that I am.

Owen and I have talked about kids before. Once, on our first date when he asked me if I had any names picked out, which I didn’t. And second, when I informed him we would be entrusted with the care of CJ the following week; it was when we began brainstorming activities to do with her that Owen brought up having our own kids. It took me by surprise that he used the word ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. A small language thing to pick up on, but a huge life thing to process. He talked about making memories with CJ and being the first ones to take her to the zoo, with the consent of her parents. Truth be told, I don’t love kids or the idea of kids in the way that Owen does, so I was a little hesitant to speak my mind. But I didn’t miss the way he held his hand on my stomach as we fell asleep that night. And I didn’t miss the hopeful glint in his eyes when I’d asked his opinion on a few names I liked the next morning.

“What do you wanna do first, CJ?” Owen’s question elicits an excited squeal from her as a response which makes the two of us laugh. I quickly snag a map from the front stand and survey our route options before I feel Owen’s right hand come to rest on my lower back. I glance up to see him peering at the map over my shoulder. My movement prompts him to face me and give me a soft, comforting smile. I feel like spending forever looking into Owen’s breathtaking eyes, but the baby strapped to his chest has other plans. She begins flailing wildly to convey all the excitement coursing through her little body. We laugh once more and Owen presses a quick kiss to her head, which messes up her hat’s placement on her head. I shake my head, stepping in front of my fiance, completely ignoring him. My tunnel vision hyperfocus is set on adjusting the brim of the bucket hat to protect baby Shada from the sun.

“There we go.” When I look back up Owen is staring at me with the softest closed mouth smile I’ve ever seen, “What?”

“Nothing. Where to, Mamacita?”

“Mamacita? Whatever. I say we take this path that way we can start with the elephants and condors, and that’ll take us to the polar bear cove.”

“Lead the way.”

Owen slips his hand in mine, interlacing our fingers and giving me an affirming squeeze. As we’re walking to the elephant exhibit, CJ’s happy mood means she must wave her tiny hand at every person we pass. Other parents with babies her same age, being the majority of the crowd that’s free on a Wednesday morning, smile and wave back to her. Along the front street, the initial entrance crowd begins to dwindle and there are fewer people for her to wave at. Then, a woman who’s probably in her late forties, early fifties sees CJ wave to her. The woman is wearing black pants, a soft maroon top, and a name tag that reads ‘Linda’. Judging by the fact that she gets to wear red instead of the familiar forest green, I can conclude she’s a higher up when it comes to her position here at the zoo.

“You guys are such a beautiful family.”

“Oh, we’re n-”

“Thank you!” Owen speaks over my refutation. The woman then begins to approach us, and I look up at my serious boyfriend in confusion. He whispers, “Let’s pretend. It’ll be fun.” I mean, I’m not much of an actor but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

“How old is she?”

“10 months,” he answers seamlessly, using the back of his index finger to lovingly stroke CJ’s round cheek.

“She is just so darling, I’m sure you two must be very proud. They grow so fast, you know? I remember having little ones running around all the time and suddenly they’re off to college. Is she your first child?”

“Yeah, she’s the only one for now.” For now? Wow Owen, when you create a world you really live in it.

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts. They’re only babies for so long.” Linda smiles down and CJ once more before bidding me and Owen goodbye.

“For now?” I ask, incredulously when the woman is out of earshot.

“Yeah,” he shrugs playfully, “CJ’s so well behaved I’m sure we can manage another one.”

“Uh-huh. Are you aware she’s not actually our child?” Owen sighs out a smile and takes my hand as he begins on our trek to the elephant enclosure. When he speaks again, I nearly miss it from how quiet he’s talking,

“S’wishful thinking.”

“What did you just say?” I’m curious to see if he’ll repeat it to my face.

“I said it’s wishful thinking.”

“To have a second child to our nonexistent first child?”

“No,” he nudges my shoulder with his own as we walk, “To have a child period.”

“Nice try. Your baby fever isn’t gonna rub off on me so easily.” He scoffs out a laugh,

“It’s still early. We’ve got the whole day to fix that.” Seamlessly pulling Owen to a stop, I don’t pause our conversation as I step in front of him. My gaze doesn’t meet his eyes as I straighten CJ’s hat once more.

“Well, bear in mind we’re basically on the clock here, and CJ is a tiny person before she’s a persuasion tactic.” I lunge one foot back to make sure the hat is even, and that the baby can still see from under it. When I deem her hat positioning satisfactory, CJ smiles up at me at the same time that paints Owen’s flushed face. He holds his hand straight out in front of his body for me to take, and when I do, he pulls me in to clasp both hands together and rest them on my lower back. Minimal visitors in the zoo is definitely a perk as Owen’s far more physically affectionate without others around. I rest my hands on the portion of his chest that isn’t occupied by CJ’s happy demeanor.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out to be the mothering type. I’m just not… good with kids.”

“I understand your reluctance… but I’m gonna get you on board by the end of the day.”

“Yeah okay, Joyner. Whatever you say.”

Owen smiles down at me with a love as infinite as the number of stars in the universe. CJ squeals between us and I babble back at her in a higher pitch than my usual speaking voice. She squawks again and we go back and forth like this for a little while until she sticks her tongue out at me in between a smile. My jaw drops in a surprised, amused, and simultaneously offended manner, and I take her chubby little baby foot in my hand and squeeze gently, causing her to screech through fits of giggling.

“When did you learn how to do that? Owen, did you-” The words die on my tongue when I see the expression on Owen’s face. He’s wholly enamored and yet so smug at the same time. I feel my face heat up a little bit; I don’t even have to ask what he’s thinking.

“‘I’m just not good with kids’ my ass.”

“There are impressionable ears around. And I do not sound like that.”

“She’s not gonna remember any of this in a week, and yes. You do.” I glare at Owen with an expression of intolerance but my facade is crumbled as I can’t mask the growing smile he elicits by mimicking my expression.

“Let’s go you two.”

After what felt like an eternity we’ve finally made it to the elephant exhibit. The herd of African elephants are spread across the enclosure, some playing in water, some feeding from hay baskets, and a baby closely following it’s mother as she walks across the paddock. When Owen appears beside me

“Do you need a break? We can switch off and you carry the bag.”

“Sure.” I set the baby backpack on the bench behind us and unbuckle the fastenings of the carrier to prop CJ on the side of my hip. As we wait for Owen to take the carrier off his body, I walk her up to the wooden railing that surrounds the elephants’ enclosure. Of course, the sight ahead excites her and she begins bouncing on my side as a means of conveying her feelings. She makes a sound that I interpret as an interrogative before pointing to the animals.

“You see the elephants, CJ?”

“Uh-huh.” She lifts her tiny baby hand into the air and waves the best she can at the elephants, none of which are even looking our way.

“Are we waving? Say ‘hi elephants’!” I wave with her and gauge her smile to be even bigger than when she’d stuck her tongue out two minutes ago.

“Hi ephants!” I freeze mid wave in shock. Did she just-?

“Did you just? Owen!”

“Yeah?” he calls from behind us, still getting all our things in order.

“Did Carolynn or Jeremy say what her first words were?”

“Uhhhh, no. They said she hasn’t been speaking words yet, just consonant sounds,” Owen leaves the items unattended seeing as there’s no one else around, “Why?”

“CJ. Say ‘hi elephants’!” I wave at the animals once more, praying that that wasn’t a fluke.

“Hi ephants.” Upon hearing her speak, Owen’s face holds the same expression as mine did just two seconds ago.

“Should we video it and send it to them or pretend it never happened so they can be the ones that hear her first words?”

“Take a video, or take a secret to our graves?” He pretends to weigh the options as if this is the most perilous decision we’ll ever make.

“You’re right, you’re right. Will you grab my phone for me?”

“Where is it?”

“My back pocket that the baby is currently sitting on.” I turn around to let Owen grab the device and unlock it for me.

“Should I just get you guys in the video or the elephants, too?”

“What are you talking about? Get in the video!” I scold him for trying to worm his way out of this memory. “Make yourself useful and revive your long lost vlogging skills.” Owen rolls his eyes but flips to the front facing camera and hits record all the same.

“Say ‘hi mom, hi dad’,” I direct CJ and she merely waves at me, not fully understanding the concept of vlogging at the ripe age of 10 months. “Update number 2: we’re at the elephant enclosure and CJ made some friends. Hey,” I speak quietly to capture her attention. “Can you say ‘hi elephants’?”

“Hi ephants!” She screams and then laughs, throwing her head back to make sure Owen is still present.

“A new word!” I cheer as Owen lowers my phone to stop the recording,

“New skill unlocked.” He hits stop and proceeds to trade me CJ for the phone for a quick second so I can send the video to the not exactly new parents.

“They’re gonna love this.” I click my phone off and tuck it back into my back pocket. Retrieving the baby carrier from the desolate bench, I slip it on to strap myself in before CJ. Once secured, I look up to take her from Owen but blink in surprise that they’re no longer standing in front of me. I turn slightly to my left to see CJ stumbling forward on wobbling legs whilst Owen keeps her standing. He removes his hands from her sides and allows her to grab a hold of both of his index fingers in either hand. Slowly, he walks her closer to where I’m standing one tiny step at a time.

The sight in front of me is so sweet there’s a strange feeling culminating in my chest. A micro trace of baby fever crosses my mind at the thought of Owen teaching our own baby to walk. The smile on his face is unlike anything I’ve seen before and the prospect of having kids suddenly becomes less dreary. I’ve always been afraid of being a bad parent, or messing up someone else’s life, but with Owen, all those fears disappear. Becoming a parent is no longer bleak; the thought of raising kids with someone as loving and enthusiastic as Owen, the world seems all that much brighter.

“Y/n,” he calls to get my attention, unaware I’ve been watching for the past few minutes. When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body, and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple, “I told you so.”

***

A/n: lawd help me I have been putting off so many requests to write self indulgent bs pls don’t hate me.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1 @joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul @celestialmolina @lilyjoyner

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bangtann-bangdamn · 4 years ago

Text

Lightning: Part 2

Warnings: Unhappy relationship mentioned, but other than that you should be good to go.

Word Count: 4165

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

AN: I originally wrote Lighting in June 2019. It’s March 2021. Also, I feel like my writing style has changed slightly. If it has - whoops. My bad.

< Part 1

Master list

“Can you get me another beer?” Mark called from the living room.

“Why don’t you get off your ass and go get it yourself?” You yelled back, rolling your eyes as you plunged the plate you were washing back beneath the water. It wasn’t like he was doing anything important.

“I’m in the middle of a – die you motherfucker!”

You grit your teeth, holding back your retort. As much as you enjoyed Mark’s company, there were days where everything he did, everything he said, frustrated you. Okay, maybe not days. Lately, it has been all the time.

Sure, he was sweet and affectionate when he wanted to be, but ever since you agreed to move in with him a few weeks ago, you felt less like his partner and more like his mother.

‘For all his faults, Yoongi wouldn’t have done this,’ you found yourself thinking. Immediately, you felt guilty. Yoongi was your past. He had broken up with you. He had made that decision, and you had grown to accept it.

But he also said he missed you. And, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, a small part of you missed him too.

Over and over your encounter with Yoongi replayed in your head. It felt like fate seeing him that day. With the storm raging outside, you had stayed longer than you normally would. All those feelings you thought were gone suddenly resurfaced. You forgot all about the way he would ignore you when he worked, or how he never answered his phone. You forgot all the nights where his side of the bed remained empty. All you could think about was the time you had spent together. Never did he make you feel so small, so insignificant in his life.

The plate you were scrubbing shattered in your hand. You screamed in frustration as blood began to trickle from your palm. You sighed as you picked up the shards from the washing-up bowl, throwing them in the bin with more force than necessary before grabbing a towel from the side and putting pressure onto the cut. You were trying not to cry but tears still found its way down your cheeks.

Mark made no effort to call out and check to see if you were okay. He yelled in frustration as he continued to play whatever game he was currently obsessed with, continuing on as if nothing had happened. Most likely, he hadn’t heard your scream.

It was a sign from the universe, seeing Yoongi that day. A sign that you had made a mistake.

Mark had asked you to move in and you stupidly thought that seeing Yoongi was a sign for you to say yes. But now you knew. You knew that your heart wasn’t in it. Perhaps it never was.

Mark walked into the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll get the beer myself,” he scoffed, barely noting the red tainted towel wrapped around your hand.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You closed your eyes as you held your breath.

“Sorry, I won’t ask you to get me one in the future.” Mark walked out of the kitchen without a second glance.

You followed him. “No, you don’t get it. I’m done.”

Mark sat down on the sofa. “Okay,” he said as he picked up the controller and resumed his game.

You stared at the back of his head as he took a sip of his beer, waiting for him to ask you. But you knew it was futile. Mark would assume you were joking and would give you a few hours to calm down before he would talk to you. Then he would brush away any concern you had with a laugh and tell you you were overreacting again.

You shook your head, deciding that you didn’t want to have this fight. You didn’t want to be told that you were crazy, your feelings unjustified. You didn’t want to feel tired anymore.

You inspected the cut on your hand, quickly determining that it was not deep enough to require stitches. You grabbed the first aid kit from beneath the sink and quickly set to bandaging your hand before walking back into your bedroom. You grabbed your suitcase from under the bed and began packing your things.

Déjà vu hit you like a freight train. But, unlike with Yoongi, you found that your tears had stopped the moment you had decided to leave. It was a relief not to deal with Mark anymore, as bad as you knew that sounded. But ever since you ran into Yoongi all those weeks ago, things had changed. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help but compare Mark to Yoongi. How Mark didn’t know you as well as Yoongi had, or how he couldn’t make you smile as easily as Yoongi had.

Seeing him again reminded you of how hard it was to leave. How much you missed him, despite everything.

And when it came to Yoongi, Mark never really stood a chance. It sounded horrible to admit, but Mark was only ever a distraction. A reason for you to stop thinking about Yoongi.

You rolled your suitcase out of the bedroom and down the hall. At the sound of the wheels rolling across the wooden floor, Mark paused his game to look at you.

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking between the suitcase and you.

For this, he paused his game, you couldn’t help but think.

“I told you, I’m done.”

By the time you sat down on the bus, you were sweating slightly. It was a little from the humidity that still clung to the early evening air that had made the walk almost impossible. But mostly it was because of the panic that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

What if you had made an impulsive decision? What if Mark was the one and you just left him?

You were leaving him on what your heart wanted: Yoongi. But now that your mind had a chance to catch up, it screamed at you. Yoongi might have moved on, or he might not have changed. Sure Mark wasn’t the easiest to get along with, but he was there. He came to bed every evening. He ate dinner with you every evening. He replied to texts an-

Your phone started ringing. Mark. You stared down at the screen for a moment, wondering what he could possibly have to say to you before you declined the call. Almost immediately, Mark called again. So you switched it off.

It took you almost an hour to get to Hwasa’s house. You could feel your nose burning with unshed tears as you knocked on her door. She answered the door on your fourth knock. She had her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, accessing you before she spoke.

“Haven’t seen her, Mark,” she said, nodding her head at you to follow. She moved back into the house as you let yourself in, closing the door behind you. You left your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs as you kicked off your shoes and followed Hwasa into the living room. She was sprawled out on the sofa rolling her eyes at whatever Mark was saying on the other end of the phone. You took a seat on the armchair beside her.

“I’m telling you, Mark, I don’t know where she is. Now if you excuse me, my pizza is here.” She hung up, rolling her eyes. “You broke up with Mark?” She raised her brow at you as she tossed her phone down beside her.

“Yeah?” You played with your hands in your lap, avoiding Hwasa’s gaze.

“About time,” Hwasa muttered, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning the TV on.

“Wait, I thought you liked Mark?”

“I do. But anyone with eyes could see that you weren’t happy.”

You frowned. “I thought I was happy.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” Hwasa leant forward, placing her hand on your knee. “It’s the duty of a best friend to know when to say something. And when to bite her tongue. I knew you were unhappy, but I also knew you were heartbroken. You needed to date Mark to heal, to get over Yoongi.”

“Oh.” You tucked your feet beneath you as you turned your attention to the TV. The news was playing, detailing some study a university was doing into attraction.

“Oh? Oh god, don’t tell me that you broke up with Mark to go back to Yoongi?”

“Not exactly...”

“Are you stupid? He broke you. Or did you conveniently forget the month and a half you spent locked up in here barely eating and crying your eyes out because he didn’t even call? Even Mark called.”

“Yoongi works differently, you know that. He won’t tell you how he feels, he’ll-”

“Write you a song. I remember your anniversary present.”

You smiled at the thought. For your first anniversary, Yoongi made you a CD. He wouldn’t tell you what songs he had put on there, but when you had listened you knew. He had asked a friend to sing the chorus, whilst he had rapped the verses. There was something about the way he rapped, so confident and quick in his deep voice, that had you downloading it onto your phone and listening to it whenever you could.

“I miss him,” you admitted softly.

“I know. But does he miss you? He might say he does, but…” She left her words hanging in the air.

As much as you hated to admit it, you knew she was right. Yoongi made his feelings known through music. If he wanted you, there would be a song.

And in the year since you left, there was none. It was hard to argue against the concrete facts.

So why did it feel like you had just broken up all over again?

Yoongi was nervous. Well, maybe nervous wasn’t the right word.

Terrified. He was terrified.

After writing his song, he had asked Namjoon for his opinion. Namjoon had been lost for words – literally and metaphorically. He had thought the song was perfect, yet Yoongi felt like something was missing. Only, no matter how many times he listened to the song, he couldn’t put a finger on what it was. He had managed to persuade his company to give him a few extra weeks to work on it, to make it perfect. But no matter how many times he tinkered with it; the song just didn’t seem right.

He shook his head to clear his mind. It was a little too late for that now. In the end, he had to hand it over; he had wasted enough time. Now, nearly three months after he had written it, he sat in the green room of the radio station.

“Yoongi, are you ready?” The producer beckoned him to follow.

Yoongi nodded, rising to his feet slowly.

It wasn’t his first radio interview, nor would it be his last. But it was the first time a radio station was debuting one of his songs live on air.

You might be listening to this. You might hear this song. You might hear him.

He wasn’t sure if the idea of you hearing his song made him want to jump off a cliff or jump for joy. All he knew for certain was that he was out of time.

Every day since you left, Mark had made the point of visiting you at work.

“I can’t talk to you right now.” You continued to fill the dishwasher, not bothering to look back at Mark as you spoke. “What part of ‘I’m at work’ do you not understand?”

“You won’t answer my calls.”

You placed the last cup in the dishwasher. “We broke up. I don’t need to answer your calls.” You closed the dishwasher, grabbing a cloth and began wiping down the counters. The counters didn’t need to be wiped down - Hwasa had taken care of them just before Mark had walked in. But Mark didn’t know that. And you were determined to do anything to make it look like you were busy.

“No. You decided that we had to break up and haven’t listened to a word I’ve tried to say.”

You grit your teeth as you continued to wipe down the counter. You were pretty sure you gave him several reasons why you didn’t want to be with him anymore – namely that he treated you like some glorified slave.

“You’re still here?” Hwasa raised her brow at you as she walked back behind the counter and pointedly stared at Mark. “Can you seriously not take a hint?”

“This is none of your business, Hwasa.”

“You are scaring off my customers, which makes it my business. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to be with you, so why don’t you listen to her for once and fuck off.”

Mark stared at Hwasa, eyes boring into her intensely. Then, without another word, he left. The sound of the bell ringing filled the shop, only the murmur of the radio and the few patrons who weren’t scared off by Mark left to fill the silence.

“I have changed my mind about him. He’s a dick.” Hwasa shook her head as she watched Mark storm away from the shop.

“Finally.” You rolled your eyes dramatically with a giggle.

“How can a bloke come across so nice and then be an absolute twat?”

“Maybe you should ask Mark.” You leant against the counter, watching as Hwasa walked over to the radio.

“If I ever have to talk to that child again, it will be too soon.” She played with the dial as she searched for a station. Hwasa moved through the stations quickly, only waiting long enough to hear what music was playing before skipping to the next. You turned to clean the counter, mind already tuning out the sound until-

“Now, Yoongi-” a voice crooned out before Hwasa was onto the next station.

You dropped the rag you were using and turned to Hwasa. “Wait, go back!”

Hwasa looked at you for a second, contemplating your words, before reluctantly dialling the station backwards.

“It’s an impressive feat, I must say. To write about such heartbreak with such love,” the female radio presenter was saying.

“I don’t know if I would describe it as love,” The male presenter said with a chuckle. “Isn’t the whole point of the song to tell this girl that the last time you saw her was your lightning strike, your realisation that it was over. That you weren’t in love with her?”

“Not at all. Seeing her again… It’s like we were never apart. Lightning coursed through my body and told me that I made a mistake. Truly, I did. I thought I was doing her a favour, breaking it off. I thought I was holding her back. That she was holding me back… But she made me better.”

“Wow, Yoongi. That’s quite the sentiment. What would you say if she was here, right now?” The female presenter asked.

“I… I would probably tell her how stupid I am. But none of that matters now. She’s moved on. I can’t go back to the past and change things. I just have to move on.”

Hwasa placed a hand on your arm, jolting you back to reality. You stared at her blankly as Yoongi and the two presenters continued to talk on the radio behind you. You couldn’t take in a word they were saying, only what he had said.

He publicly admitted he was - had - dated someone. Live on air. Either he had just admitted something he shouldn’t have and thus would be in massive trouble with the company or...

She’s moved on.

Your heart squeezed in your chest.

“Hey.” Hwasa tapped your arm, mouth open as if to continue her sentence but quickly closed when the radio presenter suddenly announced over the opening chords-

“And now, the song that we know will be at the top of the charts in no time, Lightning by Min Yoongi.”

The opening chords were slow; sweetly interlocked together on the piano. Yoongi’s deep sultry voice began to lazily rap. Slowly it built until a loud clap of thunder and silence filled the room for a beat, Yoongi’s breath consuming the airwaves. Then the music kicked back in; faster and more urgent than before and Yoongi’s rapping about you.

You.

His panic over watching you leave.

His pain at not calling you, not telling you he didn’t want you to leave.

And his love.

For you.

By the time the song ends, and the presenters were speaking and thanking Yoongi for his time, you had tears in your eyes.

Hwasa pulled you into a hug, murmuring, ‘I know’ as she rubbed your back.

Because there it was, clear as day. Yoongi had wanted you; he just couldn’t find the words. But now he was prepared to let you go, let a better man have you.

Except there was no better man.

You only wanted Yoongi.

Yoongi all but collapsed as he sat down in the car. He didn’t know how to feel anymore. He just felt empty.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he had dreamt of you calling him after the song played. Of seeing your face flash once more on his phone screen; hearing your voice as you told him what you loved about the song.

But his phone remained quiet in his pocket.

Namjoon had warned him of this. Of letting himself hope.

After he played the song for Namjoon, after the initial excitement had waned, Namjoon had turned to Yoongi with a sombre expression.

“Yoongi hyung,” Namjoon said softly as he placed a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re really ready to let her go?”

“Of course.”

Namjoon frowned. “Are you sure about that?”

“Namjoon, what are you trying to say? Just say it already.”

“I don’t think you’re as ready to let her go as you think you are.” He leant back in his seat. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Yoongi had promised him that he expected nothing from you, but clearly, he had been lying.

By the time the car returned him to the dorm, Yoongi had schooled his features to remain stoic. He knew he needed to hide his disappointment from the rest of his group, especially as he had overheard Jimin’s plans to surprise him upon his return. He didn’t feel like celebrating, but he also didn’t want to explain why he had a sudden desire to retreat to his bed and not come out for a few days.

He opened the door slowly, expecting Taehyung or Jungkook to blast him with confetti the moment he stepped through the door.

He was met with silence.

“Hello?” Yoongi called out as he took off his shoes. He was shrugging off his jacket when you appeared from the door.

“Hi.”

Yoongi froze, one arm still in his jacket. “What are you doing here?” He continued taking his jacket off, more to avoid your gaze than anything else.

“I heard you on the radio.” You tentatively stepped towards him. “It was beautiful, Yoongi.”

He heard the crack in your voice as you said his name. He wanted to tell you he didn’t mean it; he still loved you. Always had, always would. But, just like that god awful night, the words wouldn’t come to him. He stood in the entry of the dorm, unable to look at you; unable to say a word and it hit him. He was doing it again.

You laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know why I came. I just wanted to tell you that.” You made to grab your shoes, but Yoongi stepped in front of you.

“What did Mark think?”

“Mark?”

“Yeah.”

“I... don’t know…” you admitted softly. Yoongi stepped to the side, allowing you to grab your shoes.

He still refused to look at you, so you took the moment to observe his profile, noting the sharp, tense line of his jaw.

“You probably shouldn’t come here again.” Yoongi finally looked at you, searching your face for something. Anything that could help him finally get over you. “I doubt Mark would appreciate you turning up at your ex’s.” Yoongi stepped further into the dorm, all but telling you that he was done with the conversation.

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. It was a reminder to himself that you were taken. That he couldn’t just lean down and capture your lips like he so desperately wanted. So he needed to remove himself from your presence.

“We broke up.”

Yoongi stopped walking, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“Mark and I… I left him.” You took a shaky breath to settle your nerves. You hadn’t planned on him. Then again, you had never planned to leave him in the first place. You closed your eyes and turned towards the door. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” You opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Yoongi was frozen as his mind raced to comprehend your words.

We broke up… I left him…

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Turning up after hearing his song, after hearing him tell the world he was still in love with you. And that he was ready to move on.

The click of the door closing brought him back to the present. He hurried to follow you.

You were halfway down the hall.

“I didn’t mean it.” He called after you. “I’m not ready to move on. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” He slowly made his way towards you. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said we should go on a break in the first place. I was just feeling… inadequate. Like you didn’t need me around.” He stopped a little bit behind you and swallowed down his fear. You needed to hear this. “When I told you the agency wouldn’t let you come on tour with us and you didn’t react, I felt like I didn’t matter to you as much as you mean to me. Because I fought for you to come on tour for… I don’t even know how long. Then I come home to break the news to you and… nothing. I thought you were going to leave me so I thought taking a break would help but…” Yoongi took a deep breath. “I have never regretted something as much as that night.”

You blinked away the tears that were forming. “Do you want to know why I didn’t react, Yoongi?” You turned to face him. “Because I was used to it. Used to coming home to an empty apartment, waking up to an empty bed. Spending weeks alone because you had some project going on that you had to work on. It was going to be hard, but I was used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Yoongi shook his head. “Shit, I hadn’t…”

“Considered that?” You nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I thought about calling you every single day.”

“Why didn’t you?” You stepped forward once more. “Why didn’t you call me, Yoongi?” A tear slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted softly.

“I didn’t need to hear you say anything, Yoongi. I just needed to know you cared.” Your phone chimed in your pocket. You stepped away from Yoongi. “I should go.”

You turned, but Yoongi caught your hand. “I can’t watch you walk away from me again.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “I love you. Always have, always will. If you don’t feel the same way… If after everything that’s happened is too much or… or you don’t…” He closed his eyes. “Then I’ll learn to love you less. It’ll take time, but I’d try.”

“You could have said that.”

“What?”

You smiled, lacing your fingers with him. “That you love me. That would have been enough.” You leant up and placed a kiss on his lips. He relaxed in your embrace, leaning his forehead against yours when you pulled away.

“Then let me say it loud and clear.” He pulled away from you slightly and kissed your forehead. “I.” Then your cheek. “Love.” Then the other. “you.” Finally, he kissed you with some force pulling your body up against his as he deepened the embrace. You wove your fingers through his hair as you lost yourself in him, in the familiarity of it all.

Despite the time you had lost, the time you had spent apart, the feeling that flooded your body was like coming home. It was sharp and sparked through your body like lightning lighting up the night sky and you knew, in that moment, there was truly no other man in the world who could make you feel like this.

#bts #min yoongi #suga #yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #suga x reader #suga x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts reaction #bts imagines #bts requests

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awritingtree · 4 years ago

Text

Until Every Star In The Universe Dies

Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Everyone talks about war and its hardships but no one talks about its aftermath. No one talks about the pain of having to learn to live without the love of your life.

@weasleydream‘s 500 followers writing challenge - Song prompts! Prompt 22. “Take me back to the night we met.” (Lord Huron - The night we met). I’m sorry this took so long 💙

Words: 4k

Warnings: a bit of fluff, sadness, mentions of war, mentions of violence, mentions of death, character death (Fred lives don’t worry), depression, mourning

A/N: well all I’d like to say is I’m sorry....... I hope this doesn't flop because I really put a lot of work into this fic 😂 but I did write it during exams so like hopefully you all like it xx

A big big big thank you to @iliveiloveiwrite for helping me with this fic 💙

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

I am not the only traveller Who has not repaid his debt I've been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met

Fred sat in the Great Hall surrounded by all the survivors. The battle was over, Voldemort was dead. But then why did he not feel the want to rejoice like everyone else around him? Why did he feel numb to his surroundings - the sounds, whispers, light, joy, everything? It was because the one person that mattered the most wasn’t there with him. How did any of this matter, winning the war and defeating the darkest wizard of all time, if he didn’t have her by his side? He’d lost his person; nothing mattered anymore.

If Fred wasn’t lost in his head, he would’ve noticed George making attempts to get him to talk. But he was lost in his thoughts, reliving every moment they’d both had together; their first date, their first kiss, their first I-love-you, the first time they’d met.

Y/N was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts late at night, heading back to her common room after a tedious evening detention. She was completely exhausted, the reason for which she’d gotten detention was completely unreasonable and spending her entire evening scrubbing cauldrons clean seemed to be a harsh punishment for being ten minutes late to Potions, in her opinion. But that was Professor Snape, always hating on all students and making their lives a living hell.

She sighed, massaging her aching hand as she made her way through the barely lit corridors, her fear of the dark driving her to reach the common room in record time.

Suddenly something knocked into her with a force so strong causing her to go crashing to the floor. She barely had a moment to comprehend what had happened before a warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her up and along with them as they ran through the corridors, turning at corners and running up the many stairs. She could see the back of a red-hair’s head, a Weasley no doubt, a twin perhaps from the late-night escapade he seemed to be upon.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to pull her hand back with no success; his grip was too firm.

“Mrs. Norris. Filch,” was the only thing that fell out of the twin’s mouth as he quickly shoved a tapestry aside before pulling her into the small space the tapestry was hiding with him.

“What the he-” Fred covered her mouth with his hand.

“Shh,” he said, pressing a finger against his lips.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him but stayed quiet knowing she’d regret it if she didn’t listen to him; he was more experienced than her in these situations. Soon enough, the purrs of Mrs. Norris and the shouts of Filch echoed across the corridor.

“I know you’re here! Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Filch’s footsteps and shouts drew closer.

She held her breath as they momentarily paused outside the tapestry before continuing onwards, releasing her breath only when she could no longer hear them. She turned to look up wide-eyed at the chocolate brown eyes staring down at her in curiosity. Both their chests heaved heavily, trying to get enough oxygen into their lungs.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Fred in question once she’d caught her breath, “And what exactly were you doing that Mrs. Norris was after you?”

“I don’t want to know,” she stopped him from answering her question.

“Now that’s a smart decision, love,” said Fred with a smirk, “What were you doing out so late?”

“That’s none of business,” she rolled her eyes and stepped away from Fred, moving the tapestry aside to get out of the cramped space.

“Well, um, thank you I guess,” she stammered out before awkwardly turning around, making her way towards her common room again.

“You never told me your name!” she heard Fred shout out after her.

She spun around, continuing to walk backwards in the direction she was heading, watching a grinning Fred stand next to the tapestry.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” she called back before racing away as the shouts and purrs of Filch and Mrs. Norris headed towards them once again.

She giggled hearing Fred curse out loud as she ran away. She thought this would be the first and last time they would interact. But unbeknownst to her, a friendship would blossom between the closest trio of friends Hogwarts had seen; “Closer than the Marauders,” McGonagall would come to say in a few years.

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

Fred found himself in a slump, one that he couldn’t seem to get out of. All his days now consisted of laying in bed; hiding away from the world, reliving every memory he had with her. On some rare days, he would pull himself out of bed to go and sit in the garden not uttering a single word, only looking out into the horizon. George would join him at times, sitting there in silence until the last light of the day had faded away, replaced by the glowing moon and twinkling stars.

On that particular day, Fred was roaming around the room absentmindedly. He was not sure what to do, not sure what he could do anymore. His want for living, waking up each day and facing the world was gone, buried six feet under the ground, soul floating up to the sky to become one of the stars she’d always admired.

He suddenly bumped into a table, all the things he’d been avoiding piled onto it, falling onto the floor with a loud crash. The soundbox he’d gifted her fell open, a familiar bittersweet melody echoed throughout the quiet Burrow.

It hit him all at once, the first sob fell free from his body as he sank onto the cold, wooden floor.

The door to the bedroom flew open as George hurried in. The tune had reached his ear and he knew that nothing good would come from it. George rushed to the hunched-over figure and gathered him up in his arms.

Fred’s breaths came out in gasps, he was struggling to breathe; the walls felt like they were closing in, pushing all the air out of the room. Tears streamed down his face.

In the kitchen, Molly could be seen gripping onto the countertop, her knuckles white, not being able to deal with the gut-wrenching sobs that sounded through the Burrow.

George remained quiet, holding his best friend and rocking him back and forth.

“It hurts. It hurts so much,” Fred cried out.

George’s heart broke at the raw heartbreak in his brother’s voice.

“I know. I know,” George said softly, trying to keep himself together.

“Make it stop, please. Please make it stop,” Fred pleaded, clawing at his chest.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this without her, George. Bring her back.”

George held Fred in his arms, heart aching for his two best friends; one dead and the other may as well be. He wished he could bring her back. He missed her too.

“Take me back,” Fred muttered over and over again, pleading the universe to rewind time and let him live these past seven years with her again.

“Take me back to the night we met.”

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

What was he supposed to do without her in this world? They had their whole life planned out. They were supposed to get married after the war and live out the rest of their days with each other in a small home at the edge of the ocean. They were supposed to dance early in the morning every day as they made breakfast, and come back home to welcoming arms each night after an exhausting day of work. They were supposed to have their own children, grow grey and wrinkly together; help the other when their bodies had begun to fail.

Fred twisted the ring between his fingers, staring at what-should-have-been; the simple gold ring that belonged on her finger, not dangling from the chain around his neck.

“You really love her, don't you?” asked Molly as she watched her son stare at his girl who, in Molly’s eyes, was the perfect match for him.

Fred adored her; he adored everything about her. And everyone in the presence of the both of them could see it; could feel the love radiating from them. He was devoted to her, worshiping the ground she walked on.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the sofa which Ginny was leaning against as she sat on the floor. The soft orange light from the crackling fire lit up the side of their faces. Christmas music drifted through the Burrow from the radio in the background.

She was wearing one of Fred’s jumpers, the sleeves folded up to her wrists to allow her fingers to weave through Ginny’s soft ginger hair, so much like her brother’s; dutch-braiding it into two sections. Fred watched Y/N throw her head back laughing at George’s joke, the sound of her laughter bringing a smile to her boyfriend’s face.

Fred’s eyes didn’t waver from her as he answered, “I’m going to marry her mum.”

His eyes drifted away from her to look at his mother, “I know we’re only seventeen and we’re still young but there can be no one but her.”

Molly teared up at seeing Fred speak so maturely, the same boy she thought would never settle down, always busy with pranks and whatnot.

“Oh, Freddie,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

Fred groaned at his mother’s overly affectionate and emotional tendencies but gladly accepted the hug. He watched over his mother’s shoulder as Y/N looked up towards their direction, her eyes meeting his, and sent him a small smile before returning her attention to George and Ginny’s hair.

“Come back to me,” he whispered into the abyss.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

Fred crawled out of bed one morning. It was extremely early but sleep would not come to him. He’d been tossing and turning all night long, but he supposed he could count this as the most sleep he’d gotten in months. The nightmares from the battle; the wall crumbling, her lifeless body flashing in front of him every time he closed his eyes, keeping him awake.

The circles under Fred’s eyes were darkly visible from several feet away, his cheeks had become hollow from the lack of self-care. His unruly hair had lost its bounce and shine, his eyes had lost their light.

His feet lightly padded across the room, closing the door softly behind him. He carefully made their way down the stairs, avoiding the steps he knew would creak so that no one would wake up.

Fred waved his wand to get the water boiling for some tea as he entered the kitchen. He sighed and sank into one of the chairs, resting his head in his hands which were propped against the wooden table by the elbows. He clenched his hair, pulling at it, as tears started to make their way down his face as his mind drifted away.

It was a quiet summer morning. The sun had just begun to rise, soft, warm golden beams infiltrating the Burrow’s windows through the white lace curtains. Y/N and Fred were the only people awake in the house.

Y/N was preparing the kettle for morning tea as Fred stood leaning against the counter admiring the love of his life. She was protected against the early morning cold by one of Fred’s sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had knit ages ago. Fred had long since outgrown it but it fit perfectly on her petite body.

She jumped slightly as she felt hands wrap themselves around her waist and a body pressing against her back. She relaxed as Fred pressed a kiss on her trapezius before resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Come dance with me,” he whispered into the quiet of the morning.

“What?” she laughed.

Fred spun his girl around to face him and pulled her against him.

“You heard me,” he said with a smirk before proceeding to dance goofily around the kitchen with her.

Quiet giggles filled the air as they danced around the small space, Fred occasionally dramatically twirling her around.

As their energies started to drain, Y/N rested her face on her boyfriend’s chest slowly swaying to the music of their hearts, both their eyes closed and smiles spread across their lips in content. Fred rested his chin on her head. He held her flush against him, softly humming a melody he’d heard fall from her lips many times before.

The sound of the kettle’s whistle blowing and feet rushing down the stairs brought Fred back to reality. He quickly got up and moved the kettle, setting it on the kitchen countertop. He leaned against the countertop for a moment, attempting to pull himself together. He took a breath, wiping the remnants of a memory he’d treasure for all time to come.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he mumbled, heading towards the cupboard that stored the mugs.

Ginny frowned looking at the person in front of her; the person that was always so full of joy and life.

But now she was gone, taking his light away with her and all that was left behind was a human shell moving around the kitchen like a ghost of his past self.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears

“I’m scared,” Y/N whispered into the dark as she lay on her side.

She felt Fred shift around next to her in the bed so they were facing each other. The moonlight from the window highlighted Fred’s features; the flames on his head, the melted chocolate in his eyes, the constellations across his nose and cheeks.

Fred watched her, the scared look in her glazed eyes shining brightly through the dark room. But she still looked beautiful, ethereal in the silvery moonlight.

“Me too.”

They laid there in silence, staring into each other's eyes, relishing in the feeling of being in the other’s arms because who knew if they would be able to do this again. The war was coming, everyone could feel it. The darkness looming over the world had reached its optimum point, the muggles noticed it too whether they knew what it was about or not.

“If anything happens,” she started.

“Hey, let’s not talk about such things,” said Fred softly, raising his hand to caress her cheek, “Nothing is going to happen to you, my love. I promise. I am going to make sure nothing happens to you.”

“If anything happens,” she persisted, “Just know I love you. I will love you until every star in the universe dies and their light can’t be seen anymore.”

“And I’ll continue to love you after that,” whispered a teary-eyed Fred with a loving smile, before leaning into a kiss.

Their lips moved slowly and gently against each other, treasuring this moment for it could be one of their last.

They laid in bed in each other’s arms that night. Sleep was the last thing on their mind as they exchanged small kisses and quiet I-love-you’s, and wiped each other’s tears away. They stayed awake as the morning light streamed into the bedroom lighting up the world in a soft orange glow, staring at each other knowing that could very well be the last night they got to do this.

When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

Fred’s fingers danced across the frame, tracing her face. Tracing her face the same way that her fingers would always trace his freckles; playing connect-the-dots. A loving smile would appear on his face as he’d feel her fingers ghosting over his cheeks and nose, eyes shutting in pleasure.

He saw his broken reflection staring back at him as a teardrop trailed down his cheek and fell onto the glass.

It was a picture from the first day after their seventh year was over, their first time together at Weasley Wizards Wheezes. They’d made their way there right after the Hogwarts Express had arrived at King’s Cross station.

It was the day they’d decided to move in together.

It had been a few months since they’d seen each other; each moment away from each other felt like years. He had not felt her body as he held her against him, fitting together like missing pieces of a puzzle. He had not seen her beautiful eyes or heard her angelic voice. He craved her vibrant presence like he had never craved anything before.

“Freddie!”

Fred turned around towards the sound only to feel someone jump on him. He stumbled back due to the force, holding the person tightly against him. Y/N clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands around his neck. Her face was buried in his neck whilst his was buried in her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent he’d missed the past few months.

“I missed you,” Fred said quietly.

Y/N pulled away, standing again with Fred’s help.

“I missed you too,” she said, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. He still looked the same: the same sturdy body, the same ginger hair and chocolate brown eyes. The same chapped lips that were always pulled in an infectious smile, the same hands that never failed to ignite the skin they left in their wake, trailing against every inch of her body like a blazing fire. The only thing different about him was his choice of clothes.

“What is that ghastly thing?” she questioned, staring at his dragon-skin clothes.

“You don’t like it?”

“No. As I said, it looks ghastly. I very much prefer you in your normal simple clothes but if you like to wear this… Well go ahead, I won't stop you. It is your choice.”

Fred chuckled at his girlfriend and leaned down to kiss her nose.

“You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d be extremely offended.”

“Oi! Stop hogging her all to yourself,” said George before pulling Y/N out of his twin’s arms and spun her around as they hugged.

Fred watched the interaction with a smile on his face thinking they already behaved like a brother- and sister-in-law would.

He wished the shop could’ve waited till their final year was over, instead of starting it in the middle of their seventh year.

Looking back on it now, Fred hated the decisions made from his side. He could only think about all the time he had missed out on - a few months of time that could’ve been spent with each other.

“Should’ve stayed together,” he thought as he held the picture against his chest, sobbing into the silence of the night.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

The world that was once orange and warm, was tinged blue without her. Food no longer had any taste, the sun was no longer warm, birds no longer chirped, the butterflies in his stomach had abandoned their home. Music was no longer mellifluous, the joke shop was no longer humorous, home did not feel like home anymore. His heart no longer beat.

The world was dull and bleak without her; hopeless. The fundamental part of his very being, his core felt broken; irreversible, never to be mended again.

In a single moment, his entire world had come crashing down around him. Irretrievable.

“Why? Why did you leave me? Why do I get to live whereas you died?” he asked, his throat constricting as he compelled himself not to cry.

“Why? Why did you push me out of the way?”

“NO!”

The air exploded just as soon as he felt someone push him out of the way. His body flew through the air as the sound of the wall collapsing rumbled through the corridor.

Fred groaned as he sat up, moving the stone and wood aside. His eyes burned because of the dust floating through the cold air blowing in from the side of the castle that had been blown open due to the sheer force of a casted spell.

He hurriedly got up as he remembered what he’d heard right before the blast had occurred. He stumbled through the rubble, terrified, and began to search through the wreckage, having no care of the ongoing war around him.

He moved a large stone out of the way only to find a hand adorning a familiar ring that was shining through the debris.

“No. Please no. No no no,” Fred choked out, hurrying to move the broken wall pieces aside and uncover the body, hoping it wasn’t her even though deep down he knew it was.

The world fell silent as Fred fell onto his knees, numb to the shock that went up through his legs. He let out a blood-curdling cry at the sight of her unmoving body; eyes unblinking, staring up at the ceiling but seeing nothing.

He gathered her up in his arms, moving her hair and dust out of her face.

“Wake up love,” Fred begged. “Please. Oh Merlin, please no.”

He held her face against his chest, trying to protect her from harm, clinging onto her, refusing to let go. Even as Percy and Ron tried to pull him away to get to safety, Fred did not budge.

“Wake up. Please love. Please,” he pleaded to someone who would never hear him again, who would never respond to him again.

Her unseeing eyes stared ahead hauntingly as Ron ripped Fred away from her body and dragged him away from the impending danger. Fred continued to fight against Ron, shouting at him to let him go. He couldn't leave her alone, he had to get back to her. She couldn’t wake up all alone in the middle of an ongoing war.

“No! I can’t leave her alone! Let me go! LET ME GO!”

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

“I miss you. I miss you so damn much. Come back to me, please,” Fred sobbed with a hoarse voice.

He still had a hard time believing she was gone. She had so much left to do; her future was filled with so much promise. So many days not lived, so many words not said.

Fred would risk his life, give everything away, his soul, if only he got to see her smile, hear her laughter as she laughed at one of his jokes once again.

“I can’t do this without you. Please, I need you.”

Fred didn’t know how long he stayed there, crying to the dead.

The sun had started to set; the yellow, orange, red, purple and blue blending together in the picturesque scenery; one that artists wrote poems about or created paintings of.

He sighed realizing he had to leave soon or his mother would get worried and send out a search party after him. He wiped his blotchy face using his sleeves as he got up, looking around the cemetery melancholically.

The first smile, in months, broke out on his face, similar to the rays of sunshine peeking through the breaks in the clouds after a storm, as a gentle breeze grazed his cheeks, the feeling equivalent to fingers tracing the freckles on his cheeks and nose, playing connect-the-dots.

“I will love you until every star in the universe dies and their light can’t be seen anymore.”

“And I’ll continue to love you after that,” Fred whispered softly, tracing the name on the stone before turning around and walking away.

Y/N Y/L/N

A loving friend, daughter and fiancé

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

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bi-writes · 5 years ago

Photo

notorious: reboot — prologue never enough

Whatever I do, it is never enough for you. Don’t you love me?

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 4.8k warnings: mature language and themes series masterlist

“This has never been a business meant for you.”

You couldn’t remember how many times you’d heard those words. When you tried to look over daddy’s shoulder, he would put his papers away, scolding you for snooping. When you tried to check on him by peeking into his office, he forbade you from even entering that wing of the house. When you tried to assert your opinion, your father made it clear that “darling, you have no opinion.”

When he said that this business wasn’t mean for you, he didn’t mean that entirely. He simply meant this business wasn’t meant for women. He pushed you out just like he pushed your mother out. You hated it. It’s why you didn’t let his words get to you. You knew one day he’d need his only child, even if that meant you were exactly what he secretly abhorred—a woman.

Your father was too proud to marry someone else. He came from old Italian roots, where tradition was cherished as preciously as diamonds. When you were born, he was ecstatic, of course, up until you were the only child your mother could give him. The love your father had for you only was present only when he expected another child, a baby boy, to be specific.

You had reason to believe your mother was doing it on purpose, that she was holding back on your father because of his strong desire for a boy. He constantly made you feel like you didn’t matter because of how he spoke about the future. He was saving everything for his boy, for his heir. Little mementos, special heirlooms. His first Cartier watch with a scratch on the dial, his gold cufflinks, the pocket watch that had an extra tick every once in a while. And then there was daddy’s gun.

It was chrome, silver, proper and handmade. It was the kind where you had to pop the chamber out and put the bullets inside one by one. It was small, and he kept it hidden always. He had other guns, sure, but this one was special. He cherished every single scratch, every single curve, every single slight depression. He seemed to have more love in his eyes for his gun that he ever did for your mother, or for you.

You wanted those things. You wanted them, and you wanted your father to give them to on his own accord. You wanted him to be proud of you, to have pride in you. You just wanted him for once in his life to think of you as his only daughter, his only daughter completely capable of anything he threw at her.

“Baby, come here.”

His strong voice brought you out of the fog in your head. You had zoned out completely. You blinked, looking over to where your father was seated at his desk.

There was a bit of smoke still rising from the ashtray by the books laid out across the wooden surface. It was quite dark, the only light source was a dim chandelier in the middle of the room, and it cast a soft, yellow glow throughout the room, creating dark shadows where crevices lied all over. The walls were lined with books, and behind your father’s leather chair was a safe he kept an eye on, always.

“Yes, daddy?”

He nodded his head, beckoning you over, and you came over slowly. Your heels sounded against the hardwood floor, and you kept your hands behind your back, crossed at the wrists. You were wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket, your hair done up high to keep it away from your face. He had a few papers across his desk, and he picked out a few, handing them to you. You got a glance at the ticking of his wristwatch.

“I need you to check these numbers for me. I paid $10 million for this shipment, and I need to make sure what I got back—”

“Matches the expect profit,” you finished for him. You meet his eyes. “I thought you had people for this. Don’t we pay them enough?”

He took his glasses off, taking you by the wrist and pulling you down lower. “Listen, y/n,” he said sternly. “When you have a business like this, every transaction matters. I don’t deal small, and everything must be to a T. I can’t have one fucking dollar out of place, or everything is off balance. If even one number is out of place, then that means someone is screwing with my business, and I can’t have that. I’m responsible for everything. Every. Dollar. Counts. Do you understand?”

You were surprised for a moment. A lot of times when something happened that you didn’t understand, your father would wave his hand, wanting you to go away. He would never explain things, never take the time to teach you anything, and he just seemed uninterested in keeping you in the loop. You knew why he did those things, and you knew it wasn’t your fault, but it still hurt. Your own father, not wanting to teach his daughter the things she needed to know before it was too late.

Lately, however, he had been giving you bits and pieces. If a shipment was late, he didn’t leave the room to handle it. He allowed you to listen to him talk, allowed you to take note of how he handled it. When things weren’t organized, when the money was in the wrong places, your father stayed with you as he fixed what was wrong. It was fascinating, and you tried to absorb every detail.

“Do you understand me, y/n?”

You blinked, out of your daze, nodding as he let go of your wrist. You took the papers and a pen and made your way out of his office. His phone rang, and he picked it up right away, his voice honey like and low as he spoke in hushed whispers. He seemed upset now. You went into the kitchen, sitting down at the marble island, and you spread the papers out in front of you. Then you went to work.

Each individual shipment you separated on blank paper in front of you, then calculated the costs deducted for transportation, security, the likes. Your father kept those costs steady, as steady as he could, so the numbers were ingrained in your head. 10% of some for the lackeys, another 15% here for the car, the warehouse hold, more men. You were tedious in the way you did your calculations. You could say that you adopted that from your father. If there was something you were good at, you were good at it always. You never wavered, and on the numbers, you never failed. Always, always, your numbers were right. Your father sometimes had you do this for him, especially when the numbers were particularly large. It’s true that he always, always wanted to be thorough. He knew everything about his business. Being at the top didn’t stop him from knowing what was going on even all the way at the bottom. He had eyes everywhere, and he paid good money for that privilege.

You finished the numbers, looking down at the total you had circled and underlined at the bottom of the page. You pulled another paper out, comparing the two numbers. They didn’t match.

You bit your lip, checking your math again, even though you knew it was right. As you dragged the pen back down the page to the same conclusion, you narrowed your eyes. Your father was out 20 grand. To you, that wasn’t a large amount. But to your father, you knew that would be detrimental. Because to him, 20 grand was significant. 20 grand paid for men. Paid for bribes. Paid for benefits that he didn’t outsource. It would be suspicious to him, you knew that much. And you were almost certain that you would never find out where the trail ended. You were certain these numbers were the only contribution your father would ever let you give to his business.

You stood up from your place in the kitchen, taking the papers and going back upstairs. You knocked on the door of his study, opening the door. He glanced up at you.

“Well?” He asked. You came towards the desk, putting down the papers. He had poured himself a glass to drink since you left.

“You’re not going to like this, daddy,” you said gently. Visibly, his eyes darkened.

“How bad?” He asked, even though the papers were right in front of him. You circled the desk, standing beside him, marking the spot with a pen.

“20 grand,” you voiced, slowly as to gauge his reaction. His eyes darted between paper to paper, wanting to make sure what you were saying was true. You wanted to roll your eyes at his lack of trust in you, but you refrained. You didn’t want to upset him more than the news already had. “Let me take care of it,” you said after a few minutes, boldly. Your father took his eyes off the papers immediately, staring up at you.

This wasn’t the first time you asked to take on some responsibility. In fact, you asked all the time. He always told you no. It was always no. But you never stopped trying.

“Excuse me?” He asked it as if he was offended. This was familiar territory, but for some reason, you felt inclined to argue this time. You wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. It was far too late, your father wasn’t going to marry again, and you were it. So you stood your ground. Your father was not going to have another heir. It was going to be you wearing the crown when he was gone, whether he liked it or not. Because even though you know your father didn’t like that you were a woman, he was too prideful to give the crown up to anyone but family.

“Let me take care of it, daddy.” You took a seat on the wooden desk, taking his hand in yours. “I can do it. I can take care of it. I’ll get the money back for you. And I’ll find out who’s behind it. You...have so much on your plate already, I just want to help.”

You gave him soft eyes, and he sat back in his leather chair. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing through the peppery locks. He clenched his jaw for a moment, and you squeezed his hand in yours hopefully. Your father always said no to you when it came to business, but in every other situation, he always said yes. You had some sort of leeway with him, you just had to keep the right tone. And since recently he had been confiding in you, you knew this was your chance.

Your father never believed in you, not really. He just didn’t believe women were capable of being anything more than mothers, than eye candy, than something expendable. That was what your mother was to him. But your mother knew better. She knew what you were meant for. She always told you what you were going to be.

It happened the night you discovered what your father did for work. You were seven. It was late into the night, and you had woken up from a nightmare, the kind of dream that made the walls in your room seem like monsters in the dark. You slipped out of bed and out of your room. You went upstairs to go get your mother, but neither her nor your father were in their room, so you went back downstairs to check his study.

You weren’t allowed in your father’s study. If he even saw you playing near it, he would get upset with you, and you hated when he was upset with you, so you stayed away. But tonight, you still had visions of monsters in your bed, so you made your way to the large double doors, grabbing onto the knob and opening the door.

Both your parents turned to look at the little girl standing in the doorway. The carpet had been rolled into the corner, and something was rolled inside of it. Your eyes went to the dark, thick liquid spilling from one of the ends of the rug.

“y/n!” Your father snapped, and you jumped, in a trance at the way his study looked. That dark substance was on the walls, even on your father’s clothes. Your mother turned quickly to face you.

“y/n, baby,” she left your father’s side, picking you up in her arms. You had your eyes on the rolled carpet in the corner when your mother brought you out, closing the door behind you. You wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling back to look at her strained expression.

“Mama,” you said quietly as she brought you into the kitchen. “I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t find you.”

Tears were starting to come to your face, and she set you down on the counter, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes.

“It’s okay, baby,” she said softly. She swallowed hard, going into the fridge to get some milk. She was going to make you hot chocolate, something warm and filling to put you back to sleep. She always did that when you had nightmares.

“Is daddy mad at me?”

“No, baby.” She puts the milk to boil, coming back to you, her eyes on yours. You were looking at her expectantly, and she knew she had to explain. You were young, but girls were always smarter, more attentive to details. She knew you had seen too much, and she knew you were curious. “You know you’re not supposed to go in there.”

You wiped your nose. “I...I had...I-I—”

She puts a hand on your cheek, and you swung your legs a bit.

“Is daddy bad?” You asked finally, and she didn’t know how to answer that. She leaned forward though and kissed your forehead. “Is that why daddy doesn’t want me to spend time with him?” You asked in a quiet voice.

She brushed your hair back, away from your face, and she brought you close to her.

“Daddy doesn’t know how smart you are, that’s all,” she said in a low voice. “He just doesn’t know how capable you are, y/n. And that’s okay. He...he doesn’t know any better. But you know what, y/n?” You perked up at her words, “you’re going to prove him wrong. I know you will. He’ll see how perfect you are, baby, and he won’t...he won’t be like this forever. Okay? You just have to show him.”

She melted some chocolate into the warm milk, and then she shut the stove off.

“What if daddy doesn’t like it? What if he gets mad at me when I try and show him? What if he doesn’t believe me?” You asked as she took your hand, guiding you back upstairs with the warm mug in her other hand.

She stared ahead, clenching her jaw a bit angrily.

“You don’t take no for an answer, y/n,” she answered seriously. “Your father isn’t the only one that will say no to you. He won’t be the only one that will underestimate you, and he won’t be the only one that will not believe you. But you do it anyway, y/n.”

“Even if he tells me not to?”

“Especially if he tells you not to,” your mother closed your bedroom door behind her, helping you get back onto your bed. She knelt to your level. “Men like your father are ignorant. They will always tell you no because they think they know someone else that can do it better. But you, y/n,” she pointed to your head, “you will always be better than everyone else.”

“You don’t know that, mama,” you sniffled, and she shook her head.

“I do know that.”

“How?”

“Because you’re my daughter,” she scoffed a bit. “And I’ll be damned if I let you be anything but the best.”

Your mother did more than deliver on her promise. From that point on, she was the one that groomed you to take over your father’s business. While your father would push you away, your mother picked you right up, filling in the gaps and the holes when he refused to do it himself. She handpicked your father’s best men to teach you how to be better, faster, deadlier. She hired tutors, trainers, and she filled in when no one else could.

She did it only in the middle of the night. During the day, you’d go to school, be your father’s good little girl, and by night, you’d be with your mother, learning and growing. Some nights were spent with trainers. They got you in shape, and when you were old enough, your father’s men would risk their lives to come and teach you how to fight. If your father found out what they were doing, they’d be dead, but they also weren’t inclined to say no to their boss’s wife. So they did as she asked, teaching you hand to hand combat, weaponry, intelligence gathering. Most of them were former intelligence agents, and they spilled all their secrets, and you absorbed it like a sponge. By the time you were 18, it was all you knew.

Your mother would never have admitted it, but she had created something special out of you, out of her own daughter, right under her husband’s nose. She thought it was ironic that your father turned to lackeys to do his work when his own daughter was ten times the men they were.

But then she was gone. And after she was gone, you tried to tell your father about everything you had done during the years he neglected you.

“Ridiculous,” is what he had said when you explained it to him. “No, y/n. If you’re planning on working for me, with me, you’re mistaken.”

“But daddy—”

“No, y/n!”

No. He had said it. He had said no to you. Just like your mother said he would. You wanted to be strong like she told you. You wanted to stand up to him, yell at him, tell him he was wrong, but you couldn’t. You had only turned and left, crying as soon as you were alone. You couldn’t be strong without her; you had realized it that night. She had been your rock, and now it was time to finally stand on your own, and you couldn’t.

Now it was your shot. For some reason, you finally had the confidence in you to stand up to your father, to ask him for more. So you squeezed his hand tight, reading the apprehension and hesitation all over his face. His daughter, responsible for finding out such sensitive information? Did you even know how to do that?

Of course you did. Your mother had been thorough.

“Daddy,” you said, breaking up his thoughts. You slid off the desk, onto your heels. “If you don’t say anything, I’m just going to assume that’s a yes.”

“Now, wait—”

“No, dad, you wait,” you interrupted him. His head shot up to glare at you, and you glared right back. “It’s time to stop fucking around. It’s time. No more fucking math,” you pushed the papers towards him, and they flew off the desk, “no more editing contracts, no more paperwork. I’m done being your pencil pusher. I’m done with it.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, circling the desk and standing in front of it now.

“You have lackeys for that. And I’m not a lackey,” you said darkly. You put your palms on the desk and leaned forward, lowering your face to his level. “I’m your daughter. Your only one, and not to mention the heiress of everything in this goddamn room. Say yes, or I’m just going to walk out of this room and do it myself.”

If you hadn’t been gripping the desk, he would’ve seen how badly your hands were shaking.

Your father grumbled under his breath, inaudible. He never would admit it, but it made him...proud to hear that come from you. You looked hungry in your eyes, eager to make something of yourself. He saw himself in you for a moment.

“Go on, y/n,” he nodded finally. “Get it to me. Names. I want names more than I want my money.”

“Yes, daddy.”

You bent down and picked up the papers from the floor, taking them with you. As you closed the door behind him, you let out the deepest breath, one that you had been holding. You couldn’t let him down. You couldn’t prove him right; you couldn’t let him keep thinking you weren’t ready or capable or good enough. You had to prove him wrong.

Lackeys didn’t know that there was always someone writing down numbers as product and cash were transported. There was always someone that was taking note of how much, how many, what it is, and where it is. It was a master log of information that mostly went unnoticed until something like this happened.

$20,000 missing was a lot of money, but compared to the amount flowing in, it was a minuscule loss. Your father made millions a day. Losing $20,000 on one shipment would not even put a dent in his profit margins, but your father didn’t care, of course. It was his pride that was hurt. The fact that someone under him thought that taking his money could be done was unacceptable.

The log of information was what was in front of you on the table. At each place something touched down, there had to be an entry added detailing certain information. If it was product, there had to be a log about how much was there quantity wise, how much it weighed, brief descriptions of what it looked like, and who it was handed off to. If it was money, there had to be a log on how much money, how much it weighed, in what currency it was in, and how much was deducted at that particular drop. There had to be signatures by those dropping it off and those taking on the load, and it had to be done always and in the same manner.

There was one stop where there were inconsistencies. The weight ratio and currency value logged at a stop in New York City. The money was moving from Italy to Long Island, then made a stop in Brooklyn to be passed onto the next person that would bring it cross-country. The Brooklyn stop is where the numbers didn’t add up. For the weight of the currency, the value of it logged off by just a small percentage, but enough to account for the lost $20,000.

You got on the phone once you noticed the outlier, holding it between your shoulder and your ear as you chewed on the back of your pen.

“Miss y/n, what can I do for you?”

The phone hadn’t rung for long. Your father’s men were afraid of him, and even though your father didn’t always treat you like his only child, his men were expected to treat you with respect. If there was anything you needed, they were to abide by those demands.

“De Luca,” you said his name clearly. “I’m told you’re the man to talk to if I need to move something.”

“Yes, Miss y/n. What is it that you need me to get rid of?”

“No. I don’t...that’s not what I need,” you bit your lip. “I need names. There was a shipment of cash that came in from Italy one week ago. It made a stop in Long Island, and then another stop in Brooklyn. I need the names of your contacts in Brooklyn.”

There was a pause, and you frowned.

“Hello?” You sat up a bit.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said hesitantly. “I just...it’s funny you say that. I haven’t been able to schedule another stop in Brooklyn in the past week. I’ve been moving things through Queens, which isn’t convenient, but it’ll do for the time.”

“Why? What happened in Brooklyn?”

“Don’t know. I was supposed to send someone out to check on them, but—”

“But what?” You snapped. “Your contacts in Brooklyn don’t show up for work, and you don’t think that’s something to be worried about?”

“I didn’t want to jump to conclusions and be wrong,” he corrected himself. “I don’t want to start a war, Miss y/n, on account of just...suspicion.”

“A war? A war with who?”

“Tom Holland.”

It was quiet tonight, strangely. The Hudson River looked strangely beautiful from this height, sparkling with the glare of the moonlight, even with the crowded harbor breaking the coastline.

The sliding door opened, and the crunch of the concrete beneath shoes broke the quiet sounds. Stepping onto the balcony like this meant he didn’t want to be disturbed. He lit a cigarette, leaning over the railing, just staring out at the water. It was started to get cold in the city. He liked it when it was cold.

His peace was disturbed when a gentle knock came on the glass door behind him. He never liked being disturbed like this. When he turned, he gave the boys standing there a hard glare, letting them know that whatever they were interrupting him for must be important.

He opened the door, and only one stepped through, his phone in hand.

“Tom, mate—”

“This better be fucking good, you know how much I hate being interrupted,” he snapped, licking his lips.

Tom Holland was not an ordinary man, though sometimes others tried to make him seem so. He was very mysterious, and he was very cold and aloof. There was no one he was gentle for, soft for, not even his own friends or his family. He expected nothing but the best from everyone around him no matter who they were. He wanted consistency, loyalty, efficiency, and professionalism. There was no room for anything else in his mind. Anything else meant exposure, attention, chaos. Tom Holland didn’t mind chaos, but if it was chaos that he couldn’t control, it was chaos that he didn’t desire.

He was staring intently at his best friend, a man that had been with him since childhood. He knew those blue eyes better than he knew his own. But by the time Tom was beginning to get his hands dirty, his best friend knew things would never be the same. They were in this for life, until death, and they leaned on each other for that simple shared truth. And when Tom became his best friend’s boss, he made it clear that their relationship would change.

Harrison Osterfield didn’t care. The money was good, and once he had seen it for the first time, he never wanted to let it go. Tom was difficult at first, but they fell into a rhythm with each other over the years, and though Tom was the one that ordered him around, Harrison was never afraid to speak his mind. They were glued to each other, stuck to one another, and they had survived far too many close calls to trust anyone but each other.

Harrison held out his phone. It was a video taken from a security camera at the JFK airport. Tom held the phone close to his face, staring at it over and over again before he looked up.

“What is this?” he asked, sucking on the cigarette hard. “Is this supposed to mean something to me? A woman?”

Harrison put his phone away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That woman is y/n y/l/n. The heiress,” Harrison explained. Tom frowned.

“Heiress?” He muttered to himself. He thought for a moment, and then his brain clicked. The name was familiar, so familiar on his tongue. It didn’t take him long to figure out where the connections lied. “What is she doing in New York?”

“What the fuck do you think she’s doing in New York?” Harrison scoffed. Tom put the cigarette out, letting out a final clouded breath.

“I didn’t know he had a daughter,” Tom said finally.

“No one did. But she exists. And she’s here, for something, and that can’t be a coincidence.”

“Of fucking course it isn’t a coincidence,” Tom shook his head. “The bastard knows we’re up to something. Or she’s here to fuck with us. I don’t know.”

Harrison leaned over the railing beside him, and they both stared out at the moonlight water.

“So what do we do about it?” Harrison asked lowly. Tom waited for a few moments. He had to think about this. He always thought. Tom Holland never made a rash decision. Every decision he ever made was calculated and purposeful. He had to make each one count. If he didn’t, it meant death, and he had too much on his shoulders to make a mistake.

He already had a lot to think about. You arriving, you coming...the reason wasn’t coming to him, but he was damn curious, that much he knew.

“Nothing,” Tom shrugged a bit. “We wait.”

“Wait?”

“If she’s here because of why we think she’s here, then we wait.”

Tom looked into the dark, smirking to himself.

“She’ll come to us.”

read chapter one

#ITS HERE #hallelujah #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland au #mob!tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland series #tom holland fic #tom holland

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

Text

handmaid - 12

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, anxiety

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N stood in her bedroom considering Daniel’s words. Clueless. God, the word itself stung coming from someone she had grown to see as a big brother. Clueless. Well, sure, she did not exactly know what happened behind closed doors with both the Stan family and Forrest family business but neither did Daniel, or at least as well as he bragged to know. She had heard both families were cruel but in all honesty, she just couldn’t imagine any of the heads of both families being those monsters people spoke of. She specially could not imagine Sebastian to be the monster Dan wanted to paint him, no. He had kind eyes, he didn’t have the type of darkness that she had seen in various other lesser associates, he had peaceful ones like the sea after a storm. Besides, Y/N liked to consider herself a good judge of character so maybe Dan was just being overprotective.

Annoyed, she huffed, turning on her side with her phone on her hand as she searched for the contact she wanted to call. She took her phone up to her ear, hearing the dialling tone for what felt for ages until the familiar operator voice came through. The number you have dialled is unavailable, please leave your message at the sound of the tone.

- Hi Sebastian, it’s Y/N. I just ... I just wanted to check on you, to see if you’re alright. Give me a call when you can. Okay ... bye.

She sighed, throwing her phone to the side table before getting under her duvet, her mind finally getting time to wrap around what had happened days prior. Why didn’t she feel guilty she had kissed a very engaged man? She always thought that cheating was a terrible thing to do to someone yet right now all she could think about was that maybe ... maybe she would be able to do it again. It wasn’t right but he was just so electric, magnetic even and his words echoed in her mind like a drum ... I’m here for you, no one can harm you.

Sure, she had protection at most times considering Elias and Christian, whenever not in Gwen’s bedroom, were constantly around ensuring that no one got in or out of the house without permission or reason to do. However, protection from Sebastian sounded ... sweeter, warmer even. No man had ever told her they were there for her, much less they would fight their own wife for her (this mostly due to her preference at avoiding married men). It was unfair, very unfair that the very first time she felt seen and protected ... maybe even fully appreciated was by someone she just couldn’t have.

As her mind raced through various excuses as to why she kissed the mob boss, the sleepless nights caught up to her and soon she found herself surrounded by the familiar darkness of slumber. She woke up once again with the sun beams cutting through her window and decided that maybe right now what she needed was a good amount of food.

Going down the stairs, the familiar sight of Amelia in the kitchen preparing a fresh brew of coffee made her sleepily smile. This was the normality and home life she needed after all of Paris’ events.

- Good morning, Miss Y/N. How was Paris? - she turned on the kettle at the sight of the handmaid to prepare her favourite infusion.

- Paris was lovely. - she smiled softly, not pulling too much at the skin of her cheeks as she sat on the high chairs. - Do you think I could have some grilled cheese this morning?

- You can have whatever you want, Miss Y/N. It is always a pleasure to cook for you. - Y/N couldn’t help but smile wider at that statement. It felt nice to have someone to talk to who wasn’t about to married to a mob boss, a mob boss, associates or bodyguards. - You look different.

- How so? - she raised an eyebrow at the statement. Oh god, had Gwen discovered she kissed her husband to be and cut her hair in disdain?

- I don’t know ... there’s a spring in your step, you look very happy. Might there be someone in Paris? - yeah, sure, he is in Paris, he’s just not her someone, he’s Gwen’s. - Maybe it’s the European air.

- Maybe ... You wouldn’t know when Mr. Stan is coming back, would you?

- I don’t know, Miss. Mr. Stan shows up when he wants, never leaves a message, he’s just like his father in that sense.

- Did you know his father? - Y/N had never actually known his father but from what she heard from Gwen he was a tall, stern man who managed to put fear and respect in everyone’s hearts without giving it much of a try.

- Just between us both Miss Y/N, I am very glad he only resembles his father in that sense. No man should be that comfortable with death and power and not fear it all the time. - she shrugged, flipping the sandwich on the skillet. - If I must say, I think Mr. Stan is much more like his mother. I’ve always said this house needed another kind woman after she left.

- I just can’t picture it. - Y/N didn’t exactly knew who Sebastian’s mother was. In all honesty, not a lot of people knew and Sebastian wasn’t one for big speeches about his family. However, she had always pictured him as being much more like his father, a powerful man. - He doesn’t really talk about his family.

- What about you, Miss Y/N? What about your parents?

- Oh ... - she toyed with the chain of her necklace, slightly bitting her lip. - I don’t really know. Mr. Forrest told me my father was one of his workers, never told me much about my mother either. They died shortly after I was born.

- I’m very sorry, Miss Y/N. - Amelia slid her the grilled cheese on a nice porcelain plate. - I’m sure that they would be very proud of creating such a nice, beautiful lady.

- Thank you, Amelia.

- Oh ... good morning, Mr. Daniel. - she pipped up and Y/N rolled her eyes, not in the mood to speak with Daniel after last night’s events. He, however, had other plans as he sat right next to her.

- Good morning, Y/N.

- Good morning, Daniel. - she slid away from him.

- Oh c’mon, you’re not gonna sulk at me are you? - he poked her arm with one of the forks that had been laid out to him. - You know I’m sorry.

- You’re always sorry but you never actually say it. - Y/N huffed, grabbing her plate from the table and walking up to the sink. Dan sighed, knowing that, despite her being generally a kind and forgiving woman, whenever she was upset, she just remained upset for a while before forgetting it. However, this could take ages.

Y/N decided she was still not ready to deal with Daniel or any of his opinions towards her view of the people she surrounded herself with. In all honesty, she had no time to worry about him or what he thought of her as her mind was filled with worry towards Sebastian. She knew he was notoriously hard to harm or even shot at however she hadn’t gotten a reply to her call and knew nothing of when he was about to return.

The days passed by and Daniel had managed to somehow get Y/N to get less mad at him by taking her to see his daughter. Sophie had been born while he was at university and Y/N had grown very attached to the little girl as she had been at home with Gwen when she was born. However, not even young Sophie could take her mind away from Sebastian. Her brain had quit making her feel guilty about the fact she had kissed the man who was to marry the only friend she ever knew and had instead turned all its efforts into making her picture all the horrific things that could happen to him. She knew it was reckless and pointless to worry about him, he clearly seemed to be invisible at what he did and part of her pitied the poor unfortunate souls who had dared to shot at him.

Those days turned into weeks and as the third week hit mark, she was absolutely unconsolable. Gwen was not much help. In actuality, the heiress was rather happy that her fiancé wasn’t around as this gave her plenty of free time to do what she wanted with her newly found interest in her private bodyguard, Christian. Meanwhile, Y/N had taken to spending her days in the kitchen with Amelia and in the library, but not even that could take her mind off if he was alright despite Amelia and Elias constantly telling her it was normal of Sebastian to disappear and then suddenly return.

Nevertheless, Y/N was anxious about his fate, spending most of the night sat by the window, listening as the rain fell down on the bright city that never slept. This was one of those nights where her fingers lingered on the fogged rainy windows, lightly doodling. This quickly grew tired-some and, wrapped around in one of the very expensive white cashmere blankets Sebastian had placed around the house, she went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mindlessly, like a movement so familiar it didn’t need her attention, Y/N put some almond milk, cinnamon and honey in a pot and brought it up to the heat before taking to slowly mix it with a wooden spoon.

The sound of the bubbling milk and rain was enough to make her feel like every corner of the world was home and as she poured the mixture into a mug, she softly smiled at the overview of New York from the countless amount of ceiling length windows. It almost made her forget her worries. Almost. The heart warming atmosphere was interrupted by the ring of the lift that gave way into the entrance of the penthouse. Y/N turned around abruptly, the sight bringing a sparkle to her eyes. Placing the mug on the first surface she came in contact with, she rushed to the entrance, wrapping her arms around the mob boss as if they had been separated for over 10 years.

- Night, angel. - Sebastian was tired and that was noticeable by the dark bags under his eyes and his dishevelled appearance. However, he could surely get used to having Y/N wrap her arms around him every time he came home. Y/N, on the other hand, came to her senses and stepped back, feeling the heat coming to her cheeks.

- We were worried about you. - she shifted her weight from feet to feet.

- Who’s we, angel? I’d gather we would mean you. - his hand traced down her forearm to her hand, softly holding it on his. - I’m sorry I didn’t answer your message, I didn’t want to lie to you as to when I’d be back. Besides, I assumed Gwen would enjoy a holiday from me.

- You could’ve said something. - she rubbed the side of her neck, eyes fixated on the ground. - I was worried.

- Ah ... - he smirked, taking a step forward. - You were worried. That was what I wanted to hear.

- Well, I ... I just wanted to know so I could warn Gwen. I shouldn’t bother you anymore, you must want to rest. I can fix you something to eat if you want.

- You’re not the housemaid, Y/N. Although something smells really good in here.

- Oh ... - Y/N rushed into the kitchen, turning off the hob and bringing the pot back to one of the metal bases in the kitchen. - It’s just something me, Gwen, and Dan used to have when we were little and couldn’t sleep.

- What’s wrong? - Sebastian noticed the shift in her tone.

- Do you think I’m clueless? - she leaned onto the kitchen’s wall.

- Why do you ask?

- Dan seems to think I’m clueless.

- Daniel Forrest? - he asked and Y/N nodded. - What does he know of the world to make assumptions?

- He’s sort of right. - Y/N took a place on the chair next to his. - I don’t exactly know what Mr. Forrest or you do, specifically. I don’t even know what you were up to these past weeks.

- It’s entirely way too boring besides I’d rather be surrounded by clueless people than the ones I’m surrounded by. You really shouldn’t worry about what he thinks of you.

- Do you worry what others think of you?

- I’ve lived long enough to have certain names hauled at me. Some deserving, some undeserving but I tend not to stress about it. My mother used to say people like to talk about those they can’t be.

- Well, if it’s any worth .. I don’t think half the names I’ve heard given to you do actually have any truth to them.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @sarge-barnes-sir @captainchrisstan

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #mob boss!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan

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wonderofwillows2 · 3 years ago

Text

The Training Part 1

There were no young men who came to the resort without a sponsor. Be it a wife, a girlfriend, a sister, mother, or aunt. No young man was allowed there without a sponsor and none were allowed without meeting certain very strict criterion. Some were specific and fit into neat categories that were known as the “basic minima of entry”. For the first basic minimum no more than one man could be there for every eight women which meant there was almost always a waiting list of sponsored young men up to a month. The second was that the young man be between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one, though those over twenty were rarely taken. The third was aforementioned sponsorship and generally at least two sponsors known to the group were required though some more respected members of the group could bring another. The fourth was that the young man must be circumcised prior to getting to resort with enough time to heal and be ready for intercourse.

There were also the three more abstract criterion. The first of these was that a young man must be physically attractive both in the body and face and have hygiene befitting his qualities. He was to be judged by a panel and if they found his physical features attractive enough he could join, if he was deemed near enough, he would be given three months to correct whatever issue as best he could. Allowances were made for small things like acne that a young man might not perfectly control. Most often it was simply that a young man was expected to become more fit or to simply improves his grooming. There were generally few who fell into this category.

The second was that the young man should be of some intelligence, he had be able to understand instructions given and, he had to understand the deeper relevance of them. He would have to be able to understand the lessons and mantras repeated on a daily basis. There would be plenty to learn for those impressionable young men who were taken there and it was important to know the lessons would become ingrained though the indoctrination those young men would receive. Few young men who left would have said that it did not leave an impression on them.

The third was personality and more broadly speaking social skills. The young men had to posses those requisite social skills to at least avoid being boring to the women of the resort and to be able to pick up some minimum of the women’s emotions and desires. Of course this was not a hard thresh hold as young men were to be further educated in these skills. Indeed most of the women there were eager to teach the men who came there how to further anticipate a woman’s needs. Some even took it to the point of being like a sport or challenge. To see how much they could spur a young man to further development in this category. They would show off to one another how well their charges and students could read their body language and the inflections of their voices and how thoroughly and eagerly they responded.

The brings us to to Victor, a handsome young man of Russian-Canadian origin who lived Toronto where his father and mother had settled and become firmly middle class. He was tall, about 6’1” but perhaps just a bit more with a lithe frame and with some musculature though he was by no means one gifted to be a true athlete. His features were fine and sharp with a pale complexion and fine blond hair. He had a well sculpted face and though not at all feminine he was not what one would call overly masculine. He turned eighteen early in his senior year and this had bought him some initial popularity as he could buy alcohol but that soon waned. He had always been shy and so it surprised him one day when hi sister called him in the first week of October from university to tell him she had helped to arrange a surprise and that a friend of his, Priya, had set up the very idea. He was to travel with them in one week, to see small resort several hours north.

Priya and he had been friends since they met eight years prior when she came to his elementary school. She was outspoken and intelligent and the two had bonded immediately though they contrasted in many ways. Physically she was petite and feminine in every way with no androgyny to speak of. Her complexion a fine color like that of cinnamon. She was outspoken and vigorous about stating her opinions and able to talk to anyone with ease I contrast to Victor who was sometimes shy. Yet they were able to form a bond in terms of being older than their respective classmates, though not by much, as well as being from immigrant families and speaking different languages.

The idea came as a shock to Victor but he was certainly open to it. His sister, Any, had always been supportive of her younger brother and despite an age difference of four years he always felt that he could come to her for advice in comfort and ease. One would be hard pressed not to assume they were related by looking at them as they shared some physical features though Anna was the more practical and wished to be a researcher while victor pursued softer studies. He hoped one day to be a human rights lawyer and Anna was the only one in full support of this. His father and mother thought he ought to go for the highest paid position and not pursue lofty ambitions. After all this is how they had overcome their initial poverty.

The week passed an Victor was excited to see his older sister once more. He had asked Priya about the details of the trip though she had been reluctant to share too much. She had told he conservative parents she was going with a girlfriend and suggested that he find a suitable person to use as an alibi as well. It would be fun she was sure but she did not want to arouse suspicions in their school nor to raise alarms about the seemingly odd group going. Since unattached straight men are usually not invited on trips with women whom they are not seeing intimately. Nor was it at all usual that his older sister was going. However none of them were bothered by this, all of them knew each other too well for that. Sometimes the assumptions of others are off base. In this case though expectations would indeed conflict with reality.

When Friday night of the next weekend came Victor hugged his parents goodbye before descending the steps of the house to the waiting car below. Priya and his friend Paul were in front and Victor got in the back with his small backpack. His parents warned him to be aware of bears and be careful one last time and then they waved the small group off. It was not three blocks before they dropped off Paul and changed the GPS to the coordinates of his sister’s school. It would be an hour before they even got there and then another three to the cabin. It would be a remote place for certain and cold this time of year, there would likely be frost. Eventually they reached the apartment near his sister’s campus. The sun was beginning to set and the sky had turned a variety of beautiful and fiery colors. They would soon be in wild lands. They called and waited and in a few minutes Anna appeared closing the door with grace and nearly bounding down the steps with a smile on her pale face. She dropped her bag into the trunk and then took her place in the back seat. Pleasantries were exchanged and short laughs were had.

The group set off in the now near darkness. Victor was having one of the most pleasant times that he could remember as they chatted in the car and share old memories. Priya and Anna having many to share themselves with Anna being like an older sister to Priya as well in many ways. Priya was the oldest in her house too and of course was often in need of advice when she was younger, about boys, makeup, or the life in Canada her parents were reticent to teach her off. They knew each other well and their friendship had grown from a the role of mentor and student to a more genuine and equal footing.

It was past nine when they arrived at side road leading down a path which terminated in a large packed earth parking lot and a small set of beautiful and carefully made wooden buildings with a set of four small cabins. Priya steered the care to the left into the parking lot and then up to the main building. Stopping the car she turns the keys and stops the engine.

“I’ll just be a few minutes, I need to check us in and get the keys before we can go the cabin” Priya anounced with a small smile before opening the door and departing into the cold night.

“So in all seriousness, Anna, what prompted this trip?” Asked victor.

“In all seriousness I just felt the need to get away. We just had a round of exams and I wanted to let off some stress and see people I knew well. We all need comfort.

“That is true. I actually came along partly to see you, we haven’t talked in a while and I am sorry for that.”

“It’s ok, I am sure you are busy at school. Have you met any girls?”

“I know them all at this point I think. I really only talk to Priya.”

“Do you still mostly hang out with Paul, Kendrick, and Mit?”

“For the most part yes.”

“How are things with you and Vanessa, are you still fighting?”

“No, we patched...”

The car door opens interrupting and Priya returns with the keys.

“I’m back it’s cabin number four.” She presents the cabin key before starting the car and then engaging it. She backs out of the parking space and drive parallel to large main building before making a left and then a right and parking in front of raised wooden cabin with small windows and a propane tank beside it.

“We’re here she announces and turns off the car. The group exits, each stretching upon their immediate exit. Priya and Victor walk around to the trunk while Anna grabs her articles from the seat beside her in the rear of the car. Finished with unloading the group climbs the stairs and approaches a beautifully finished door made of thick planks of wood.

“I can’t believe we got this for such a price” Victor muses.

Priya unlocks the door and they enter the cabin. It is a cozy space but more than suitable for four and lightly decorated with the beauty and finish of the construction materials playing the main role in the aesthetic. There is a small wood stove on one side and s small gas stove next to it giving choice to the renters. On each side of the main room are two sets of beds with bunk pressed against the wall on the right where the wood stove allows more room. Past the gas stove on the left is a small bathroom with a toilet sink and shower. The general amenities of civilization all seem present in the small retreat. It’s warm inside as the heat was left on for them. They pick their beds and with the ample choice there is no difficulty, the women choose the beds on the left and Victor picks the right. They each take their turns bathing and changing into night clothes and Priya turns up the heat to allow for the light bedclothes she packed.

A bottle of wine is opened and shared among them while they talk of old times and laugh while reminiscing. They talk about the time Priya developed a deep crush on her math teacher. They talk about Victor’s infatuation with skateboarding when he was younger and his broken ankle. They finish with more pleasant stories as they finish the bottle and then brush their teeth and turn in to sleep. They all sleep soundly after being thoroughly exhausted by the day and the enjoyment of each other’s company. They awake in the morning and Priya announced that there is a free breakfast the first day. So they dress in the bathroom and depart to the main building, walking down the bumpy earthen path and ascend the flight of stairs opening the main door. A young woman in her twenties with a plump frame attends the desk. Priya talks to her and hands her some papers and the young woman directs them to the left hand hallways. They walk up a short amount of stair and see two rooms. Priya indicated that they should head to the send and they do. She claims they should be seated and make small talk while they wait. Suddenly they are interrupted by three women.

“Is this the one one?” A tall and strongly featured woman asks them.

“Yes it’s him. Victor my little brother.” Anna answers smiling from ear to ear. One of the women makes a note on a small clipboard.

“What is this?” asked the poor, confused victor.

“It’s just something we arranged for you.” said Priya with a smile.

“I don’t understand, is this like an intervention? You both know I never do anything.”

“We know Vic. But this isn’t about that, imagine it as a different kind of intervention. You see we both know the lessons you got from mom and dad growing up and we think that a bit of modernity might help you. It might help you loose your virginity too.”

“You tokd her?” Victor turns to Priya with a hurt expression.

“I knew Victor.” Anna assures him

“pleasure just trust us.”Priya assures him and places her hand on his shoulder.

“Is this a brothel did you hire a prostitute for me.” Victor asks.

Priya laughs and shakes her head at him and Anna smiles knowingly. The other women seem to be amused as well and one lets out a small giggle.

“No it’s not that.” Priya assures him.

“Just trust us. It’s more of a workshop on social skills” Anna assures him.

“Alright I’ll trust you for now.” Victor says, still nervous.

“Don’t worry your sister is mostly right.” The lead woman in the group assures him.

“Besides we have the car keys until tomorrow evening so why don’t you follow us?” She adds and turns to leave the room. Priya and Anna stand immediately to follow. Victor is reticent at first but Anna and Priya pull reassuringly on his arms and soon he stands and begins to follow.

The end of part one.

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novantinuum · 4 years ago

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (I have upped the rating in consideration of sensitive topics I aim to depict later on.)

Words: 6.4K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which history is written on the walls.

Some of my other fics have been showing up in the tags when I use the link post option, so I’m doing an experiment this time. Fingers crossed it shows! If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Chapter 12: Beta, Part 3

Having long since heeded Ruby’s advice to take a mental break, Steven sits criss-cross with his back pressed against the hodgepodge aquarium. If you ask him, this position is a two-in-one miracle, allowing him both an unobstructed view of the doorway, and sparing him from the deep rooted horror of the creepy dismantled plush still floating an aimless arc through the tank. He loves Peridot to death, but good golly, this latest meep morp is deeply unsettling. He shudders at the mere thought of its water-logged stuffing oozing out from the seams, and then— inhaling deep through his nose— steers his focus back to the phone clasped tightly between his fidgety fingers.

Back to the story, you doofus.

With nothing better to do for the moment and a hyperactive mind to satiate, he’s finally started to read the Unfamiliar Familiar fanfic that Connie sent him a link to a few days before. True to her words, it’s super, super good. Well written, great characterization, and best of all, the author keeps throwing in hints of future romance between Lisa and Archimicarus! Considering that, he’s almost surprised Connie likes this fic so much. She’s normally not much of a shipper. To be fair though, romance definitely isn’t the point of the story. Instead, it’s an AU focused on the mystery of the main character’s origins.

He can’t help but let out a sympathetic sigh as— in chapter 5– Lisa tries to calmly explain to her fellow Stonehearth Coven members that somehow her father, the revered founder of the coven, used to be a prince of the wicked Arcane Court. Most of her once-close friends don’t swallow the news well. As a result, Lisa is left alone to seek the truth of her father’s past, with no allies except her trusted familiar at her side. Lip quivering, he presses his thumb solid against his phone’s screen for a while, as if yearning to reach a healing hand beyond the barrier between fiction and reality and let the young witch know she’s not alone, that he sees and supports her. He makes a mental note to thank Connie profusely for sending along this really good fic, and presses on to the next chapter.

He’s halfway to the end of it when Peridot returns.

For someone who appeared super frazzled by Lapis’s terror-struck outbursts the last time she stood at his side, she sure seems fit as a fiddle now, walking with a slight bounce in her step as she crosses past the fence line and onto the property. At least, he assumes she is. He can’t help but immediately doubt this assessment when she spots him sitting against the inner wall of the barn with that piercing focus of hers and bounds through the doorway like a Gem fleeing the apocalypse.

“Steven, Steven, Steven, Steven!” she cries as she runs to his side, flapping her arms urgently.

Practically tossing his phone to the ground to free his hands for combat, he leaps to his feet so fast that his head grows woozy. His rose-thorned shield shimmers into tangible existence in front of his barred fist.

“What, what is it?” he exclaims, the pounding of his heart devolving into an untamable cacophony as all his darkest fears rear their ugly heads at once. “Is- is it Lapis? Did she leave anyways?”

“Uh, no…?”

“Or, or, or- are we under attack?!”

“Steven, I—“

“Who’s here for me this time?” he blurts, grabbing his friend’s shoulders. “Is it Homeworld? Jasper? The Diamonds? Tell meeee!” he whines, roughly shaking her.

“I- No one? It’s no one!” Peridot exclaims when her head finally stops jostling back and forth under his force, waves of confusion coloring her expression. “I’m… just happy to be back?”

His cheeks burn red as he drinks in her obvious statement and eventually catches his breath. He lets go of her. “O-oh,” he stammers, willing the shield floating before him to disappear into glimmers of light and desperately wishing he could do the same at this precise moment of existence. “Okay. Glad to see you back! Did, uh… did you find Lapis?”

She nods in confirmation, but visibly deflates a little at the reminder of her roommate. “Yeah, she’s perched in a tree in the woods. She said she wanted some ‘alone time,’” she emphasizes with air quotes.

Steven clasps his fingers together in front of him as he lets this news sink in, digits tussling without end for the most comfortable alignment. Bleeding heart that he is, he hates the idea of letting anyone be alone, especially after a revelation this jarring, but he must admit that he himself found some comfort in solitude the night his human half took for the beach, inert diamond in hand. If anything else, it was nice to retreat from all the noise, to allow himself the opportunity to form his own opinions about the situation. Perhaps it’ll be beneficial for her, too.

“That’s understandable,” he says, glancing out the barn door towards the forest his friend is taking refuge in. “She’s been through a lot.”

He squats to pick up his phone from the floorboards then, frowning as he notices a fresh crack on the glass at the corner of the screen. Knowing that— despite his desperate desires— there’s nothing he can do to fix this right now, he shoves it in his pocket and pushes against his knees to stand up. The bottom of his shirt catches on his arm as he does so, briefly exposing the unfamiliar facets of his rotated gem. Peridot’s brows nearly shoot above the upper rim of her visor.

“So,” she begins, nodding towards his stomach. “Your gem.”

With a tired sigh, he tugs his shirt back down. Boy, does he already know where this conversation is heading, and boy, is he sick of having to walk everyone through it. “Yup,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ and getting ready to deploy the exasperated eye roll.

“All this time everyone thought you were a hybrid quartz, but now you’re telling me…”

“...that I’m actually a dia—“

“...that I, Peridot, certified Kindergartener, a skilled specialist on every variety of Gem to ever exist, was wrong??”

“Hold on, what?”

She holds her hand over the diamond emblazoned on her chest as she passionately continues, wholly oblivious to Steven’s bemusement. “I was the brightest Gem of my cut back on Homeworld, and yet somehow I mistook a perfectly formed diamond for a quartz! Ah, hahahah!” Eyes glinting with what he can only describe as a borderline feral energy, she moves to clutch at the sides of her head, thick tufts of lemon yellow spilling out from between her fingers. “Oh, my stars. I’ve lost my touch!”

“Wait, who’s out of touch?” Ruby’s curious voice chimes from nearby. Overjoyed to see her again, Steven whirls to face her with a huge grin as she enters the barn and lounges against one of the support beams, propping a hand on her hip.

“I- it’s nothing important,” Peridot mutters, flushing as she smooths her hair back into place.

Immediately making note of the hint of shame dancing across her features, he nods. “Yeah, we were just chit-chatting! Hey, how’s Amethyst doing, though? You went to talk to her, right?”

Ruby huffs in frustration at the mention of the quartz Gem, grinding her boots against the floor so hard that for a second he’s genuinely concerned she might spark a fire under her very feet. “Tried to. But then she slashed her whip towards me and said I couldn’t help her, so ‘go away!’” she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air. “Can you believe it? I’m trying to provide some love and support, and she, she just- tells me to scram!”

“Aw, that’s not very nice,” he says with a frown, feeling his heart pulse in sympathy as she begins to pace back and forth across the wooden slats, grumbling under her breath.

“What’s her problem today, anyways?” Peridot asks, crossing her arms. “She’s usually much more amicable.”

Steven nibbles at the inside of his lip as he considers the concerning downward trajectory of Amethyst’s recent behavior. Sure, she can sometimes get snippy when she’s in a bad place, but this past week her outward attitude has built into a continuous problem. He himself has been on the receiving end of her acerbic words more than a few times, such as that afternoon they goaded each other into a duel at the Sky Arena, and that barbed retort she pierced him with at the fountain. Then there’s her fight with Pearl, her resulting emotional seclusion, today’s callous treatment of Peridot, Lapis, Ruby…

He desperately wishes he could pin all the blame for this on a single person, a single event, (because oh, wouldn’t that make his life so much easier), but when he tracks the evidence of her unrest it becomes blindingly clear that her problems began long before Rose’s betrayal was revealed.

“Well, beyond all the, uh… latest stuff, she’s been super insecure about Jasper,” he offers. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his flip flops rhythmically clapping against his heels, he rummages his brain for the easiest way to explain the root of the situation. “Basically, Jasper took Amethyst out in a fight a week ago, and ever since that she’s been training super hard a whole lot. I think she’s desperate for a rematch, to prove she’s good enough.”

“Wait, wait, wait—“ The green Gem holds her hands out, palms open. “You’re telling me she’s got an inferiority complex about Jasper? With where she came from?” She lets out a raucous peel of laughter, holding her sides. “Oh Amethyst! That’s ridiculous! She was made way better than that clod.”

He squints at her inquisitively, crossing his arms as he tries to make sense of the interesting new conversation thread that just flowed out of her mouth. “But what do you mean, where she came from? Isn’t she from Homeworld, like you?”

Ruby freezes in place upon hearing this question, clear worry threaded through her creased browline. Her mouth bobs open as if she’s gearing up to answer his question, but amidst her hesitation— a timidness that, the more he thinks about it, is bizarrely out of place from the bold, confident Gem Steven’s gotten to know from all the other times Garnet’s unfused— Peridot beats her to the charge.

“Pfft, are you kidding? She emerged right here from Earth, and not even from its good kindergarten!”

He slams his hands against his cheeks, internally reeling from this revelation. “There’s other kindergartens?”

“Well, sure! There was supposed to be one in every facet. Until the rebellion put a swift end to the Diamonds’ colonization efforts, that is,” she adds quickly, adjusting her visor. “There’s Amethyst’s Prime Kindergarten in Facet Five, but there’s also the Beta Kindergarten in Facet Nine. And that piece of work is where Jasper was made… poorly!” Giggling in excitement, she rapidly shuffles her feet beneath her. The glimmer of light reflected in her eyes is bright enough to rival a distant star. “You guys have to see it!”

Steven balls up his hand at his chin, deliberating. He has to admit, after the recent emotional upheaval that he now can’t help but associate with this place, he really likes the idea of spending time somewhere other than the barn.

“Huh. Might be worth asking if she wants to check it out,” he says with a shrug. “Ruby, you in?”

The Gem in question nibbles at the corner of her lip, humming low under her breath as she considers his offer. A small bead of sweat hangs above her brow. Sporting a good natured grin, he nudges her in the side with his elbow, hoping he can cheer her up a bit.

“A little more time with your favorite Steven and Peri? Eh? Come on, you know you wanna!”

“Do it, do it!” Peridot chimes in, pumping her fists up and down.

He eagerly joins in with her rallying cry, and in no time at all they’re both circling around their friend chanting those very words. Ruby stands center with her arms crossed and her back erect, desperately trying not to break her stoic facade with a smile. It’s ultimately futile, of course. After all, no one can resist the good ol’ Universe charm forever!

“All right, fine, fine, I’ll come,” she finally acquiesces, and with a smirk, plants both her hands on her hips. “After all, someone’s gotta keep an eye on all you trouble makers!”

Now that Ruby’s officially on board, the trio ventures outside to find Amethyst, Steven and Peridot giggling as they begin to skip around the perimeter of the barn side by side, arms linked together. Brushing a few flyaway curls out of his face amidst the comforting breeze, he glances over his shoulder when they reach the first corner to make sure they’re not leaving their friend in the dust. And thankfully she’s right on their tail, but he can’t help but notice her enthusiasm seems muted. He presses his lips together in concern. Does she not want to go with them? Is he only forcing her into this? His stomach twists with guilt as he ponders this quandary further. It’s not his intention to be pushy, but maybe— between coercing Amethyst to take a break and accompany him to the barn, begging Lapis to stay, and now, nudging Ruby to come to the Kindergarten— he’s only being selfish and manipulative about all this. He thought he was bringing people together, but what if he’s wrong? What if he’s only straining relationships, tainting the already tense atmosphere, making everything worse?

(What if this is the same sort of excuse his mom Rose used to make?)

With Amethyst slashing her whip at a few old rusted cans in the clearing before them, however, there’s no time to waste drowning within what-ifs. It’s like that day he learned about Garnet’s future vision for the first time: if he lets himself get tangled up in the possibilities he’ll never truly live. He sighs under his breath, lips pursed. Of course. Garnet’s right even when she isn’t here. As much as he’d love to go crazy psychoanalyzing the impact of every solitary step he makes, at this point he’s made his choices and whatever happens, happens. It’s time to live now.

Initially, the purple Gem is rather indignant at the idea that the three of them were gossiping about her behind her back— eyes clouded with hurt— but once Peridot explains that the point of their proposed Kindergarten field trip is to check out Jasper’s no-doubt lame hole, she blinks away her bitterness and seems to eagerly climb aboard.

“Sure, why not? ‘S not like there’s anything more fun than roasting your enemies.”

“I strongly agree,” Peridot says, nodding with pride.

But before the newly expanded Shorty Squad can begin their journey, there’s something Steven really needs to address. Something that’s been troubling him all day. Nervous butterflies filling his stomach, he leans up close to his sibling-in-crime and whispers so the others don’t hear:

“Amethyst, can I talk to you for a bit before we leave?”

Her expression curdles, but thankfully, unlike in Ruby’s unfortunate account, she doesn’t make a move towards her whip to push him away. Instead, she meets him with a gaze so hardened and difficult to read that his eyes can’t help but drift away, perhaps a little intimidated by the intensity of this contact.

“Yeah, I guess,” she mutters eventually. She flicks her wrist up at the other two, gesturing for them to get a move on. “Go on ahead. We’ll catch up.”

Ruby and Peridot nod, the red Gem with a good deal more sympathy drawn on her face, (but for him or Amethyst?), and promptly set off towards the warp pad. He continues to watch until they disappear beyond the curve of the grassy hillside, both conversing comfortably. The last he hears before the warp shoots its cyan stream of light into the sky is a hooting laugh from Ruby. Despite how non-ideal this visit has been so far, he can’t help the smile stretching across his cheeks, or how his chest grows all warm and fuzzy. It’s really nice to see Peridot getting along so well with the others now. She’s made such huge strides in the past few months.

Something metallic clangs behind him. Flinching, Steven whirls around. A crumpled, abused soda can lays overturned by the side of the barn. Amethyst— arms crossed tight just under her gem and her hair more spiked and untamed than usual— glares at that poor hunk of tin as if it’s solely to blame for all of this galaxy’s problems. She moves to lean against the barn’s outer wall and peers at him expectantly, like a troubled child expecting judgement from a parental figure.

“So. You wanted to talk,” she says, tone clipped.

“I… wanted to be honest,” he mutters, threading his fingers together as he grasps for how best to word this. “Amethyst… I know you’ve been going through some hard stuff lately. I know everything that’s happened in the past few days doesn’t help. But you’ve been so inconsiderate of like, everyone here.” He swings his arm in a wide gesture towards the barn. “Peridot and Lapis didn’t deserve the way you treated them earlier.”

No response.

Steven frowns, and— a glimmer of quiet frustration bubbling deep within him, the sort he’d never admit to out loud but can’t help but harbor whenever he catches wind of small injustices that he can never seem to fix— scratches an burgeoning itch at the nape of his neck. He… oh stars, he’s going about this completely wrong, isn’t he? He’s being too confrontational. Hmm. Maybe he should try a new angle. Time for take two.

“I know you only acted that way because you’re hurting and don’t wanna think about it,” he continues, “but please, you don’t have to box your emotions away like that. I wanna help. I wanna listen.”

Slowly, gently, he moves to place a hand on her shoulder. It feels like a small victory when she doesn’t shift upon his touch.

“Believe me, you’re not alone in feeling this way.”

Again, nothing. She’s not even looking at him right now, and her jaw’s locked. Even her form feels tense under his fingers, with hard light pulsing back and forth under her illusory skin at an alarmingly unusual pace.

He sighs, gaze dropping towards the ground, towards the battered can she kicked aside earlier. “I’m worried, y’know? But... I understand if you’re not ready to talk… about Jasper, and—“

“Oh, hoh! That’s rich!” she explodes suddenly, jerking her arm away. “You seriously wanna bury your head in the sand and pretend this is just about Jasper?”

He tiptoes away from her rush of anger, eyes growing puffy. “I—“

“You wanna know how I feel, Steven? About your mom, and the whole awful mess she made? Do you really? ‘Cause I don’t have a single CLUE what I should feel anymore!”

Amethyst pauses for breath amidst her tirade, briefly locking sight with him with a glimmer of hurt reflected in her violet irises, showing that deep underneath all those twisted layers of anger and resentment she’s just another scared, abandoned Gem like him.

“Rose was everything to me, okay?” she says, throwing her palms wide for emphasis. “And all this time, I thought she was the one Crystal Gem who could be real with me. The only one who wouldn’t sugarcoat things or treat me like a baby. ‘Oh, you’re perfect the way you are, Amethyst!’” she coos in a fake, silky-sweet voice, cupping her cheeks as she openly mocks the very Gem who gave her life so he could exist. “You’re such a strong little quartz, you mean so much to me!’ Hah!”

She pauses to force a bitter laugh, clenching her hands into insufferably tight fists.

“And wasn’t that just a huge load of silt,” she spits, staring off into the rosy distance as if it were but a cruel mirage, the pain more than evident in the taut features of her face. “All along I thought she was this great, faultless person, just like you did. Except she wasn’t. She’s a liar, like everyone else. I’m worthless, just like Jasper said… and Rose knew it.”

Hesitantly, compassionately— heart breaking for the internal struggle she’s caught within, a struggle he intimately relates to— he tries once more to reach out in comfort.

“Amethyst…”

She sniffles, wiping away the leaking fluid pooling at the corners of her eyes.

(She does not, however, brush him away this time when he wraps his arms around her torso and nestles his head against her chest.)

“Just— forget it, okay?” she says after a quiet moment’s embrace, gently stepping back from his affection. “It’s whatever. Come on, Peridot and Ruby are waiting for us. Let’s dump this joint.”

__________

Ruby quietly shuffles across the loose soil, directing her eyes as low to the ground as possible to avoid having to stare at the Beta Kindergarten’s steep cliff walls. Red sandstone, Peridot proclaims a few feet away to their newly arrived sightseers, whirling in place with her arms extended wide. We’re lucky this place hasn’t blown away. Beta, am I right?

Steven manages a soft laugh at this. Amethyst continues onward with her arms crossed, unimpressed. But Ruby herself? Well, she’s the only Gem here who can say she crossed this infamous swath of sedimentary rock at its very beginning, on the day of emergence. The others may choose to laugh about how soft and unideal the soaring sandstone cliffs are, or about the uneven exit holes and curved walls, but in her opinion it’s no laughing matter. She’s seen firsthand how deadly even a so-called ‘imperfect’ Homeworld soldier can be. Even Garnet barely escaped with her gems intact.

Nervously flexing her fingers at her side as she tries not to dwell on that tragedy, she flashes her gaze upward, daring to catch even a passing glimpse of the top of the vast canyon. In an instant her vision swims with endless pillars of rusty oranges and reds.

Everything on this planet might as well tower over her without Sapphire. The once-welcoming arms of their temple? Monolithic. The vaulted ceilings of the beach house? Her eidetic memory can’t help but remind her of her early days spent marching through Homeworld’s diamond sized hallways with the rest of her squadron, patrolling the same route for well over five hundred cycles straight. The kicker? The Diamonds never had any reason to visit the shipment sector in person, anyways. The hallways were only constructed with such high ceilings to remind any Gem passing through of their rightful place under the Authority.

Over two hundred years, she adhered to their twisted rhetoric. Two hundred years of allowing everyone and everything around her to make her feel small, like she only existed for a singular purpose. Two hundred years of ignoring the tug of dissatisfaction at the core of her gem because of the misplaced belief that orderly subjugation under the Diamonds was simply the rightful pattern of existence. Then, in a beautiful bloom of light… she caught a glimpse of true freedom. And for the five thousand seven hundred years after that, Garnet didn’t feel quite so small anymore. She felt capable, confident, satisfied. Aided by Ruby’s physical strength and Sapphire’s future vision, she finally dared to challenge Homeworld’s rhetoric. She dared to live for herself.

Sighing under her breath, Ruby touches her fingers to the place in her right palm where her missing gem is, tracing the triangular shape of its illusory facets.

There’s no use arguing; Garnet was a better Crystal Gem than she can ever hope to be on her own. And now, because Rose just had to go and manipulate all of them, there’s a strong chance she’ll never get to be Garnet with her Sapphy ever again. Which means that until further notice, she’s stuck like this: short, stubby, and woefully insecure. Hah! Figures. All those years spent fighting against Homeworld’s warped notion that Gems had stagnant purposes and couldn’t grow beyond their stations, and now it’s as if she’s been dumped back at the beginning, like the past five millennia never happened.

It’s a cruel irony.

And yet it’s no crueler than this awful place: a cradle of birth manufactured as a tool of war, a Gem’s very existence leeching the life out of this once-fertile ground. The scars on the walls tell a mournful story, and as Ruby slowly trudges after her loved ones, fingers numb and fidgety in the wake of haunted disorientation, she can’t help but wish she wasn’t present for its prologue.

“Ruby…?”

Her sight trains on one of the tilted exit holes closest to ground level, on the messy silhouette it provides. She remembers this one, in fact, Garnet watched her emerge. She was a carnelian. By Homeworld’s standards, an imperfect one. That doesn’t matter, though. None of Homeworld’s lies matter. Running on nothing but the primary orders she was incubated with, (it wasn’t her fault, it was the Diamonds’, she reminds herself with a bitter growl), that Gem still emerged to poof three fellow rebels on sight. If Garnet hadn’t been so quick to retrieve their gemstones, they might have been shattered that day. Many of the others assigned to her squadron weren’t as lucky. Inhaling shakily, Ruby pauses to trace her fingers across a raised ridge in the rough, brittle sandstone.

“Hey, Ruby!” his energetic voice calls again, snapping her out of her intense focus like a fusion splitting in half.

“Aaaah!” she cries, swinging around and pulling both fists up in defense. Her hands uncoil rapidly once she catches a glimpse of that cheery yellow star.

Aw, scrap! she chides herself, repositioning her feet solid on the ground to regain some sense of internal balance. Damned startle reflex.

Unfazed, Steven grins boyishly, skipping a few steps away from the rest of the group to join her by the cliff wall. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Amethyst and Peridot are watching now too, she realizes, her brief but audible outburst thoroughly diverting their attention from their Beta Kindergarten roast session. Their quizzical glances pin her in place, her hard-light form heating in embarrassment as she struggles to organize the flow of her emotions in a way that might make sense to anyone beyond a fellow ruby. She scrunches up her nose and considers her next words carefully, attempting to strike the proper boundary between what is and isn’t appropriate to say in front of a half-human child. Stars knows Amethyst, Pearl, and herself haven’t had a great record with that over the past few days.

“Just thinkin’ about Sapphire, mostly,” she admits, offering him a saddened shrug. “Can’t seem to stop that, even half a world away.”

“Speaking of that... Why did you run after us?” Amethyst asks in a notably less cranky manner than earlier, lightly kicking at the dirt with the toes of her booties. “You never said.”

“Y’know, I…” She pauses, pressing her hand to her chin. “I’m not sure. I spent days waiting in front of the temple door. And eventually, I guess I figured that if she’s gonna make me wait no matter what, I might as well do something with myself until then. ‘Sides, I didn’t want to be lonely,” she adds, suddenly feeling just as small and vulnerable in front of all of them as her timid voice sounds.

She felt lonely enough when she ran away from home a few days ago, tears streaming in messy rivulets down her face, utterly spurning their attempts at comfort so she could pretend she was anything else than powerless amidst this nightmare. She never wanted to split, not at all. She begged Sapphire to give their relationship another chance, to believe in the strength of their love more than the fear of a diamond’s control, but tragically, her partner couldn’t hold up under the pressure. If one individual doesn’t wholeheartedly want to be Garnet, then Garnet cannot exist. They can’t synchronize. It’s simply the nature of fusion. And given her love’s avoidance, refusing to so much as leave her room to begin with, Ruby’s beginning to lose hope that their fusion will ever exist again. The crippling isolation that realization affords is the worst form of loneliness she can imagine.

Thus, the least she can do at the moment to mitigate these all-consuming feelings is to get off her butt, leave the temple, and ensure she’s surrounded by loved ones.

Peridot steeples her fingers together in front of her chest. “Well, what if you moved in with us?” she offers in a meek tone at first, her expression brightening as she continues to explain her idea. “The barn’s got plenty of room, and with two roommates you’d never have to feel lonely again!”

Steven’s dark irises practically sparkle. “Aww, Peridot, that’s super sweet of you to offer!”

“Wow, thanks,” she replies earnestly, puffing out her chest in a rush of personal pride. “I do try!”

“Yeah!” Ruby says with a hesitant laugh, scratching at the back of her neck. “That sounds amazing, but…”

“You should do it, Ruby!” he encourages, bouncing up and down on his sandaled feet amidst his excitement. “You should totally move in with them!”

“D’ya… d’ya really think so?”

“Yeah! It’d be like your very own vacation, but you’d only be a warp away!”

“And you’re sure you’d be fine with it? Y’know, with everything at home all…” She blows a juicy raspberry, jabbing her thumb down.

Amethyst serves her a big shrug. “I ain’t got a problem. Go crazy.”

“There’s no need to worry about me,” Steven says, smiling evenly. “I only want what’s best for you. And if you think not staying in the temple all the time would make you feel better, you should give it a try!”

Her concerned glance drops on the young half-Gem. Sure, it’s very compassionate of him, actively choosing to care so deeply for everyone’s emotional needs all the time, but home life for him hasn’t exactly been nurturing and hospitable lately. He already lost one of his pillars of stability when Garnet unfused. Pearl and Amethyst are at each other’s necks again. Sapphire hasn’t emerged from her room for days. Greg’s… doing whatever it is Greg does when he’s not hanging out with his son, probably keeping his distance from Gem business as usual. So with all that in mind, even if temporarily living apart from Sapphire is sure to be a beneficial move for her personal well-being and sanity, is now actually the proper time to consider a change in scenery? She purses her lips.

“I’ll think about it.”

Peridot lets out a sharp squeal of delight, apparently ecstatic about the prospect of possibly gaining a new roommate. Ruby can’t help but grin at this response. In truth, if she didn’t have to consider the well-being of Steven and the rest of the Crystal Gems, she’d say yes in a heartbeat. After all, she’s never gotten the opportunity to make many decisions on her own. Heck, she’s never gotten the opportunity to do much of anything on her own. Every time she’s unfused within the last five thousand years, her priorities have always been about what Sapphire would want, what Sapphire would do.

Well, what about Ruby, this time? Aren’t her desires important? What does she want?

Long term… she has no clue. But right now? She’d prefer to avoid dire reminders of old sorrows at all costs, thank you. So when Peridot declares that she’s 99.9% positive she’s found Jasper’s exit hole, Ruby declines to join them in their roast session. She never came here for sightseeing, anyways. She came here as their lookout. Just in case. She’s never trusted this awful tear in the ground one bit, and she’s not about to start now.

Running instinctively on old programming she was incubated with, she creeps deeper between the narrow mouth of the cliffs and summons her gauntlets at her side. Sure, so maybe they’re not as daunting in their size as Garnet’s, but they can still pack one heck of a punch. She’s still good at punching on her own, yeah? Hopefully? Stars, it’s been so long since she’s gone solo for more than a few measly hours.

And then, at the cliff base in front of her, she spots the most unusual exit hole she’s seen in this miserable canyon yet. For one, it’s low to the ground, like Amethyst’s. That fact alone is enough to set off alarm bells in her head. On top of that, its silhouette is almost comically wide and indistinct, not resembling any cut of Gem she’s aware of.

“Huh. That’s different,” she murmurs, pacing closer to investigate.

Maybe an off-color topaz could punch a hole as wide as this? But… no, no. That can’t be right. Hard light coursing wildly through her form, Ruby dissipates one of her gauntlets and runs the tips of her fingers across the crumbly inside surface of this hole. A few granules of sandstone break off upon her touch and clatter against the ground, and she jerks her hand away as if touching impossibly cold ice. Something about this feels... wrong. To be fair, she’s no expert kindergartener like Peridot, but she’s pretty confident the interior of exit holes should be smooth, with striated rock layers extending all the way back. Instead, this bizarre scar in the cliffs almost seems like—

“It’s dug out,” she says, eyes widening in dawning horror.

Which means they may not be alone in this rusted relic of a Kindergarten after all.

Her body suddenly feeling staticky and unbalanced amidst all this damning uncertainty, she tiptoes away from this mysterious feature, slowly at first, and then— as the fear begins to bubble up within her core like boiling water transformed under her power— transitioning into a sprint. We’re not alone, she repeats to herself in a harried mantra. Not alone. Not alone, we’re not alone, we’re—

Ruby’s foot catches on an uneven lip of stone jutting up from the ground, and she quickly plows headfirst into the coarse dirt, promptly ending her terror-stricken flight.

“Ow,” she whines as she recovers from this fall, rubbing at the side of her head. Not only is she a little dizzy, but her surroundings are made further hazy amidst the overbearing sunlight pounding indiscriminately upon the ground floor of this canyon. It’s enough disorientation to allow the jumbled code of her gem to begin to play tricks on her. For one, she swears she can hear this low, timid skittering, like thick claws rhythmically scraping against rock. Second, she’s half-convinced she can feel a surplus of physical vibrations radiating from the cliffs surrounding her. Squinting, she shields her eyes under a raised arm so she can begin to gain her bearings again. The blinding light recedes.

The red Gem gulps fearfully amidst the burning colors of the harsh sandstone landscape. “Wait, is that—“

She’s stumbled her way into a massive clearing, lined on all sides by stacked rows of holes physically dug into the sheer walls. Each opening is barred by a number of thick metal rods, stripped from the legs of the injectors that once incubated this hell in the first place. The thoughtful engineering imbued in this setup is impressive and terrifying all at once. Ignoring the tangible tug of hesitation at her core, she pushes herself back on her feet and creeps towards the closest cage to investigate further.

“Uh, you guys?” she calls loudly as she walks, the unusual curves of this canyon an undisputed blessing as they carry her message back to the others.

“Yeah?” Amethyst chimes back, her voice notably distant. Too distant.

“We’ve got, um—” her hand glides across one of the bent, rusty bars— “a bit of a problem here?”

“What?? Speak louder, we can’t hear you!”

Before she can even prepare to reply, a fur-covered monstrous creature leaps from the shadowy abyss of its prison and snaps its tusks at her. She yells, jerking her hand away from the cage and stumbling a few feet back. Her brow creases in abject confusion as she attempts to process what she’s seeing in front of her. It’s… it’s a corrupted Gem? This one’s most definitely a quartz; she recognizes the faceting, as well as the distinctive fur-covered quadrupedal shape of its corrupted form. But why on Earth is it being trapped within a cage in the middle of a defunct kindergarten instead of being placed in a bubble’s comforting stasis? The ground beneath her feet grows noticeably warmer as a rush of impassioned anger surges through her hard light form. She grinds her teeth together, flexing her fists at her side in the name of this cruel injustice. Caging isn’t part of Crystal Gem protocol for a reason!

Unfortunately, the horror show continues as her gaze passes over each and every cage in this clearing, finding scared, thrashing, corrupted Gems in almost all of them. Fluid builds up at the corner of her eyes as they scream and wail at her, riding a fresh wave of cacophony spurned by that Gem she spooked just a moment ago. How could anyone ever build such an awful place? And why?

Heavy, assured footfalls suddenly bounce across the acoustically encouraging slopes and surfaces of this ravine, magnified tenfold in their wake. Ruby gasps, wasting no time in ducking behind a tall rocky formation at the mouth of the clearing. That’s definitely not Amethyst or any of the others. It sounds too large, too bulky. She kneels low so she can still peek over the topmost layer of sandstone, a knot of dread coiling within as the footfalls continue to grow louder. Groaning, she clutches at her head. The unknown, the impenetrable shadow of the future… stars, it haunts her more than loneliness itself.

And then, the specter of her history reveals herself, making Ruby’s tangible form stutter in the sheer terror her appearance affords.

Jasper— her opponent, her nightmare, the Rebel Slayer herself— emerges from a plume of rising dust at the edge of this populous arena and enters the game.

#su #steven universe #ruby #amethyst #peridot #su fanfiction #my writing stuff #crack the paragon

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maxattack-powell · 4 years ago

Text

Chemical Reaction: Chapter 1

(A Nanny Affair Story)

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Masterlist - go here for other chapters and other Choices fics

Disclaimer: The following chapters are a retelling of characters in the basic nanny plot of Choices: The Nanny Affair. I do not work for Pixelberry Studios, the game developer or own the rights to the characters. All of the ORIGINAL characters, story-lines and events were developed, by me, for this adaptation of my Chemical Reaction story.

NSFW moments in some chapters - Mature Readers Only Please

Paring: Anna Schuyler x Sam Dalton

Word Count: 7048

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Chapter 1

~Anna~

Anna stands and reaches across the desk to shake the extended hand, doing her best to contain her excitement. “Thank you, Mr. Dalton, for this opportunity. I am thrilled to be joining Dalton Enterprises.”

He nods and gives her a small smile, his grey… wait, brown. No. Grey. Yes grey eyes hold hers.

She could swear they just changed colors while he smiled. Shaking her head, she watches him open his mouth to speak, but instead of words, Mr. Dalton starts making a repetitive, obnoxious sound. She recoils, letting go of his hand to cover both ears before closing her eyes to block it out as it gets louder.

Thoroughly confused, Anna doesn't understand why he started making such an unpleasant sound. She opens her eyes intending on asking him to stop, but finds herself staring at a familiar ceiling instead of the infamous billionaire Sam Dalton who was shaking her hand just seconds ago.

“What the hell?” She turns her head sharply to focus on the true source of the abhorrent beeping and is faced with large red digital numbers.

With a sigh she reaches over and forcefully turns off her alarm before letting her arms fall back to her sides with a frown. “Way to ruin the dream of dreams, you infernal machine.”

She blinks only once before bolting upright, turning to look at the time once more as it hits her. “Crap! The interview... I have to get ready!”

Anna quickly grabs her laptop, opening it to find it on the job listing tab she had stared at for over a week. She frowns for a second, remembering enough of the dream she was just having to compare it to reality.

Yes, she was going to interview for a position with Sam Dalton, the CEO of Dalton Enterprises. Dalton’s is one of the top biotech companies in the world, and coincidentally, her dream workplace.

Anna’s eyes scan the job listing once more as she chews on her thumbnail.

Live-In Nanny

Full-time position watching twin seven-year-old boys.

Benefits included

Negotiable salary

Yeah, that's right. Her job interview was for a position working for the Sam Dalton, just not one remotely close to the field she's been working so hard in during grad school. She shakes her head slowly as she reads over the notes she made on a sticky note, currently stuck a little skewed to the screen.

Anna had recently graduated from New York University with a Master of Science in Chemistry. Something that she was hoping would help her get a position at Dalton Enterprises one day. The problem was, no one leaves Dalton’s. It’s an illustrious company, featured in many grad school courses, not to mention professional business and science publications. And thanks to Mr. Dalton himself, more than the occasional news coverage.

It's basically like working for Disney, but less whimsy and way more nerdy tech. Otherwise they are totally the same. At least to this chemistry grad.

“Focus, Anna. You only get one shot at a first impression with Sam Dalton, and you need this job. If he sees how good you are with his kids, maybe you can work your way into an internship after a year… or something.”

She sighs, knowing that she could probably find an entry level position at one of the many labs near New York and be working in her actual field, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. It’s not every day a recent grad student gets a chance to work for their dream company, or at least the CEO of said dream company.

“Okay. Let’s find something professional, something classy… probably wouldn't hurt if it was a little hot..?” She shrugs and gets up to open the closet door. “Whatever it takes to make an impression.” She scrunches up her nose. “Well, not whatever it takes, but close.” She shifts through the items on hangers until something speaks to her.

“Ah, there it is.” Anna pulls a black mini dress with a matching gold plaid blazer out of the small space and assesses the overall look. “Just a few accessories and it will be perfect. Yellow is cheery, it's bright… and more importantly, it will help me stand out.”

Keeping an eye on the time, Anna rushes to get dressed, knowing she will need a few minutes to collect herself once she arrives at the unmistakable Dalton Enterprise building. Time moves too quickly, but she arrives at least fifteen minutes early. She checks her clothes one last time in the glass reflection before entering the building. The lobby is immaculate and modern, but also very alive and warm. It is very Dalton Enterprises.

After exhaling a deep breath, she approaches the front desk. “Hi, I’m here for an interview with Mr. Dalton.”

The receptionist gives her a polite, but no nonsense look. “Name?”

“Anna Schuyler… I’m here for--”

“Ah, yes.” She clicks on her mouse feverishly a few times before looking back up. “His ten o’clock is running a little over, but his secretary said to send you up when you arrived.”

After receiving directions to a specific bank of elevators, Anna verifies her name once again with the guard stationed nearby. He wishes her good luck and opens the door to scan his badge and punch in the button for the top floor. She thanks him and turns as the small, but elegantly designed space begins passing floor after floor with increasing speed. For such a tall building, it takes what seems like only seconds before the door opens again.

The friendly smile of Mr. Dalton’s secretary greets her as she exits and steps towards a sleek metal and glass desk. “Ms. Schuyler?”

Anna nods, doing her best to remain cool, calm, and collected as the secretary leads her down a short hall and opens the door, gesturing for her to enter. She steps in and turns to thank the polite woman as she steps back into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

Spinning to scan the larger than expected space, Anna freezes in place. Her eyes find not one, but two forms on the other side of the room, though only one is completely focused on her from his relaxed position on the edge of his desk.

Yes on, not behind. Perched on the edge of a large warm, wooden antique desk, Sam Dalton’s wide hands splay flat across the surface, holding his thick frame up as his gaze locks onto hers. He shifts one foot behind the other in preparation to stand, causing her eyes to trail down his sturdy form without hesitation.

When he stands and extends to his full height, her eyes jump up and immediately notice his dark, rich brown hair styled perfectly so. Though it’s his piercing grey eyes that make her hesitate for a moment before eventually moving on to admire his strong chiseled jaw and immaculate facial hair. It all contradicts but somehow also fits the relaxed dress shirt peeking out of his open blazer, sans tie, quite perfectly.

Anna swallows, doing her best to maintain her professional thoughts under his intense stare. She reminds herself that she’s here to get a job that will hopefully create opportunities for future positions at the company, not notice how well his chest fills his slightly open shirt and blazer combo.

A man she didn't fully notice when she entered the room shifts in his seat near the same desk, not yet aware he has quite possibly lost Mr. Dalton’s attention. “...still need to discuss the marketing for the Ilithyia Project. I say we go all in on the healthcare side, put our money into doctor ads.”

Mr. Dalton gestures for her to come in and sit as he turns to face the man, leaning further back on his desk as he attempts to wrap up the overdue meeting. “Isn't that the same strategy that almost sunk our last attempt to enter the women's health sector? I need you to think outside the box, David. You know how important this is to me.”

“I suppose we could go straight to the source… but women don't want all the science-talk thrown at them.”

Anna hesitates behind one of the open chairs and arches an eyebrow questionably for a brief second before doing her best to maintain a neutral expression.

“Hmm.” The slightly amused look on Mr. Dalton’s face tells her that it didn't go as unnoticed as she had hoped.

He turns at the waist, making his switch in attention obvious to David. “And what do you think?”

With a start, Anna realizes that Mr. Dalton is specifically asking her. “Me?”

“Yes you, Ms. Schuyler. How would you approach new tech designed to make C-sections safer and easier?”

She studies his face, analyzing his intentions before glancing at David. She’s still unsure if this is a test of some kind, or if Mr. Dalton was genuinely asking her opinion. When he gives her an encouraging nod, she takes a deep breath.

“I think you shouldn’t dumb down science for your customers. Just because they're women doesn't mean they can't handle the ‘science-talk’.” Her tone as she side-eyes David makes her irritation obvious, but she keeps her composure.

Mr. Dalton remains silent for a while, his eyes narrowing slightly while he studies her, as if he was searching for something specific before he speaks. “...I couldn't agree more.”

He pivots back to face the other man. “David, I want a new plan that takes her advice into account on my desk by end-of-day. Understood?”

David sputters in protest. “But--”

Mr. Dalton glances once more at Anna before fully focusing on the man still sitting in front of his desk. “Or do I need to find someone else to take over the project? Ms. Schuyler is already here for an interview…”

David’s jaw clenches as he gathers his things. “...I’ll get it done.” He huffs as he stands with his stack of papers and hurries from the room without a second glance.

Mr. Dalton turns to give Anna his full attention, causing her breath to catch at the intensity of his gaze before he flashes her a confident smile. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve got a packed schedule this morning, but I’m glad you were able to come in.”

His eyes smoothly slide over her entire person and his lips part in a soft exhale as he fiddles with his watch band. “I see you dressed to impress.”

She smiles, finally relaxing a bit as his eyes roam back up to hers. “Did it work?”

“It did, at that. You already look like you belong here. It’s nice to officially meet you, Ms. Schuyler .”

“Anna.” She quickly corrects, hoping he will drop her last name, never being a big fan of such antiquated formalities.

“Ms. Anna.” Mr. Dalton smiles softly as he reaches to shake her hand.

She feels an illicit spark as her skin brushes against his, but she shakes it off as he gestures for her to sit. “Tell me, what made you apply for this nanny position?”

“Honestly?” She hesitates then decides to be straightforward, as she typically is. “I admire what you do here at Dalton Enterprises. I know I wouldn't be working in the biotech field directly, but I want to do what I can to help, even if it’s just giving you peace of mind, knowing that your boys are taken care of. I believe we all need to develop important principles such as patience and self-discipline, and it's easier when we are children. It helped me through my graduate program at NYU, and I feel it's never too early to start building those tools.”

His right eyebrow raises slightly before it drops back down. “My boys definitely require all those things.”

“I like to have fun too, though. Kids are full of energy and highly creative, something I believe more adults should embrace as well.” Her eyes flick up to his before glancing back down at her lap momentarily.

He nods in agreement. “I wholeheartedly agree. My boys can be tough and need someone who can not only guide them, but also have the energy to keep up. I’ll be honest with you, not many can.”

His intense gaze almost makes her shiver as he continues. “Which is why I’m looking for someone who can commit to at least a year. Things will be very busy for me professionally over the next year or two, so I need someone they can depend on during the worst of it.”

His eyes shift from her back to her resume and she nods. “I understand. Mr. Canary did tell me about that requirement.”

Sam places her resume on his desk but remains looking at it while he speaks. “Excellent. James is a good friend of mine at NYU, so when he suggested I review your resume, I assumed he made you aware.”

He looks up, his eyes studying her own as his head tilts slightly to the side. “I have to be honest though, I’m not sure why you would consider being locked down for at least a year when you just finished grad school with these achievements. You likely have multiple opportunities available already.”

Anna hesitates, scrambling to defend her decision. “Professionally, I’ve always admired the work you do here at Dalton Enterprises, and I want to learn as much as I can about the biotech industry. I hope to be a meaningful part of it one day.”

Mr. Dalton shifts, leaning a hip against his desk to face her better as she elaborates. “But this isn't a position at Dalton Enterprises. This is to be a nanny to seven year old, twin boys.”

“Yes, but I still feel that I am helping the company by helping them... by helping you.” She looks up and finds his eyes locked on hers. “And maybe I’ll learn something new during that time that could make me a more desirable candidate to Dalton in the future.”

“You’ve applied before.” It’s not a question.

“I have.” She confirms.

“But you have yet to interview.” Another correct assumption.

She shakes her head. “No sir. I’ve been told I’m in the applicant pool, but there are no open, entry level positions available.”

Mr. Dalton hums, fiddling with his watch again and she makes a mental note on how the pictures she’s previously seen in different publications don't do him justice.

He clears his throat to speak. “Your insight before might just make the Ilithyia Project a success, you know.”

She feels more confident and decides to throw some additional information out in hopes it can help her secure the position. “I recently received my Master of Science, with a focus in Chemistry, and all my lab work has definitely prepared me for taking care of young children. After all, chemists are used to handling high-stakes spills.” She jokes, instantly regretting it after seeing his emotionless expression.

His eyes burn into her for a moment before he finally chuckles softly. His gaze lingers for a second too long before he looks away with an almost sorrowful expression. “The boys are still feeling the loss of their mother. It was almost five years ago now, and they were young but…”

Even though Anna hasn't met them, her heart aches for his boys. “That’s not something you can just get over.”

“Exactly. And I’m afraid they often take it out on their nanny.” His eyes lift back to hers. “Can you handle that?”

“Of course.” She nods, determined to do whatever it takes.

“Then I have just one more question for you, Ms. Anna, and I want you to be completely honest.” He leans forward earnestly, and once again, she feels a weird energy in the air. “If you could go back in time and tell your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be?”

“I’d tell younger me to take more risks. I admit I was a little apprehensive when I was a kid and I wish I’d taken that leap of faith more often and experience more.”

“Very impressive. You're wise beyond your years.” He leans back a little, contemplating.

A soft knock at the door breaks the moment, causing her to turn and see his receptionist peek inside. “Sorry to interrupt Mr. Dalton, but your car has arrived for the meeting over lunch at La Tour d’Argent.”

He nods to her, then turns his attention back to Anna. “The next part of this interview will take place this evening at my home.”

“It… will?” She blinks a few times, somewhat surprised at the thought of being in his home in just a few short hours.

He hands her his card with his home address and a time written on the back. “See you at seven, Ms. Anna.”

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

That evening, Anna finds herself gaping up at one of the most luxurious apartment buildings in the entire city. She can't help but wonder if they'll even let her in as she approaches the door.

“Uh, hello. This might sound crazy, but Sam Dalton invited me here for a job interview?” Anna tries not to frown at how odd her question-statement sounds out loud.

“Yes, I’ve been expecting you. You can go right up to the penthouse suite.” He walks her over to the elevator and pulls out a card from a secret pocket in his blazer, swiping it across a panel on the wall above the floor buttons. “Good luck.”

Anna gives him an anxious smile as the elevator doors shut behind her. She can't believe this place might actually be her home if everything goes well.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Anna. Stay focused. Just... think about your interview questions. You did okay this morning.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “But I don't know what to expect now.” She glances at the floor indicator, watching it climb. “Hopefully I’ll be able to come up with good answers on the fly. Just remember, this could lead to a great career opportunity. Focus.”

Anna closes her eyes and replays today's interview in her head, doing her best to recall her answers and not the way he was analyzing her. “I can do this. I can show him I’m a valuable asset to Team Dalton.”

She sighs as she thinks about his sharp attention during the interview, how his strong jaw would flex as if he was hanging on her every word. “This is totally inappropriate. So what… he looks good. I’m sure he knows it too. The tabloids definitely seem to think so.”

Anna glances around the elevator, suddenly realizing something as she swallows her panic and whispers. “Please don't have cameras in here.”

She shakes her head and takes a deep breath to calm her racing pulse as she reaches the top floor. The hybrid jump-hesitation when it reaches the top makes her stomach flip as the doors of the elevator glide open, letting her out into the palatial penthouse suite. Her eyes grow wide as she takes it all in, instantly thinking how the spare bath is likely larger than her entire apartment.

She moves forward, only making it one step into the luxurious space before she is ambushed by twin boys wielding foam swords.

One scowls as he adjusts his grip, his messy dirty blonde hair blocking some of his view. “Intruder at the castle gates! Ready your horses, boys!”

The other leans back, as if he's about to attack, his brows coming together behind his stylish copper glasses. “Aye, ready we be! Chaaaaaarge!”

“Whoa!” She rushes past them and towards the couch, grabbing a spare sword she saw seconds earlier. “Think again, soldiers!” She parries with the foam toys, holding her own against the onslaught of attacks. “Aaargh! You'll never get the best of Captain Anna!”

The first boy’s mouth falls open in awe. “Whoa! Admiral Mason, she can fight!”

Mason shakes his head as he gives his brother a wide eyed glance. “That’s why you gotta stick to the battle plan, Admiral Mickey!”

Mickey snorts with a smile. “Pssh! Where’s the fun in that?!”

Mr. Dalton suddenly enters the room from the long hallway to the side with a wide-eyed expression. “Ms. Anna, I didn't hear you come in... Boys, give her some space. We don't want to send her running already.”

Mason drops the sword and does his best to appear innocent, pushing his glasses up his nose with his fingertip. “But Dad, we were gonna bring her straight to you! She looks like a lost princess or something.”

Anna grins and shakes her head. “Charming tactic.”

Mason smiles with a shrug while Mickey also drops his sword, kicking it behind the sofa as if his father hadn't already seen it. “She was smiling the whole time, well… mostly.”

Mr. Dalton’s face turns serious. “Mason, Mickey, apologize. Now.”

Mason sighs and frowns behind his glasses as he turns to face her. “Sorry, Ms. Anna.”

Mickey shifts his weight but toes his discarded sword as he replies with mild sincerity. “Yeah, sorry.”

Mr. Dalton sighs. “...close enough.” He turns towards her and takes a deep breath. “Ms. Anna, let’s test your bedtime skills, shall we?”

She blinks and quickly nods, acutely aware of Sam’s gaze on her as her mind races to prepare for this trial by fire. She spins, clasping her hands together as she turns her attention back to the twins. “First things first. Have you brushed your teeth since dinner?”

Mason gives her a wide smile. “I’m on it!”

He bolts towards the bathroom, but Mickey hangs back and pouts. “Aw, come on, lady. I hate brushing my teeth. Mint tastes gross.”

“But Mickey, you don't want Mason to win do you? He’s already got a considerable jump on you. Unless… maybe you're okay with him being the fastest?” Anna shrugs as his eyes grow wide and glances at the empty hallway.

“No way! I’m going right now!” He turns and sprints down the hall after his brother.

She and Sam follow close behind to supervise. “Nicely done.”

“I’m just getting started.” She grins, and she means it. This is business.

Ten minutes later, Anna has settled another argument over who gets to wear the red pajamas and what bedtime story to read. Finally, she finishes tucking the boys in bed, then steps back near the doorway so Sam can say goodnight.

Mason gives his father a hug around the neck and lays back into his pillow, whispering almost comically loud. “I like Ms. Anna, Dad.”

Mickey leans over the rail of the top bunk and grins wide with a few nods. “Yeah, can we keep her?”

Mr. Dalton chuckles as he ruffles Mickey’s hair. “We’ll see, boys. Sweet dreams.”

As the two return to the main living area, he gives her an impressed smile. “No one has ever been able to put the boys down like that, especially on the first try. I normally have to step in and negotiate a deal.”

“Well, I have something those other nannies didn't… chemistry.” She grins, though quickly stops, instantly regretting her dad-quality joke.

They lock eyes for a long moment, the tension simmering in the air before Mr. Dalton finally laughs. “That’s true. I haven't interviewed anyone else with a chemistry degree.” He turns and shakes his head as he gestures to another hallway. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Anna walks behind him, noticing an open door into what looks like a home office. Her eyes linger on a framed photo on the wall of two people skydiving. She immediately assumes one is Sam, but wonders who the other could be. She didn't realize he was such a thrill-seeker, making a mental note in case the subject ever comes up. When she turns her attention back towards the hallway, she finds Mr. Dalton silently observing her.

With a sheepish smile, she clasps her hands together in front of her. “Sorry, I wasn't trying to snoop. Something just caught my eye.”

“No need to apologize. Would you care to step inside and share a nightcap, Ms. Anna?” She hesitates, making him continue with a small, but friendly smile. “After all, if you're going to be Mickey and Mason’s nanny, I should get to know you… and you should get to know me.”

His eyes remain fixed on hers, making her curious about the other side of the infamous professional. “You’re right. Thank you, I’d love to.”

She follows him into his office and stares unabashedly as he pours the bourbon. Her eyes trail over his body, confident he won't catch her, but as soon as his eyes lift towards hers, she glances elsewhere and gestures towards some of the large pictures on the wall.

“You've got a beautiful office. A beautiful home, really.”

“Thank you. I noticed you... inspecting a few things.” His smirk is brief, but she swears she saw it, making her wonder if he had caught her admiring something else entirely.

He offers her the small glass and she sits on the firm, but luxurious sofa near the wall of windows. He takes a seat beside her, leaving a comfortable amount of space to remain appropriate.

Anna contemplates how it makes her feel relieved and disappointed all at once, but she shakes it off, gesturing towards the skydiving picture on the wall. “Is that the boy's mom?”

He studies the small and elegant framed picture, his eyes searching the faces he finds there. “Yes, that's Alice. To think it's been five years since she passed.”

Mr. Dalton casts his eyes down, taking a sip of his bourbon, the silence slicing through her. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean…”

A somber smile crosses his lips before his expression turns neutral again. “No, it was a fair question, and certainly relevant if you're going to be a part of the boys’ lives.” He frowns as he glances at the photo again. “Sadly, they don't really remember her anymore.”

“I am very sorry.” Without thinking, she reaches out and touches his hand, but withdraws quickly when his eyes jump to meet hers.

“Thank you, Ms. Anna. That means a lot to me. My wife and I may have only had a brief time together, but all told, I’m still a very lucky man.” He sighs deeply, and his penetrating gaze rests on her, unwavering. “What about you? You've seen the inside of my home and have a taste of what makes me tick. Tell me more about you.”

She swallows as she thinks how best to fulfill his request. “What makes me tick?”

“Precisely.”

She takes a sip from her glass to buy some time as she thinks, his gaze still locked onto her. “I’d say... I’m driven by insatiable desire.”

Mr. Dalton coughs on his sip of bourbon.

Her eyebrows raise with concern. “Are you okay, Mr. Dalton?”

He coughs a few more times. “I’ll be fine. Perhaps that's enough bourbon for me tonight. Ahem.” He sets the glass down on the coffee table. “What, uh… what do you mean by ‘insatiable desire’ exactly?”

Their eyes meet, and she wonders if the room is only hot to her now, her word choice repeating over and over in her head. “Our entire experience of reality occurs through our senses. I indulge myself when possible, or logical, and it's made me feel so… alive.”

“Give me an example.” He says in a steady, but curious tone.

“Like… if you bite a strawberry slowly enough, the flavor absolutely bursts in your mouth. Savoring and eating are two different things, you know?”

He swallows heavily, his eyes focused on her lips for a moment before the flash back to her eyes. “Right.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Her brow furrows and he shakes his head.

“No, not at all. On the contrary, I admire your passion. So few people share our kind of fire.” His eyes shift briefly to the photo on the wall before moving back to hers. “It can make life lonely, but it's all the sweeter when you finally encounter a kindred flame.”

Anna suddenly becomes hyper aware that they have shifted closer to each other throughout the conversation. Her breath catches as she holds his gaze, losing herself in his deep grey eyes. The silence should be more awkward given the circumstances, but it's almost comforting.

“Anna…” Her name is like a promise on his lips, or maybe it's meant as more of a warning.

She’s still deciding when a cool liquid runs across her hand, startling her back to reality. “Oh, no!”

Flustered, she jumps up from the couch with her glass as Mr. Dalton pulls his handkerchief out of nowhere like a magician, doing his best to blot up the inevitable stain.

Embarrassed, Anna covers her mouth with her free hand. “I’m sorry.”

He keeps his eyes focused on the sofa, possibly refusing to look up into hers. “It was my fault, really. No need to apologize. Let’s pretend it never happened.” He laughs softly, the corner of his eyes crinkling slightly as he stands, heading towards the cabinet under the bar to grab some cleaner for the fabric. “Chalk it up to too much bourbon in general.”

She gets the brief feeling he isn't just talking about the spill, but she's eager to put whatever that was behind her as he reaches for her glass. “Yeah, I don't usually drink that much bourbon. Or at all, really.”

He glances at her as he puts both glasses back on the tray and clears his throat. “That’s good to know. Anyway, I let the time get away from me, and I still have something to show you. Let’s continue our walk, shall we?”

“Sure thing. Lead the way.” She turns to follow him down the hall, her head still spinning as she forces herself to focus. This is Sam Dalton. Billionaire, professional, potential boss. Possible career wish genie. What is wrong with me?

“Right in here.” Anna was not prepared for his sudden pause, barely managing to stop herself from colliding with him before it was too late.

He opens the door and she follows him inside, eyes growing wide when she realizes where they were. The room is massive, and the bed, it was probably the size of her entire apartment bedroom. She suddenly has the urge to run forward and launch herself on it, knowing it has to be an amazing mattress.

“Ms. Anna, did you hear me?” He gives her a small, concerned smile before handing her a folded piece of paper.

He nods at the questioning look on her face so she opens it, holding her breath as she reads the number printed at the top. Her eyes gloss over the additional benefit details as he continues.

“If you want the job, it’s yours. You can move in here…” He raises his hand to the amazing space. “...your room, tomorrow.”

“Really?” She says in mild disbelief.

Sam’s brow furrows as he gives her a curious look. “Is something wrong? I increased my normal salary amount to compensate for your higher education… I thought it would help cover remaining college expenses, but, if we need to renegotiate…”

Anna feels her eyes burn a little before her mouth falls open with an unexpected laugh. “No, no… Mr. Dalton--”

“Please, call me Sam.” He corrects her with a firm tone.

“Okay, Sam. This is… this is great. Thank you!” She impulsively steps forward and throws her arms around him in an elated hug, realizing only a second too late of her inappropriateness.

It’s impossible to miss the feeling of every inch of his body along her own, making her skin flush at the contact. Even though she pulls back almost instantly, she doesn't miss the woody scent that invades her senses and the warmth that radiates from his tall frame.

She shakes her head in embarrassment, letting out an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry. Again. I hope you'll excuse me. It’s just… this opportunity means so much to me.”

He blinks, swallowing hard before offering her his hand with a gentle smile. “Think nothing of it. I appreciate your enthusiasm.” His smile falls and his eyes turn serious once more. “Is it alright if the boys continue to call you Ms. Anna? I think they really like that. A few of their past nannies were more... strict.”

Anna can't help but grin as her dreams, professionally at least, were starting to come true. “Of course! Anna is perfectly fine. I can't wait to move in and get to know you and your beautiful family even more… Sam.”

He gives her a pleasant smile and nods before stepping back into the hall and walking her to the elevator door. “Goodnight, Anna Schuyler.”

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

Anna’s nerve endings tingle with pleasure as she writhes on the bed, hips gently bucking. “Yes… yes!”

His gorgeous face rises from between her legs, lips lifted on one side in a knowing smile. Her eyes trail with admiration from his deep grey, sparkling eyes to his strong jaw and chiseled biceps. She grasps at the satin sheets beneath her, a desperate attempt to anchor herself as another wave of ecstasy breaks. A strong hand entwines its fingers with hers, holding her steady.

“Don’t… stop…” She breathes out.

Sam kisses his way up her chest, settling the length of his body against hers. “I must admit, this wasn't quite how I expected your first day on the job to go...” Sam’s feather-like touch drags across her breast as his face hovers over hers. “Are you ready to work hard for me, Anna?”

“Oh… yes.” She gazes suggestively over his body. “Anything you need.”

He pins her wrists over her head and grins before trailing hot kisses down her neck and chest, his tongue teasing her nipples through her bra. “Good, because I’m afraid this job requires long hours. We might be up all night…”

Anna’s lips come together with his in a passionate kiss. She feels like she’s on fire as his hands trail down to her hips. Suddenly, he flips them over so she’s straddling him, chest to chest as both breathe heavily.

She moans as her center makes contact with the undeniable evidence of his desire, and her hips rock against his on their own volition. “Ohhh…”

His hands trace an electric path up her spine, reaching for the clasp of her bra. “I don't think you need this anymore.”

Anna gasps as her bra falls away and he sits up, grazing his lips over the bare skin of her breast, his tongue flicking out to tease the peak. She can't seem to catch her breath as the sensations become overwhelming. Just as the wave is about to break, a loud repetitive sound interrupts the pair.

Anna spins her head to glare at the offensive sound, blinking as her vision turns blurry and she focuses on the same horrible clock from the previous morning. She bolts upright in bed, gasping for breath as she surveys the room, seeing the drastic difference from her apparent dream. “Damn, that felt real.”

The details of the dream begin fading, but the physical effects still linger. Her nerves are quivering, her skin is sweaty, and her heart is pounding. Anna groans as she rubs her face, mumbling through her fingers. “Focus Anna, he might be attractive… but he's your boss. Potentially providing a future at Dalton Enterprises. Forget it body.”

Her hands drop to her lap and she sighs. “Oh god, I can’t believe I just had a sex dream about my new boss.”

Eventually she manages to shake it off and get up to finish packing up her stuff. About an hour, some coffee and a bagel later, Anna turns to place her last bit of clothing into a box when she locks eyes with her best friend, Jenny. Said friend is currently sitting across the small efficiency apartment Anna has called home for the last few years on one of the worst sofa’s the world has ever created.

“Anyway, the money’s great, the kids are adorable, and Sam is…” She hesitates, deciding how honest she wants to be about her new living situation and boss. “...great.”

Jenny eyes Anna, but she ignores her. “It’s basically a great way to kill time and make an impression while I figure out what to do post-grad, and if I’m lucky… find a way into an interview at the company.” Anna shrugs.

Jenny playfully rolls her eyes. “I get it, the biotech billionaire is ‘great’, but how hot is he?”

Anna sighs as she closes the last box and turns to sit on the mattress before she continues. “Like on a scale of ‘clothes fresh from the dryer’ to ‘I’m chugging Tabasco’, he’s…”

Jenny gives her an encouraging look and Anna laughs. “Okay, he's Tabasco. Those eyes… that hair… not to mention the body on this man.” She shakes her head and gently slaps her knee. “But he’s my boss. So nothings going to happen.”

Jenny laughs. “I have to see this for myself.” She grabs her phone and does a quick search, her eyes growing wide as she finds what she's looking for. “Damn, he’s dreamy. Lookin’ gorgeous at this charity ball, lookin’ gorgeous shaking hands with our senator…” She bites her lip for a moment and looks up at Anna. “How exactly is he not married?”

Anna frowns. “His wife passed away… about five years go now, I believe he said.”

Jenny’s face instantly mirrors Anna’s as she looks at the pictures on her phone. “Well that's incredibly sad.” Her eyes flick to Anna. “Does that mean he's single?”

Anna rolls her eyes and throws a pillow at her friend. “Oh my god, Jenny. Do you think of nothing else?”

Jenny catches it without flinching. “I’m just curious. If you're not going to think about him in that capacity, why can't I?”

After threatening to kick Jenny out of the apartment, she decides to keep her mouth shut as they take Anna’s belongings, which consist of a few boxes and bags, to the street just as a nice looking older man steps out of a sleek black town car.

He steps around the car and holds out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Anna. I’m Carter, the Dalton family driver, occasional backup nanny.” He chuckles and Anna can't help but smile. “I'll be at your service today to assist with your move.”

Jenny gives Anna an amused smile but remains silent as she turns back to the friendly gentleman. “Wow, okay. I've never had my own personal driver before.”

Carter smiles and hoists several of her bags from the ground before placing them in the trunk. Jenny helps her load the remaining couple of boxes and says her goodbyes as Carter opens the door for Anna.

Once seated inside, he closes the door and goes to the driver side and starts the car up again. “I hope you enjoy being with the Dalton family Ms. Anna.”

Her gaze is pulled from the passing buildings to find his kind eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Mr. Dalton spoke highly of you this morning. Said he feels you’re the perfect addition to this family.”

“Thanks, Carter. I really appreciate that.” She gives him a warm smile, knowing Carter is already such an addition.

When they arrive at Sam’s building, the doorman helps Carter and Anna unload the items and directs someone inside to take them up to the apartment.

She turns to give Carter a hug, which he gladly accepts. “Thank you again, Carter. That would have taken me probably four or five trips without your help.”

He tips his hat and nods before handing over her own elevator key for the apartment. “Of course Ms. Anna. You’re family now. Please don't hesitate to ask me for anything.”

She takes a deep breath as she enters the now familiar elevator, trying to clear her head as she thinks about the next chapter in her life. The doors open in what feels like seconds and she enters her new home.

Her eyes scan the luxurious space, still amazed by the large windows and beautiful wood floors. “I can get used to living here…”

Anna doesn't see anyone in the common space so decides not to interrupt and unpack instead. She pushes the door closed until it's just slightly ajar, intending to listen for anyone walking by. After turning to face her new room, she grins from ear to ear before launching herself onto the large bed. She lets out a sigh of relief as her body sinks into the firm but amazingly soft cloud the Dalton family apparently calls a mattress.

“Oh yeah, I can definitely get used to living here.” She rolls over and stares through the large windows in her room. “I've never had a view that wasn't another building.”

She eventually forces herself to get up and unpack, deciding to pull her clothes out first to help avoid permanent wrinkles. Her limited hanger worthy items are safely stored in the closet, but she makes a mental note on how much additional space is available. She smiles, knowing her new income level will be a nice change from the starving student lifestyle she had grown accustomed to.

Moving to the last duffel bag with clothing items, she grabs a stack of bras and picks a drawer in the dresser just for them. Again, she has plenty of room to expand if needed. Shrugging, she reaches back into the bag and grabs a handful of bottoms, some matching, some random, and turns towards the open drawer next to the bras.

Anna tosses them all in, but pauses when a particular one she hadn't seen in awhile lands on top. She reaches in and picks up one of her favorite lacy pairs when she hears a knock. Startled by the sudden sound, she spins and faces the knock to find Sam peeking his head through the open door with a smile.

“I trust you’re settling in... okay?” Sam asks, his voice hesitating on the last part of his question as his eyes grow wide once landing on the obvious item in her hands.

———————————————————————————————————

Thank you so much for reading! You’re all amazing and I appreciate every ounce of support I receive on my posts. Please reblog and share if you enjoyed it. Oh, and let me know what you think as well - I absolutely love to read your comments, reaction gifs, asks and messages. ❤️❤️❤️

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