#showing up with a fork and knife to eat your dreams | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyucksos · 5 months ago

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heavy is the crown — mark lee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But nothing.

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

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

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

But this one was different.

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

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

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re the girl from earlier.

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

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

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

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soon, everything turns to black.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where is he, and who are you people?

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

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

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

“Hyuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, I’m pretty sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unpredictable how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “You read minds too?”

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Donghyuck might just be right.

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

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

Mark didn’t seem to like that.

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

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

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

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

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

He runs away.

✦ ✦ ✦

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

“Wha- are you leaving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like mine.”

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

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

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

“Engulf him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart drops upon hearing his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This scene feels oddly familiar.

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

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

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

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

Mark thinks he’s going crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

The headmaster lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t feel anything in your palms.

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

But this is what you asked for, right?

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

Maybe you’ll finally have some peace.

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

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

It was Headmaster Kang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper. “Together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark perks from beside you. “A book?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… what now?” He voices cautiously.

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

“We pay the headmaster a little visit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

Mark could taste copper on his tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is why he decides to let go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…and balance will be restored.”

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

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

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

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

It’s over. It’s finally over.

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

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

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

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

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

“So…” Donghyuck exhales. “What now?”

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

“Can I come with you?”

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

“I told you, that was one time!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna come with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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dullahandyke · 2 years ago

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Ok hi I'm back playing dgs for the second half of the first trial

I meant to say before but I rlly enjoy how pivotal the setting is to this trial!! Obvi they didnt jusr pick it for shits and giggles but I'm liking the tension that the British presence provides

Also seeing susato so quiet in all these opening bits is so strange... susato toss :(?

AW YEAH ASOUGI GRABBING HIS SWORD W SAMURAI ON A MISSION PLAYING !!!! love this guy hope nothing bad ever happens to him

Love how auchi is trying to guilt ryuu over anglo-japanese relations and asougis just like lollllll fuck em... anti-british king

YESSS RYUU YOU GET HIM TOO!!! Fuck the government <3

NOOOO I JUST LOST A BUNCH OF LIVEBLOG BCOS MY PHONE GUCKED UP... anyway I'm up to the handbag thing

God they really pull out the 2-4 despair sprite any opportunity they can huh

'Asougis dream of going to Britain is fucked if we lose this' bro I thought itd b fine as long as he wasnt the lawyer. Was all that shit for nothjng

Yesss ryuu objecting just before the verdict... love him

Love ryuus little thinking face... + his hand guard thing... hes so the thinker

Love how as the trial progresses ryuu gets more sprites .. hes hardly even bug eyed anymore

Boooo brett we hate youuu why'd you even study in Japan if you're just gonna b racist abt every part of it

Also tbh idk where we're going with this train of thinking but its fun

My God is it poison and she kristoph gavins her way into a conviction... kristoph gavinning is when u make glib comments about details of a case that lead to your conviction btw

'I'm sure you've noticed this student doesnt miss much' asougi is showing off ryuus talents like a little pony thay can do a canter and tbh awesime

Help me one of her rebuttals is 'your flys been down this whole time' ❓❓❓ ryuu..... 'why didnt you tell me asougi' why do YOU assume asougis looking at your dick ryuu. 🤨

Shes pulling out the 'your brains are smaller than Europeans' shit my God.... can we like kill her kill her

Ok I think Brett poisoned Wilson and then stole the glass to cover her tracks before shooting him to pin ryuu... we r gonna update her autopsy report

No hang on wait that's such a stupid fucking plan. What if hosonaga noticed Wilson was dead. What if ryuu DIDNT notice the gun. If Wilson's wrist was burned on the plate then surely it was set in front of him but part of the beef is eaten so Brett must have had some. I guess thatd probably be better for alibi shit by having it look like h3 was in the middle of eating when shot instead of before being served but like. Was she leaning over the table stretching w a knife and fork to cut off a bit of steak. Girls gotta eat ig

Love that theres an exchange where ryuu goes 'this is great auchi agrees that the police r fucked' and asougi goes 'no ryuu hes clout chasing to impress a European woman. Hes just like bisexual obama'

Asougi picking up his sword as he prepares to 'pursue' hosonaga's statement... asougi r u going to kill this man

Hosonaga that is illegal

'What does this French writing say asougi' 'idk go to France and ask' hes such a bit of a bitch I love it <3

Also I'm looking at the back of hosonaga's pants when it does the panning shot and why r they so baggy at the ankles... bro hes tall as shit does he shop at the slenderman store

SUSATOOOOOOOOO SUSATO IS HERE@!!!! AW YISS LETS GO

Oh my God another fucking to be continued? I thought this was the last part bro enenensjs so I'm gonna take a break for a bit and then go back to killing jezaille brett dead

#the gaelic athletic attorney

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

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Unsolicited 20

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

Your cheeks are flushed with heat as the server returns with your entrees. Lloyd shamelessly keeps his hand nestled between your tingling thighs, clamped in an attempt at modesty. He sits forward to eat with his free hand as you can barely keep your head from wobbling. You feel as if everyone in the place has witnessed your undoing.

“Mmm, better get it while it’s hot,” he scoops up a mouthful of season potatoes, “I’m not spending money for nothing, babe.”

He pinches you before finally removing his hand. He takes his knife, not bothering to wipe the glisten from his fingers, as he cuts into his filet. You slowly sit up as your eyes flick over to Colin as he reads over the bill.

He avoids meeting your gaze but you’re happy for it, humiliated and hot. You pick at the lobster tail with your fork and peer down at your plate. This night couldn’t be over soon enough.

“Aw, don’t pout, baby, I’m just getting started,” he bites into a chunk of juicy beef, chewing noisily.

“Hey!” There’s a shout and the clatter of a tray as empty dishes crash onto the floor. You look up as a man shoves a waiter out of his way, skidding on his soles as he stops beside Colin’s table, “what the fuck is going on here?”

Your mouth falls open as Lloyd reaches for his whiskey and finishes it with a pop of his lips, “looks like he got my message.”

“What?” You look at him as he watches with delight.

“Tell me you haven’t dreamed of this. Look at the coward, he’s about to piss his pants.”

“Wh–why?”

“Oh come on, you should be thanking me,” he leans back and drapes his arm over your shoulders, “in fact, you’re gonna thank me. On the way back. When we get there. And so on. The night is young, sweet cheeks.”

You look back to the scene across the restaurant, reminded of the night you came and Colin left you alone and nearly sobbing. The words he said to you then and after. The accusations that proved to be little more than projection.

For once, you agree with this douchebag at your elbow. He deserves this.

“That’s my fucking wife!” The much bigger man drags Colin out of his seat. Your husband couldn’t be called small but he was shorter and more slender than the bull shaking him by his collar, “my slut of a wife!”

Those words sting and you tilt your head. You know what it’s like to be on the receiving end yet you can’t feel sorry for the blond grabbing onto the angry man’s arm. She did this. They both did. They ruined two marriages for what?

“Do you ever come here without making a scene?” You lift your cocktail and drain it until there’s only a few chips of melted ice.

“I don’t do quiet,” he shrugs and goes back to his meal, “and I like a show with my dinner.”

You sniff as a gaggle of waiters try to calm the raging man throttling your husband. The mention of police moves the rabble towards the door but not without chaos. Table wobble with the impact of the intertwined man as heels click in their stead, following the fight outside.

“I need another drink,” you put your glass down, “preferably a double.”

Lloyd raises his hand and whistles, “garcon.”

You cringe and sink down lower. His quick response would be flattering if it wasn’t completely patronizing.

💎

Your stomach is unsettled, the pasta sitting like a lump as your anxiety flickers in your chest. You sit back in the low car seat and frame your forehead with your hand. A nice relaxing shower somehow ended in you being wound tighter than before.

"Baby, better keep me awake, you don't want me falling asleep at the wheel, do ya?" Lloyd says as he steers out into the street, giving his stomach a slap, "god, that was good, wasn't it?"

His hand slips down and he flicks his belt. You straighten in your seat as his eyes flash at you in the rearview. You repress your agitation and reach between the seats, bending over the stick as you pull back the tail of his belt.

It's just one thing after the other, you gripe inwardly, this man will never let you relax. Never let you catch your breath.

You unhook his belt and open his fly. You want to get home and go to bed. He's just a man, you get him off and he'll be ready for the same. He's hard as you reach beneath the fabric, unsurprised by his lack of briefs.

You take him out and stroke him mechanically. Men are easy when they have their pants down. Your husband proved that. With his own boss. His ex that he never shut up about. You should've known. You were never good enough and now look at you.

You push your mouth around him, grazing him with your teeth.

"Eh, put some love into it," he flinches and rests his hand on your head, "fuck."

You loosen your throat and grimace around him. You bob up and down, the noise making you sick, stirring the storm already whirling in your stomach. He clutches your air as you ignore the ache in your jaw.

Your eyes water at the sudden awareness of yourself, of what you're doing, of how you won't stop. You have nothing and this man made sure of that. Tonight wasn't a favour, it was just another reminder of his power over you.

You drag your tongue up and down, flicking around his tip. You wiggle your nose and force back the haze of tears. No, he won't see you like that. He's seen enough. You're just buzzed, maybe a bit depressed.

You bring your hand up and work him diligently. He groans and swerves as he squeezes his fistful of hand.

"Jeez, baby, you're gonna get us in trouble," he chortles and shoves you down, "ah, you little slut, you already got me ready to blow."

He takes over, guiding your pace as his fingers stretch over your skull. He drags you along his length and groans.

"Yeah, you gobble that dick," he slithers, "I'm gonna cum and you're gonna drink it up, yeah…."

He pushes you to his limit and his hips buck. He snarls and slams on the break, spilling down your throat as he sputters. He grips the wheel tight and holds you in place and drowns you until you're gagging.

He lets you go and you sit up, coughing as you spit up his cum. You fall against the leather as your body vibrates and you cover your face in shame.

"Please," you rasp, "I want to go home."

"Home," he shifts back into gear with a scoff, "what home?"

#lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #unsolicited #the grey man #the gray man #series #dark drabble #drabble #dark!drabble

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comradegeorgemoved · 4 years ago

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gnf cooking stream highlights

saw some people say they wouldn’t be able to watch george’s cooking stream because of school/work so i took note of some things that happened (with very rough timestamps. like really rough and it happened ~around~ that time) so they could relate to jokes/etc being made on the dashboard/timeline without having to watch the entire 4 hours of the stream immediately :) hope this is helpful in any way ? lol

quick stats: george beat his highest concurrent again this stream with 307k viewers by 133k and gained more than 10k subs :o

0:00 cooking stream start. cute thumbnail and music!

5:10 starts talking

8:00 shows self, fixes his camera/s (he has two different setups) and talks to chat for a bit

11:30 what is on the menu? a starter (mozarella sticks), main course (steak), dessert (a secret!)

18:40 the first step is to hands with…. dishwashing liquid

20:00 actually starts preparing steak. “it’s got good marbling ? idk how to speak chef they just say marbling”. attempts to rub seasoning into the steak...

28:00 starts preparing the mozarella sticks

34:40 “dont swing your knife around >:(” “I WILL SWING MY KNIFE IF I WANT TO SWING IT [swings knife]”

39:00 “these are probably going to turn out terrible… but as long as we’re having fun, then we’re fine! right? i guess? probably.”

45:00 he puts paprika into the egg mixture while trying to make mozarella sticks........... he throws out the eggs and has to reset

52:00 “that’s pretty bread-y! that’s pretty bread-y!”

53:00 calling chat donuts because they keep trying to backseat cook lmao

1:02:20 dream calls. “you’re the worst chef ive ever seen in my life what’s wrong with you? you suck!”

1:03:00 sapnap calls. "you look cute with that hat on :)" george hangs up on him to talk to dream lol. “i’m ditching you for dream.”

1:05:37 dream calls again

1:11:30 thinks the breadcrumbs are too thick, which is why they aren’t sticking to the cheese. he attempts to “squish” them.

1:11:45 “is there a hypetrain? choo choo!”

1:12:00 dream calls again

1:18:55 “gogy ramsay? yes that’s actually me!”

1:21:13 karl + chris calls “everyone comment if you think george should be in tales of the smp tonight!”

1:24:00 dream calls again to give advice about double dipping the mozarella sticks

1:30:30 starts preparing the fries. george is impressed by a potato peeler. he eats a raw potato later on ?

1:40:00 he makes funny gestures! introduces the ~air fryer~! (which he says he bought specifically for this stream!)

1:44:00 starts cooking steak

1:45:00 “what can we do for 5 minutes?” and then holds up a fucking knife?? i dont understand him

1:48:50 dream calls again. “be careful when you’re frying it’s very dangerous!” george: “he’s FARMING AWWS guys”

1:52:30 HES PREPARING FOR AN ACTUAL FIREE HELP MEEE

1:56:23 sapnap calls

2:00:00 people started gifting subs because dream tweeted about it :) sapnap talks about his new video, sapnap thanks george’s subs for him so george can focus on his cooking :) sapnap also helps him calm down when he’s visibly nervous about what’s happening and is overall just super supportive!

2:13:20 actually starts cooking steak

2:13:50 sapnap’s hot take about sugar cookies: people who hate sugar cookies can go to hell

2:15:28 “i kinda burnt it… it’s not bad.. it’s grilled..” he starts panicking a bit n is a bit dangerous with the hot oil it scared me a little lol

2:17:55 carries the fucking steak with tongs across the kitchen

2:18:00 shows his steak. it looks good!

2:21:45 george hyping up his french fries

2:24:30 karl joins the call

2:25:20 george talks to the camera to thank karl

2:25:50 george excitedly jumping around to announce something! karl (jokingly) announces george will be on the tales of the smp

2:26:40 fit check! george puts his feet on the table to lift up his entire body? also they are talking about boogers ? idk i can’t hear

2:28:40 george talking to the camera to twitch prime

2:28:58 dream calls him to cut the steak

2:32:00 FINALLY CUTTING THE FUCKING STEAK. it looks good!

2:34:25 taste test “not gonna lie, best steak i’ve ever had, ever! ok it’s not the best, but it’s actually really good”

2:38-39:00 ish bad joins

2:40:00 bad built chef gnf in minecraft! cute!

2:43:50 karl: “george i love you” george: “thank you ^-^”

2:44:47 apparently dream messaged their discord chat for karl and sapnap to stop making fun of george’s mozarella sticks “his cheese sticks are fine.”

2:45:30 dream joins to tell him to put the mozarella sticks back in the freezer

2:47:10 starts frying mozarella sticks. he isn’t being too cautious with this too so everyone in the call is worried he’ll get burnt skdhsk. burns a mozarella stick

2:53:00 dream and sapnap heat transfer discourse. sapnap thinks he can dip a fork into molten lava and it won’t be hot (immediately). he is wrong.

2:57:00 quackity joins

3:08:20 george lore: apparently doesn’t care if his food is hot or cold

3:09:15 looks into camera again

3:11:00 apparently dream was the first sub on george’s channel! so he has the founders badge!

3:13:00 karl teases dream for saying he’d kiss george if puffy hit 11k subs yesterday lol. they were also teasing bad about being weird about the maid dress throughout this.

3:14:00 the secret dessert is pancakes!

3:18:00 “will be... like wilbur (wilby)”

3:30:00 flipped a pancake! worked. around this time they’re making fun of george allegedly calling a “crepe” a “pancake”, when this is what they call pancakes in the uk.

3:38:30 george wants to stream with gordon ramsay lol

3:44:10 everyone leaves the call except for george and dream. “it’s just us.. alone together.. with 200 thousand people”

3:45:00 sub count is at 18550 and dream wants it to reach 20k! george is just sitting there getting subs

3:47:20 george trying to take a picture!

3:49:27 dream tells chat to keep subbing

3:52:00 dream gifts 50 subs to help reach the sub goal. again george is just standing there getting gifted subs lmao

3:53:00 ish they hit 20k! george gained more than 10,000 subs this stream!

3:57:45 fridge reveal lol

3:58:45 fit check again

3:59:11 making a tiktok

4:02:50 dream REALLY wants to see george with messy/fluffy hair for some reason???? he farms messy hair pics. “wait WHAT oh my gosh holy cow WHAT i’ve never seen your hair like that. now that’s a good instagram photo.” apparently “it’s a look”... from the end of the extras shirt video ? someone help him

(george looks really good though. this is something best experienced yourself...)

around this time i think they say how can they get to 500k views and they say what if they streamed the meetup! and they say that they will!

4:13:00 BIG GEORGE LORE PLANNED ??

4:14:00 ish "thank you dream" is trending. it’s obviously for the pictures but neither of them seem to realize that.

4:14:30 dream tells george to get hair gel so he can look like this all the time. my god

4:17:00 stream over !

#georgenotfound #sorry if i got anything wrong ?#also good morning/good night it is. very early here #i will have more coherent thoughts tomorrow :]#maybe #long post

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donald4spiderman · 4 years ago

Note

Ok hear me out. Spencer is dating Reader and she’s always hated that she’s been more chubby/curvy. And one night in the middle of a case she calls him crying and Spencer just gets really soft and calms her down after a bad nightmare. And his heart breaks cause his loving girlfriend hates her body. So Spencer plans this elaborate date and proposes maybe? You can decide if the team have met her or not. I’d like it to be the original team but if you wanna combine the original and new teams together that’s cool too!

no bc my body image issues have been rampant lately so this is personal as hell to me. I work out a lot and i’m fit but i’ve never been SKINNY like i have thick legs and muscular arms andnnfnfjndjnffn so this is personal.

I modified this a bit but it’s still the same premises hope you like it! ***BTW IN THIS UNIVERSE THE S3-7 CAST EXISTS FOR THE ENTIRE SHOW— SO THE LATER SEASONS HAVE MORGAN AND HOTCH.

also sorry this is a long

TW: body image issues, discussions of food & weight, insecurity, crying, kissing

WC: 1.5k

You know, pragmatically, that you have nothing to worry about. Spencer chose you. And for the past four years, Spencer has worshipped you every day— again and again. He is the most loving, considerate, and tender partner you could ever wish for. He is near perfection.

You’ve met Spencer's friends many times. You’re not close with either of your parents, so the team of profilers welcomed you into their arms with grace and care. Each and every one of them is beautifully amazing and exceptionally brilliant.

Spencer‘s friends are not only badass, but they’re also gorgeous. JJ, Emily, and Garcia are national treasures— so visually stunning it’s almost sickening.

You knew he used to have a crush on JJ way before he met you. You’ve also heard the tale of Lila Archer, the celebrity actress who made out with your boyfriend in a pool. Spencer’s had an eventful life, full of beautiful, sweet, magnificent women— so why does he choose you?

You view yourself as bland in comparison. What do you have to offer Spencer that he can’t find elsewhere? You don’t have toned abs, slim hips, and slender arms. You’re not striking in any way.

Spencer calls you every night when he’s away on a case. He’s never missed a call, even when he got shot in the neck and kidnapped by a murderous cult. He’s reliable and consistent, and that eases your worries a little bit.

It’s eleven pm in D.C. and your phone rings right as your getting in bed.

“Hi, my love,” Spencer says breathily, his voice slightly muffled by the phone. He’s away in Ohio for a case.

“Hey.” You reply, the sweetness in his voice soured by your mood. “How’s the case going?”

“Good. JJ and I are about to pass out in our beds— we’re so tired.”

You can’t help the way your face drops. “Oh. Well, get rest.”

Your about to hang up before he interjects. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?” You know better than to lie to your boyfriend, who happens to be an expert on human behavior.

“Okay, I know a lie when I hear one. (Y/N), baby, what’s wrong?” He pleads.

You can’t help the tear that rolls down your cheek. “God, I’m sorry. I just miss you so much. You always know what to do when I’m feeling like shit.”

Spencer knows how much you struggle with self and bodily acceptance. He hates the world for making you feel anything less than incredible, both inside and out.

“I miss you too, so much, (Y/N).” His voice is thick as if he’s going to start crying too. “I love you so much, so fucking much. You have no idea how beautiful and amazing you are.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He laughs through a sob that wrecks his body. “You deserve everything in this world. I promise to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You are the love of my life.”

You wipe the tears from underneath your eyes. “Sorry for keeping you up. You must be tired.”

“Never, if it means I get to talk to you.”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). More than you’ll ever know.”

Spencer wakes up the next day with a newfound determination. The team solves the case as fast as possible, and by the end of the night, they’ve boarded the jet back home.

Spencer has more than enough hours to think about you and how much you mean to him. Hotch is seated directly across from him, rereading the case files.

“Hotch?” The wiser man looks up from his files, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer pauses for a moment. Maybe he’d be better asking Morgan or JJ for advice, considering Hotch’s tragic circumstances regarding Haley.

But no one loves like Hotch does-- sincerely, passionately-- stronger than anything else in the world. Spencer decides there’s no one better to ask.

“How uh did you know that Haley was the one?”

Hotch’s eyes soften for a bit. He clears his throat. “I knew since the day I met her that I would love her for the rest of my life unconditionally. She makes me complete. Do you feel that (Y/N) makes you complete?”

He already knows why Spencer is asking for his advice, steering the conversation in that direction.

“Yes. She’s my world.” Spencer whispers.

“Then it’s simple, really. Love doesn’t need to be complicated and precise. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

“I want to marry her, Hotch. I want to be with her for the rest of my life.”

Hotch smiles, “Then do it.”

Spencer feels the rush of excitement as he gathers everyone on the jet, including the prior sleeping passengers, filling them in on his big plans.

“I need all of your guys’ help.”

There’s a firm knock on your door at four in the morning. You know it isn’t Spencer because he has a key, but who could it be?

You take a cautious look out of your peephole to find Penelope, Emily, and JJ outside.

“What are you guys doing here?” You yawn. “For god's sake, it’s four am.”

“We know, and we’re sorry.” Penelope smiles.

“Is Spencer alright?” You ask, wondering if things suddenly went wrong during the case.

But by the joyous look on their face, you know nothing somber occurred.

“Spencer’s completely fine. But, we need to you to get changed and come with us. FBI’s orders.” JJ chuckles.

You change into warmer clothes in minutes, and the BAU ladies usher you into Emily’s car as fast as possible.

“So, no ones gonna tell me what’s going on?”

They shake their heads, “We’re just... running a quick errand.”

After a few more minutes of driving, Emily parks on the side of a dimly lit street.

“I need you to put this on.” She says, holding up a blindfold.

“Are you guys gonna murder me?” You joke, slipping the fabric over your eyes with little resistance.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” You don’t have time to think about what Penelope means before you’re being yanked out of the car.

You walk, guided by JJ, for four minutes. The grass beneath you crushes below your boots, and the hushed whispers of Emily and Penelope behind you do nothing to calm your nerves.

“Okay,” JJ says, halting to a stop. “You can take off your blindfold now.”

You hesitantly slip the blindfold off, revealing a brightly lit table in the middle of a secluded field. Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi are standing off to the sides.

Suddenly, Spencer emerges from behind a tree, dusting the leaves and dirt off his adorable sweater.

“Hi?” You laugh, utterly confused by this situation. “What’s going on?”

His hands are shaking, and he has to swallow a few times before he can speak. “I-I uh got y-you apple pie— uh your favorite.”

Spencer walks you towards the table, where a small slice of warm pie sits lonely on the table.

“Y-you should um... eat it.” He urges, pointing at the knife and fork next to it.

You glance around, trying to gauge the emotions of everyone around you, but fail. Stupid profilers and their poker faces.

Your fork cuts into the heavenly smelling pie, and you scoop up a bite into your mouth.

“It’s... good? I’ll pretty much eat any pie you give me, Spencer.”

He smiles, “I know that. But t-this is a special pie.”

“Okay...”

“You should t-take a closer look— at the pie.”

You inspect the dessert, completely puzzled until a glinting piece of silver catches your eye. Spencer notices the shock in your face and catches the plate that almost falls out of your hand.

Morgan hands him a napkin, and when Spencer pulls an apple-covered ring from the slice of pie, you almost faint.

“No way.” You gasp; tears spring to your eyes as Spencer wipes the ring clean.

He holds it tightly between two fingers, bending to kneel on one knee.

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), I knew from the moment I met you that you were the most special woman I’d have the pleasure of meeting. A month later, you asked me out for our first date, and I couldn’t believe that someone as gorgeous and amazing as you would settle for someone like me.” You scoff at his humility.

“I spend every moment loving every part of you, (Y/N). None of my love will ever stop— ever. I promise to share my heart with you until the very end. There is absolutely no one I would rather be bonded to for the rest of my life. You are better than my dream girl because you’re real. You’re here, and you chose to love me every day— the good, the bad, and the ugly. (Y/N), will you do me the honor and great privilege of allowing me to become your husband?” You silently sob.

“Please say yes.” Spencer smiles.

“Yes!” You exclaim, pulling him up to hug him. “How could I say anything but!”

The dam breaks, and the entire team begins to cry as you and Spencer share a passionate kiss, almost collapsing down onto the grass from the sheer force of your love. He slips the ring onto your finger; it belongs there.

“I choose you, (Y/N).” He repeats.

“I choose you, Spencer, always.” You whisper into the crook of his neck.

Nothing’s ever felt so right.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #sub!spencer #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dr reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #spence #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic

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suguruverse · 4 years ago

Note

hi i’m crying because my bf said something that made me insecure and just didn’t make an effort to help me feel better, can you write a comfort fic about any character lol just reassuring reader that they’re pretty lmao i love you :,)

— BOKUTO REASSURING THEIR S/O ABOUT THEIR LOOKS

includes - bokuto koutaro

a/n - omg bubs :(( i’m so fucking sorry about what happened ugh i chose character that i felt would be the best people to go to for reassurance and comfort so i hope this made your situation a little bit better. pls never forget how beautiful you are i love you so much <33 also i kinda went a lil off topic but i still included the reassurance part and i hope this himbo was able to brighten your day just a little bit :))) if you didn't like the character, you could always send me another ask to just change the character <33

[6:27]

fuck, it was only 3 minutes until your boyfriend would come pick you up for a date and here you were sitting on the cold bathroom floor, your makeup completely ruined with the amount of tears rolling down your face. dresses, pants, shirts, and makeup brushes were all thrown around the ground, and you were sitting in the middle of it. all you wanted was one night to look pretty for your boyfriend, just one night for you not to look like this.

your doorbell rang, but you made no movement to go and answer it. you couldn't let bokuto see you like this. he was no doubt the most sweetest and perfect man you've ever dated. too perfect. so perfect that most of the time you didn't see yourself fit in the equation. he had hopes and dreams that he would no doubt achieve. he was on the fast track to a rich and successful life. but what about you?

"baby i won't leave you no matter what" lies. "WAHH baby you're so pretty" lies. "can't believe you're all mine, aren't i the luckiest guy ever" no you're not. bokuto speaks fluent reassurance, he can make you feel as if you're on cloud 9 and the most prettiest girl in the world, but sometimes you don't understand how blind your boyfriend can be sometimes. you felt suffocated.

your doorbell began to ring at a constant speed, undoubtly, your boyfriend becoming impatient about how long you were taking. through the massive pile of clothes, you tried to search your phone, in an attempt to try cancel the date, albeit a little too late for that, since bokuto was right outside your door. but no matter how much you tried, you couldn't stand up.

you: sorry kou, i don't think i'll be able to go

kou baby: hm? something happen baby?

kou baby: do you want your big strong handsome boyfriend to help you?

kou baby: what's wrong honey bun?

you: sick

kou baby: OH NO MY POOR BABY, I'LL GET SOME FOOD AND MEDICINE AND WILL BE RIGHT BACK

kou baby: DON'T EVEN LIFT A FINGER

'shit', you thought. it seems as if seeing him is unavoidable. at this point you were at rock bottom with no signs of getting any better. does he even love me? shutup. he does. a bath, maybe that would make the weight on your chest magically disappear. the warmth surrounded you in a way that you haven't felt a long time.

you didn't even realise that you fell asleep, you don't even remember the last time you slept, so by the time you woke up, covered by a fluffy blanket and pajamas on, you panicked. you sat up, and drank from the cup of water that was left on your dresser. did i leave that there? a large thud came from your living room and instantly remembered about your date with your boyfriend. [8:56] your clock read. 'shit' you thought. another bang came from your living room and you hesitantly got up to look at what was happening.

you were greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, his body clad in a black suit, seemingly setting up candles and your favourite take-out on your small dining table. for someone so carefree, he was being so meticulous, making sure the knifes and forks were straight and facing the right way, wiping down the plates for the fifth time, using your favourite candle that he knows helps you keep calm. you didn't even know what came over you, bursting into tears that you didn't even know that you had left. your cries were not left unheard by bokuto who immediately panicked after seeing your tear stained face and swept you into his arms, bringing back that warmth in your body. being in his arms just felt so right.

"my pretty baby.. what's wrong my love?"

"what are you doing here kou?"

"well you said you were sick, and i just had to come to your rescue, i used your spare key if you don't mind. i found you asleep in the tub and got a little bit scared. y'know me, a big scaredy cat. but i dried you off and put you to bed"

hearing his words just made you cry even harder. he did so much for you and you couldn't even show up to one stupid date. no matter how hard you tried to fight back the tears, it just kept coming and your boyfriend never let you go. even after a solid 15 minutes of you staining his suit with tears, he never once stopped holding you, kissing the crown of your head and rubbing your head.

"m sorry kou... i'm sorry... i'm so sorry kou"

"hey hey hey, no need to apologise pretty girl, i understand, it's okay to cry, i'm the one who should be apologising for not checking up on you sooner"

"not your fault kou, i was just so tired"

"tired of what pretty girl?"

"not being enough for you kou... i'm tired of not being pretty enough, skinny enough... i just wanna be good enough for you"

"but you are baby, always have been, always will be, i don't care about your looks or weight, as long as it's you, i'm happy"

"how can you even be so happy with me, happy with going out in public with me?"

"because i love you baby, and i want everyone to know how much i love you, because at the end of the day, you're the one i chose, you're the one that makes me the happiest in the world, you're the one whom i want to spend the rest of my life with. so stop with these tears baby, you're stuck with me until we're old and wrinkly"

"but kou, i just feel like you could have done so much better than me you know?...someone more interesting and fun"

"baby, are you not listening to me? i love you, so so so so so much, no matter what. to me, you're the prettiest, most beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, irresistable, charming and angelic person i have ever met. and i don't care what anyone says, you're my soulmate, and i would sell my soul to be able to even meet you in my next life. i would give up anything for you to stay by my side for all of eternity, because i love you. understand?"

"mhm, i love you"

"and i love you more princess, NOW LET'S EAT, I WENT TO YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE, YOU MUST BE HUNGRY"

your boyfriend did not even hesitate to dig in, and you were mesmerised on how quickly he was able to comfort you so well.

"baby? you still sad? why are you just watching me eat, you should eat too, while it's still warm, CAN I FEED YOU? SAY AHH"

and as you went through the night with your boyfriend, it never occurred to you more than right now, bokuto koutaro was your soulmate.

fin.

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slytherinwh0re · 4 years ago

Text

The cheeseburger

Draco Malfoy x muggleborn!reader

Warnings: food and swearing

Summary: Where you take Draco to eat his very first cheeseburger in the muggle world.

Masterlist

A/N: just a lil something goofy that’s loosely based on events that happened to me lol also shoutout to Mrs. Deborah, she’s my boss and she’s the best gal ever

“You’ve never had a cheeseburger?” Your eyes are wide in disbelief at the thought of your boyfriend never having experienced one of life’s best things.

“Once again, what the hell is a—chessburger?” Draco rolls his eyes, something he’s been doing a lot since you forced him into muggle clothes for your day in the muggle world. He sure does look cute in jeans.

“You’ll see, they’re the best.” You grab his hand, leading him towards the cute 50s themed diner you always go to as he mumbles under his breathe about his feet hurting and how he misses being able to apparate.

When you walk in you wave at Mrs. Deborah, the older lady winks at you upon seeing the tall handsome wizard who’s holding your hand, looking slightly out of place.

“My usual please Mrs. Deborah, Draco will have the same thing.” She smiles sweetly at the both of you before telling the cooks your order, then pouring you both an ice cold coke.

“Why does it burn?” Draco takes another sip, “is there firewhiskey in this?” He looks at you confused by the fizzy liquid that you assume he likes, he hasn’t put it down.

“It’s carbonated and very bad for you but amazing nonetheless.” He nods his head in agreement, looking around the small diner curiously while you wait for the food. He asks you questions about Mrs Deborah, wanting to know if she has to serve food because she’s related to house elves, you can’t help but laugh.

“There you go suga.” The older lady sets down your plates, both of you thank her, and she leaves you to it.

“Well what’re you waiting for, go ahead, try it.” You push his plate towards him.

“What exactly is this again?” He asks for the 10th time.

“It’s a cheeseburger, with extra cheese, and bacon.” Your stomach rumbles, showing draco around your muggle city really made you hungry.

“I don’t have a fork or a knife.” The blonde looks around the table and you laugh at the thought of him properly cutting up a cheeseburger with a knife.

“You eat it with your hands Draco.” You grab your burger and purposely take a huge bite to show him how it’s done.

“With my hands? Like a commoner?” At this you burst out laughing, only he would say that.

“Yes with your hands, just like all us commoners.” He looks down at the burger and hesitantly picks it up, sniffs it, then finally takes a bite.

“What do you think?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him, already knowing he loves it because if he didn’t he probably would’ve tried to avada you by now.

“Oh fuck you, it’s brilliant.”

Tag list: Message me to be added/removed

@tonksandherpinkhair @fuckingdraco @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lovecatsnotpeople @ccabian @purpleskymalfoy @tonksandhercombatboots @hellounicorn @whattheactualfuckyeet @perfect-storm95 @prongsandprancer @agirlwithpointlessideas @explxsion @tb-ctn @capkatie @dracoxmgg @sydnee-kom-spacekru @slytherinxraven @emomikewazowski @juliannaamonroe @unadulteratedfirellamapanda @t38h @dracoswhore007 @d-malfoytb @daringvixon @missmercurymoon @weaslcyx @raylovessarcasm @xlilsubbyx @amourtentiaa @sahvlren @beiahadid @royalvolturisblog @im-totally-not-dezi @evaridd1e @futuremrsfelton20 @dlmmdl @rowanthomasknapp

#draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fluff #slytherin #harry potter

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vad-hander · 4 years ago

Text

JAEBEOM, THE GUY FROM THE BAR

Pairing: Jaebeom x reader

Genre: Series | Eventual Smut | Angst | Fluff

Warnings: break up, cheating, strangers to lovers, mentions of drinking

Words: 3.8k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Your head felt dizzy and you wouldn’t lie if you’d say that everything caved in and pulled out from under you.

The first sip you took was when your foot exited the store, unscrewing the lid of the wine you bought, immediately. It burned your throat, but the whole in your chest burned ten times stronger and you chose to deal with your inner pain first. Your feet walked you through the streets of Seoul, trying to focus your brain on something other than the void inside of you but failed miserably. The first bottle didn’t do its job yet and when you pressed it against your lips for another sip you noticed how it was already empty. The nearest bin became it’s grave and the nearest store became your saviour, allowing you to buy another drink. This time your eyes fell onto the beer, and you bought three bottles, opening them in the park nearby, you sat down on the grass, fishing out the cake you had baked a day before from the bag on your shoulder. Not bothering with the way you’d it eat you just bit into it, getting cake all over your face. You chuckled to yourself, wiping sweet goodness from your skin.

You turned on music in your headphones, playing every upbeat song there was, nodding your head and moving your foot to the beat, right until you felt warm trails of tears on your cheeks. You laid your head on the grass, hiding your face in your palms, not holding back anymore from crying.

You weren’t able to believe it, you couldn’t believe he did this to you. You never thought he’d cheat, you never thought you’d find out about it in such a bad way. You never expected this from Jeno, but then again, who ever expects their partner to cheat?

Your mind went again over everything you’ve been through in the past 8 months, your mind went through your friendship of 3 years, 3 years of you being head over heels for Jeno until one day you became more.

Suddenly you remembered how Jaebeom told you to break up with him making you hate everything about the situation even more. If you listened, you would’ve not went through what you just went through, but why would you listen to a stranger anyway? You hated the fact he was right, but one single memory of him made you want to see him.

You fished out your phone to search on the internet open hours of the bar. The website said 5 PM, making you shift your eyes up to the clock of your phone. It was already three, and since your plans for the day and maybe even life were ruined, you had no better things to do than just come there and wait for him. Wait for Jaebeom for no reason. Just because he was the only person that didn’t know Jeno, just because he was the only person you wanted to see.

The route in your phone promised you that you’d be there right before opening if you’ll walk, so without hesitation you sat up, collecting yourself and walking in the direction of the bar.

You tried to do everything for emptiness in your hands to bother you more, than the new feeling of having your heart ripped from your chest, and halfway to the bar you went to one more alcohol store, getting this time a proper drink - rum. You didn’t know where this rum addiction suddenly came from, but now you guessed it should be your signature drink when it came to meeting Jaebeom.

The familiar by now burn of the drink gave your brain one more reason to think about Jaebeom. You have almost forgot that you spilled your drink over him, almost forgot the way he said your name. Memories of him almost made a small shard of your heart go back in place, almost, because the image of Jeno with HER, made all of your insides clench in pain.

Jeno. Jeno. Jeno. Jeno. Your brain went in overdrive, repeating his name like a mantra. Your fingers ached to dial his number but your brain knew you had nothing to tell him. Your love have died just like that, it didn’t go somewhere overnight, you didn’t wake up and understand that you didn’t love him anymore. He killed it with his actions, Jeno killed everything there was with his actions, and now you were killing memories of him in your head, finding the neck of the bottle with your lips.

From the side you must’ve looked like a psychopath, crying, laughing, talking to your own self, walking in a quicker and slower pace. Doing everything that came to your mind. Now you were free in every meaning possible, why’d you bother about anything?

You got there quicker than your phone have promised, seeing the door of the bar being closed. Not finding a better option than just sitting on the bench not far from the entrance, you placed the bottle next to you, only realising how tired you got from walking when your butt rested against wooden material of your seat. You looked around, noticing how the area of the bar was actually pretty quiet. Your eyes ran over the streets that were surrounding the building, wondering in your mind if one of those roads led to Jaebeom’s house.

Alcohol from the rum hit you like a rock, crawling from behind your brain with tiredness. You closed your eyes for a slight second, only to feel someone touch your shoulder the next moment.

“Are you alive?” a man asked you carefully. Your eyes blew open in fear, noticing how it was much darker outside. Your eyes focused on the man in front of you.

“Jaebeom.” you said quietly, sighing.

“Celebrating your boyfriends birthday to the max?” he joked, grabbing the bottle from next to you. You tried to smile back, biting your upper lip and lifting your eyes up to the sky to prevent from crying.

“No, I’m alone here.” your voice trembled and it was the last bit before you broke down. Hot tears streamed down your face, making you feel embarrassed. You barely could see Jaebeom’s face but he went quiet and you guessed he didn’t want to deal with that, expected.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, calm down.” his hands touched your cheeks and your insides turned upside down. “We’ll work everything out, you can tell me.” His thumbs drew soothing little circles under your eyes making you want to put it all in you to stop crying. You blinked multiple times finally being able to see his face properly for the first time this evening, seeing him squatting in front of you. He probably noticed you focus your vision on him, gifting you a kind smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” you cleared your throat in a couple of seconds, finally replying. You thought he’ll let go of your face by now, but he kept his fingers glued to your cheeks, keeping his eyes glued to yours. You felt your breathing get heavier, but you attributed it to your recent crying.

“How come you’re so beautiful even when you’re crying?” he chuckled more to himself, beating air from your lungs completely.

Your hands slowly found Jaebeom’s on your cheeks, covering his hands with yours. You wanted to make him let go of you, but when you got the taste of what his hands felt like with your own, you changed your mind immediately.

People passed by, drunk and sober, some were just going in and some were already leaving. You didn’t know how long your nap took, you didn’t know how come you got so lucky to be woken up by Jaebeom and not some weird creep.

You stared at each other, both of you being scared to break the moment.

“Ya, Jaebeom, where did you get lost?” the voice of a guy made you jump in Jaebeom’s hands, turning your head in unison with Jaebeom to face the guy.

“Get lost, I’ll come later.” one of his hands left you, showing the guy to leave.

You let go of Jaebeom’s hand when he turned back to you, and he let go of your cheek too, sitting on the bench right next to you.

“Why did you sleep on the bench?” he asked not looking at you.

“Buy me a drink.”

“What?”

“You wanted to buy me a drink twice, now I agree.” you looked at him.

“I won’t.” he turned to face you.

“Why is that?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Is that all you had? Half of the rum?”

“No…” You said shamefully.

“What else?”

“Wine, beer and then this.” you listed quickly expecting any reaction from him, but he just watched you.

“Let’s go.” he quickly stood up after some time of silence.

“Where to?”

“Cafe next block. You need food and coffee, and when you’ll tell me everything I’ll see if you’re allowed to drink any more. Come on.” he signalled for you to go with his head and you stood up too, grabbing the bottle to take with you. “Give me that.”

“Why?”

“I’ll carry it for you. Don’t worry, I won’t throw it away, I see that you have a special relationship with rum. I won’t fight it.” he shot you a smile, pulling the bottle from your hands.

***

“Eat up.” Jaebeom moved the plate closer to you when the waitress that eyed him wildly finally left your sight.

“Thank you.” you sighed, picking the fork and a knife, cutting up the pancakes in the plate. Jaebeom took the coffee pot, pouring hot beverage into your cup and placing the pot back on the table. “Hey, have coffee too.” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“You eat, you need to sober up.”

“I never offered the food, don’t even dream of that.” you played with your eyebrows and Jaebeom chuckled at you, smiling at you sweetly for a few more seconds after you lowered your eyes to the plate.

You cut through the pancakes, sticking a few pieces on the fork. Lifting your eyes up you noticed that he poured coffee for himself too. You waited patiently for him to lift his eyes up at you.

“Open your mouth.” you commanded the next second he looked at you. A smirk lit up his face and a sudden regret rushed over your body. Maybe that was a bit overboard, maybe that’s the rum inside of you speaking. Whatever it was, it was way too late now to back off. Jaebeom nibbled on his lower lip with a smile, opening his mouth slightly and extending his neck towards you. Your hand moved up and froze in the air when your eyes focused on his mouth. Redness flashed over your face at the thoughts that ran in your head. How soft would his mouth feel on yours?

His hand quickly grabbed yours, moving it towards his face, forcing the fork into his mouth and biting the pancakes off it. He let go of your hand, letting it fall back onto the table.

“So tell me, what happened?” he asked you after he finished chewing. His elbows laid on the table, making you feel as if you were under interrogation.

“Don’t be a party pooper, I just began feeling better.” you whined, making Jaebeom laugh again. What’s up with him laughing at everything you say? We’re you that funny…? You never noticed before.

“I didn’t know you considered this a party.” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded quickly, forcing your attention into the plate, knowing if you’d keep your eyes on him a second longer you’d cry.

You stared into the plate through the whole time you ate, finishing the coffee in your cup, feeling how he stared at you quietly while you were consuming everything that was on the table.

“Jeno, my boyfriend, the guy you told me to dump, I guess he dumped me.” you leaned more into the seat, seeing Jaebeom’s face for the first time in a while. He kept quiet, allowing you to continue but you didn’t do it.

“On his birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“Right after you came with miyeok guk?”

“Yeah… well, I think technically before that.” you chuckled hysterically. “I came to his place, punched in the code and got to his bedroom only to find a topless girl on top of him. They were…” you coughed awkwardly.

“Fucking?” he asked carelessly.

“Yeah… that. So… I guess he only called me last night to find out if I’ll come early when she was already there, to see if he should make her leave or what. I shouldn’t have lied, if I didn’t I would’ve lived my happy clueless life. Want to know the funny part?”

“There is one?” Jaebeom seemed surprised.

“You were right about the girl, you probably did see her somewhere because she was the one with him. I doubt she is the friends sister now.” you sighed and moved in your seat worriedly. You felt better but at the same you felt wrong sharing this with him. “The ridiculous part is that you really did read through my entire life in a second. That’s really annoying.” you looked him in the eyes, chuckling. “And concerning as well, should I be listening to you from now on in everything I do?” you tried to joke with him once again and he gifted you another smile.

“I won’t protest, but I won’t force you either.” he looked you deep in the eyes. He did that way too often as if he tried to speak to you through staring.

“Would you like anything else?” waitress broke off the silence, ruining one of your moments.

“No, thanks.” Jaebeom gave the girl the same smile he always gave you, and a weird pinch of jealousy hit your chest. “Give us the bill, please.” his voice was soft and the girl smiled even brighter than before.

“Just a moment.” she bowed and left.

“So you’re friendly like that to everyone.” you noted to yourself but did it aloud for some reason.

“I’m friendly to everyone but for you I’m all that and even more.” he leaned in and extended his hand to you, laying it with his palm up for you to lay yours on top.

“Why?” he stretched his fingers signalling to you that he’s waiting.

“There should be a reason?”

“There’s a reason for everything.” you replied, fighting an inner battle if its appropriate now to touch his hand.

“Okay, then my reason is that I’m naturally attracted to you. Didn’t I tell you already multiple times that I liked you?” he sounded so casual as if he spoke about weather. Your hands felt cold due to fear you were experiencing. Was he meaning he liked you as a person? As a company? Or did he mean something else…? Something more? The idea of asking him to clarify these questions gave you a whiplash. His whole presence gave you constant whiplash with everything he said, did and even with the way he looked at you. You knew for sure you weren’t about to forget Jeno in a second and you were afraid to tell that to Jaebeom in case he didn’t mean it in that way at all. Jeno broke your heart and you knew that you needed more time to over-live it than 8 hours. At the same time you were afraid Jaebeom would laugh at your silly assumption of him wanting you by his side in a different way.

Giving him your hand to hold wouldn’t hurt anything though, right? You thought to yourself it wouldn’t and laid your palm on top of his.

“I thought you said I’m okay and we could be friends, now you doubted to lay your hand on top of mine for 10 minutes, I’m offended.” His fingers wrapped around your hand moving it closer to his side of the table. His other hand laid on top of yours and you shivered unconsciously hoping he didn’t notice. “ you’re funny, cute and smart, that’s his loss, you shouldn’t be crying about someone who didn’t only disrespect you, he just showed what type of person he is. He’s a trash bag if he cheated, don’t waste your nerves on that. It’s better you found out more or less quickly. If you need someone to rely on I can be by your side. You can call me anytime.” Jaebeom lifted your hands off the table, finding your eyes with his, biting his lower lip. Lifting your hands higher, he lowered his head, planting a small kiss on the back of your hand. You couldn’t help but smile shyly at his gesture. “Give me your phone, by the way.”

“Oh?” you asked surprised but didn’t want to protest or question him any further, moving your hand from his and getting your phone out on the table. You unblocked it getting startled by the photo on the home screen. The photo of you being on Jeno’s back, kissing his cheek sweetly, while he bended and smiled into the camera happily. You wanted to change it quickly for Jaebeom to not see but your hands just froze. The void in your chest suddenly enlarged to the previous size.

Jaebeom grabbed the phone from your hands before you could even realise it and began doing something you couldn’t see. It took him longer than you expected and you bit your tongue to not ask questions.

You watched him focusing his vision onto the screen of your phone, probably typing his phone number into your contacts while you were just appreciating his handsome features.

“Would you like to pay by card or cash?” the waitress appeared scaring you once again.

“Card.” you said in unison. Jaebeom gave you a look, laying your phone by his side.

“I ate, I’ll pay.” you expanded your hand to grab the phone and pay with it but he caught your hand with his, making you blush because you could definitely feel the waitresses eyes on your hands.

“No.” he nodded strictly and the piercing gaze that he gave you killed your will to fight with him over that.

“Thanks for food… and for words you said…” you told him when the both of you exited the cafe. “You really are a good friend I guess.” you lifted your eyes to see his face.

“You want to go home?” he sounded disappointed. “Sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

“No, I’m just saying thank you.” you smiled. “Or were you hoping to not spend any more money on me? Didn’t you promise me a drink?” you whined jokingly.

“I thought you’re trying to run away from me.”

“No.” You shook your head.

“Good, i wouldn’t let you anyway.” he stepped closer invading your private space. “I’ll buy you as many drinks as you’d want me to…” he raised his arm and you stopped breathing to see what he’ll do next and he moved his palm closer to your cheek, making it burn with the electricity that was forming in the space between you two, but dropped his hand back down the next second. “Just stay by my side… for tonight, at least.” his hand found your wrist, pulling you to go after him towards the entrance of the bar. 15 minutes later the both of you were sitting at the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice you called him.

“Rum and coke?” Jaebeom asked with a laugh.

“I’ll have what you’ll have.”

“Okay.” he nodded seriously, lifting his arm again. “Two shots of vodka.” he gestured number two with his fingers.

“Just a second.” your eyes ran from Jaebeom to bartender quickly, trying to see if he was about to tell you it was a joke, but he didn’t. Even when the shot glasses hit the bar he watched bartenders moves quietly, only looking up at you when the order was done.

“I didn’t know that’s what you meant when you said you want to buy me a drink.” you laughed awkwardly.

“That’s just because you said you want what I want.” he pushed the glass towards you more.

Your eyes ran between Jaebeom and vodka.

“Okay, on the count of 3.” you grabbed the glass.

“No, no, both of these are for you.”

“What?”

“Drink.” he gestured.

“Jaebeom.” you sighed disapprovingly.

“You’ll feel better when you’ll stop thinking about everything.”

“I’ll pass out, if it seemed to you that I’m a great drinker, you’re wrong. I’m not drinking often and I’m not really taking it well.”

“You can chill out, I won’t let anything happen to you even if you’ll pass out.” his hand reached your cheek, caressing it a few times.

“Give me a single reason why I should trust my life to a stranger?” you asked curiously.

“To see that I’m not just a stranger to you anymore.” his hand stopped moving and his eyes glued to you in anticipation. Your hand slowly found the glass without looking away from Jaebeom, raising it to your lips, you exhaled, quickly downing the shot. Now that you were completely sober the drink burned like hell and there was nothing to wash down vodka, so you just grabbed the other glass too, downing it in a span of a second. You felt Jaebeom’s hand move from your cheek to your neck, while you were wrinkling your face in disgust, suddenly pulling you by it from where you sat into his embrace. You fell, resting your body against his as if you were a small child, feeling his hand let go of your neck and rest against your back. Your face hid in the crook of his neck and you couldn’t not point out to yourself how bloody good he smelled. Everything about him was always too good to be true. He seemed perfect to the extent it felt concerning but you guessed it was a bit too late to back off now.

When you finally were able to open your eyes again you still felt his hands on your waist, moving yours to rest against his shoulders to push back a little. He didn’t let go of you, leaving his fingers to burn the skin of your sides even through the clothes.

“I didn’t think you’d actually drink both.” he chuckled “you fine?” you nodded yes and he allowed you to sit back.

“I want more.” you turned to face him when you sat.

“More of what?”

“Whatever you’ll buy me.” you smiled at him feeling a bit drunk. Jaebeom nodded at you, biting on his lower lip.

One more round of pure alcohol, and that’s the last thing you remember of the evening.

#jaebeom #jaebeom smut #jay b #jaebeom fluff #jaebeom fanfiction #jaebum #im jaeboem #jaebom #got7 jb #jb fic #jb smut #jaebum smut #jaebum imagines #jaebum fluff #got7 #got7 jaebeom #got7 smut #got7 fluff

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hyucksos · 8 months ago

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heavy is the crown — mark lee [preview]

pairing: mark lee x f!reader genre: fantasy/supernatural au, crime-action, angst, romance preview wc: 1.2k (actual wc: tbc) synopsis: a series of visions lead you to mark lee, a seemingly normal human boy with no ties to the world of the gifted— your world. as such, you're concerned as to why you keep seeing him in your dreams, and the army of wraiths that just can't seem to leave him alone despite him being powerless... or so you thought. as he joins you at the academy, you learn that there may be more to this mark lee than you thought there was. taglist: closed | click here to join

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But nothing.

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

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

But this one was different.

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

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

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

You’re the girl from earlier.

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

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

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

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

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

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

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

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

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iliveiloveiwrite · 5 years ago

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Bloom // H.P.

Summary: Healing doesn't happen overnight. It’s a process that can take months, if not, years to come to terms with. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. Harry finally feels ready to confront feelings that have long been sat, growing unattended in the recesses of his mind and soul.

A/N: This was inspired by the made-up fic title that I did a few weeks ago. I got so stuck on this, I couldn't get any further, but inspiration somewhat struck and here we are. I know this is long, but I am so so proud of this, I would love some interaction with this. Take a chance, please.

Warnings: feelings of sadness, grief, worthlessness, more visits to graveyards, talks of death. This sounds dark, and parts are, but there is so much fluff and comfort and pining in this.

Word count: 9.4k

Harry’s Flat, London, England, October.

For the fourth night this week, sleep evades him. Deciding to surrender this particular battle, Harry sits up in bed and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.

With clearer vision, he turns to the digital clock next to where he places his glasses. He hangs his head in his hands when he reads the time. not even two hours of sleep before he awoke; his mind unwilling to alleviate him long enough for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

He supposes it could be a good thing, or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he throws the covers off his body and swings his legs out of bed. As he sits on the edge of his bed, Harry gives himself a moment.

He gives himself only a single moment to give into the tidal wave threatening to drown him. A single moment simply to feel everything before he packs it all away into corresponding drawers in his mind.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he plods into the living room and through to the kitchen. As he boils the kettle, he thinks of you and your ingrained belief that everything can be put to rights over a cup of tea.

Settling in the living room, he grabs the remotes for the television. Turning it on, he switches the volume to mute, not wanting loud noises, but rather the comfort of monotonous moving pictures. Harry cannot tell what the programme is; a muggle show dedicated to archaeology, he thinks, but he pays it little mind.

He runs a hand down his face; feeling the tiredness deep within his bones. The insomnia had started in the months after the end of the war; beginning with repetitive nightmares in which he would suffer through the deaths of his friends countless times before being awoken by the sounds of his own screams. From there, it shifted into a fear of sleep, a terror of closing his eyes and seeing Hermione’s or Ron’s lifeless bodies. He knows – he knows they are alive and well, but the fear remains.

He wonders how long he’ll continue to feel like this should do nothing; how long he will deal with the sleepless nights and the nightmares that greet him when he does close his eyes.

However, as he watches the soundless pictures play on the television, he cannot help but feel an urge to get better. To do better and to be better in all that he does. At the age of eighteen, he defeated the darkest wizard to have ever walked the earth in the last century. At the age of twenty three, five years later, he feels close to laughter that he has let his life come to this.

But no-one warned him of the aftermath of the war. No-one readied him for the feelings of guilt that twists his stomach; leaving him unable to eat. No-one explained to him just how long the nightmares would last; seeing the faces of those that fell at the battle of Hogwarts and before as he tries and tries to dream of happy things.

Harry’s bottom lip begins to wobble. The tears won’t fall. It’s been years, Harry thinks, since he had cried in earnest.

As Harry sits on his couch for the fourth night that week, he readies himself to start putting his life back together again.

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, October.

The Burrow had always, to Harry at least, been a place full of happy memories. The home of the Weasley family physically exuded warmth and happiness. To put it bluntly, it was Harry’s safe haven; the place he could go where he would find no judgement for his state of sleeplessness or lack of appetite. He would catch Molly watching him worriedly, but she knew not to press, and for that, he was thankful. To appease her worries, or at least to lessen them slightly, he visits the Weasley matriarch once a week.

Immediately, Harry is wrapped up in hug after hug. Molly keeping her hands on Harry’s cheeks as she moves his head side to side, getting a good look at him. She clamps her lips together to keep the frown from forming on her face; worry rises in her gut, but she does not voice it.

The food cooking on the stove has Harry’s mouth watering as he walks through the kitchen to the large table in the dining area. There, he finds your eyes. They remain on the door as he walks through, as if you knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered.

“Mate,” Ron greets; pushing a drink into Harry’s hand. Harry nods at Ron, taking a swig of his drink before smiling at Hermione.

He moves to sit next to you; wanting nothing more than to sit by your side so he can tell his plan of which he came up with by himself. All around him conversation continues as if he had never walked in in the first place. He supposes that’s bit big-headed of him to think, but as he looks around those he classes as his family, he comes to realisation that they’ve all started to move on.

It hits him then and there; just how terrified he is of being left behind.

“How have you been?” You ask; voice gentle and caring as you lean into him.

Harry smiles at you; spooning vegetables onto his plate but feeling no pangs of hunger. “You just saw me last week,” Harry reminds in humour; his attempt at avoiding the twinges of fear ravaging his gut.

You roll your eyes, “That means it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. So, how have you been?”

Harry hears the meaning in your words; he hears the undercurrent of worry in your voice, and it only adds to the pit growing in his stomach. After his decision the other night, it was as if all the realisations hit him at once and he came to see just how much of a bad friend he had been to you all. He’d had been so caught up in his self-loathing that he failed to see just how much you were struggling with it all; he hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Hermione had also sought out help too.

Harry nods; reaching for his knife and fork, “I’ve been okay.”

Even he can hear the lie in his voice, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, you don’t address it. You simply nod; patting his hand twice before turning your attention to your own meal.

Cutlery scrapes on plates as happy conversation lightens the atmosphere. It isn’t mentioned, but it is there – the absence of Fred’s laughter and his smile, the pointed comments, and his love for his mother. It is there, and it only adds to the guilt pooling in Harry’s stomach and invading his bloodstream.

It’s as if you sense it; as if you sense Harry starting to spiral, his thoughts turning to that dark place that he so often finds himself in. It’s as if you know; changing the hand in which your fork sits to free up your other hand so you can take Harry’s under the table and squeeze. A silent reminder if there is any.

I’m here, you remind him, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

Harry squeezes back; unable to do or say anything else, meeting Arthur Weasley’s pained eyes from across the table, and beginning to wish that he had in fact done and said more.

At the age of eighteen years old, harry defeated the darkest wizard in a century. Yet, he had lost a friend he had classed as a brother, and now finds it hard to look Molly and Arthur in the eye.

There is a lapse in conversation and Harry slips his hand free of yours, needing to leave the room before the guilt he’s sitting in drowns him. He smiles apologetically at each Weasley, eyes lingering on the empty chair across from George and promptly leaves the room.

The night air is cold against Harry’s bare arms as he sits on one of the many benches littering the Weasley’s gardens. It’s so cold that his breath is coming out in white puffs, but he doesn’t feel the need to fetch his coat. In fact, he would rather feel the cold against his skin. It reminds him that he’s alive and that he’s breathing. It reminds him of those are who no longer living.

He stiffens at the sounds of footsteps behind him; his hand immediately reaching for his wand kept in his back pocket.

Harry relaxes somewhat when he realises it was you who followed him outside, and not Ron or Hermione. He doesn’t turn, but he smiles when he hears you swear quietly, having tripped on a rogue stone.

You sigh as you sit down on the bench next to him; rubbing at your sore knee.

“How are you not freezing?” You ask; rubbing at your clothed arms, not happy with the chill seeping through to your bones.

Harry releases a breath; it puffs white, “I don’t feel it.”

You raise an eyebrow; running a finger over his arm which is covered in goosebumps, “I beg to differ.”

Harry doesn’t reply; he flashes a smile your way before returning his attention to the night sky and all that he can see of what the Weasley’s own. For a few minutes, no words are spoken between you both. Sinking into a silence that could only be described as comfortable; he doesn’t feel the constant need to reassure you that he’s okay. You check in on him every now and then, but no true pestering takes place.

Truthfully, Harry basks in your attention. He rather likes the fact that you do make a fuss of him when you check in on him because he’s sure that without you, he would be doing a lot worse than the nightmares and insomnia.

Breaking the silence, you broach the subject of Harry’s health, “Harry, can I give you the name and number of my therapist? I’ve made real progress since working with her, and I think you will too.”

Harry smiles at you; feeling grateful for your help but feeling like an awful friend for shaking his head and declining your offer. “I just… I don’t feel ready yet to speak to someone.”

You nod your head, “I get that, but Harry, it’s been five years since the end of the war, and you know how I worry.”

He nods, letting the conversation collapse into nothing in front of him. This is the time, he realises, to tell you his plans for getting better that don’t involve divulging his deepest and darkest secrets to a stranger, even if they are a trained professional.

“I have a favour to ask you,” Harry prompts, “And I’ll understand if you say no.”

“If I can help you, Harry, I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want to speak to anyone, not yet at least, but I do want to start moving on.”

“So what’s the favour?” You ask; your curiosity piqued with his mystery.

“I want to visit the places where things have happened, whether they’re good or bad. I want to go back, and I want to see them in a different light.”

“That,” You pause; thinking of your next words, “That sounds like a really good idea, Harry. Where do I come into it though?”

Harry smiles at you sheepishly; running a hand through his forever messy hair. “I want you to come with me,” He states as plain as day.

“What?”

“I’d like for you to come with me,” Harry amends, “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“What about Ron or Hermione? I’m sure they would help.”

Harry shakes his head, “They’re both so busy, and they’re starting their lives together. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for either of them if I can help it.”

You sigh, picking at an invisible thread on your sleeve, “How were you thinking of doing this? I have to work too, you know. Not everyone can inherit a fortune, Potter.”

Harry blinks, letting your words settle before a small smile breaks across his face, “You’d come with me?”

“Harry,” You start, “I don’t think there was any chance of me saying no to you. If I can help you in any way, I can. I’m always here for you.”

The familiar burn of tears starts at the back of his throat. Harry has to avert his eyes; glancing up at the night sky as he swallows past the lump in his throat. He should have known you would say yes; you’ve been by his side for everything since Third Year, but the small voice in the back of his mind had him doubting whether you would.

“Thank you,” He whispers eventually.

“So,” You begin, “Where too first?”

Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, November.

Upon the untimely death of Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been passed down to Harry through Sirius’ will. Sirius had no children for the house to go to, but Harry was as good as.

Standing on a residential street in Islington, you watched as the house appeared as if from nowhere. Appearing amongst number eleven and number thirteen as if it had always been there; as if it was part of the furniture at this point.

Thick dust covers each and every surface. Simply opening the door sends a cloud of dust into your face; leaving you coughing and sneezing as Harry battles the enchantments placed upon the home after the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Turning your gaze to Harry, you could remember the last time you had stepped foot in the ancestral home of the house of Black. It hadn’t been long after Sirius’ death; Harry’s gut-wrenching screams still echoing in your ears as you had bundled him up in any blankets you could find and sat him down at the kitchen table.

He hadn’t spoken much; he hadn’t even cried. Instead, his face set in steely determination, his desperate need to avenger his godfather overriding any common sense. That night, instead of comforting him and drying his eyes, it had been argument after argument, trying to make Harry see sense.

It took hours; the both of you tired not only from the arguing but from the grief sitting on your shoulders. It took hours, but Harry eventually agreed with you, choosing to sit back and wait for the right moment instead of lunging headfirst into attack that would surely get him killed.

Memory after memory washes over you, dragging you into its grips. If the memories are this strong for you, it was not hard to imagine how it must be for Harry.

You focus your attention on him, watching him warily as he wanders further down the hallway, heading for the kitchen where you still expect to hear Sirius’ raucous laugh despite years having passed since his death.

“How are you feeling?” You ask; running a finger across the now clean surface of the kitchen table.

Harry releases a shuddering breath. “I thought,” He starts, “I thought by coming here it would help me come to terms with Sirius and what happened in the Department of Mysteries but being here simply makes me hate his family more.”

“What makes you say that?”

Harry gestures to the large room. “He hated being here. He despised being locked up in the house that he left at sixteen, but he wanted to help the Order, so he stayed here and let it be used as the headquarters.”

“That… That is a very noble thing to do,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the man in front of you, taking in his tight fists and clenched jaw.

Harry laughs without humour, “The noble house of Black.”

Silence lapses and the tension in the room only increases. Biting your lip, you can only think that this was the wrong thing to do, that this is only pushing Harry further away instead of helping him come to terms with the last years of his life.

“We can leave, Harry,” You remind him, “We can leave right now and do this another day, when you’re more ready.”

He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his funk but also steadfastly refusing to go. He’s made this far; he’ll see it through to the end. He throws you a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes and your heart cracks a little.

Holding a hand out to you, Harry states, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

The room he enters is one he has told you about countless times; describing it with so much detail that as you enter the room behind him you feel as if you’ve already been inside.

It cannot be denied that the tapestry is nothing short of piece of art. It cannot be ignored that the depth of detail to the Black family tree is not breathtaking, but at the same time it is so utterly heartbreaking to see the scorch marks litter the walls. The consequence of turning against one’s own family, you think as you step further into the room, taking in its beauty but also its darkness.

“The noble house of Black,” Harry spits, gesturing to four walls, pointing at each scorch mark before settling on the one that once showed the portrait of his beloved godfather.

“He got out,” He states brokenly, “He left his blood family to live with his found family. He had a life ahead of him. He had my father, he had Remus. He had his family, and it was all taken away in one night. In one night, Sirius lost his best friend and then his freedom.

“And all I feel when I think about Sirius is anger. At how he was treated. He was good, (Y/N),” Harry states, his tone pleading, full of emotion, “He was good, and he was treated like shit. His real family didn’t care but his found family did and then he lost all of it.”

“He found you, Harry,” You remind him, “Sirius found you. You didn’t have half as long with him than what you should have, but he made sure to be involved in your life. After the Triwizard Tournament and you had come back with Cedric, Sirius would not leave your side in the hospital. I remember seeing him every morning and he would stay every night. He loved you, Harry – remember that.”

“And what did I do?” Harry laughs, “I got him killed. Some godson I am.”

“Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius’ death.”

He scoffs, disbelief and derision echoing off the walls. You stalk over the green eyed man, your determination growing with every step. You grab his face in both your hands, bringing his face to your level, “Listen to me, Potter. Are you listening?”

He nods, eyes wide and voice silent.

“Good,” You smirk before turning serious. “You are not to blame for Sirius’ death. He knew what was happening in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that there was a chance he was not going to come out of there alive and he still went in to find you, to protect you.”

“If I had paid more attention to what Voldemort showed me though… I could have figured out it was fake…”

You shake your head, “You were a sixteen year old boy, barely trained in occlumency and legilimency. You weren’t to know that what you had seen was fake. All you saw, Harry, was someone you care about being tortured. You acted on instinct.”

“Foolish instinct,” He argues.

You roll your eyes, “Not foolish at all. More brave than foolish.”

Harry remains silent; letting your words sink into his skin, binding them to his bones. It isn’t going to be as simple as one speech and all is forgiven, it is going to take time to forgive himself for the death of his godfather. There is always going to be an element of himself that believes strongly that he was the cause of Sirius’ death; if he hadn’t acted so rashly, if he had stopped to think things through, to go over exactly what Voldemort had shown him, Harry might have been able to delay Sirius’ death.

If, if, if.

If, if, if. He repeats that word; hindsight is a wonderful thing. If he had done this, if he had done that. Hindsight was going to be the death of him.

Harry focuses his attention back on you and the warmth of your hands on either side of his face. Gently, Harry places his hands on top of yours, “Can you let go of me now?”

You smile before pursing your lips, pretending to think through the answer. “I don’t know,” You ponder, “Are you going to continue to argue with me?”

“Probably,” Harry admits, “But I’m ready to go now.”

Harry lets his hands drop from yours, his eyes running over your face before stepping back. Your hands drop to your sides, clenching as if they wished to be touching him some more. His face feels cold now that you’ve let him go, as if all the warmth his body carried was in your hands.

“Do you think you’ll come back?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

Harry pauses, closing the door to the Black family tree behind him. He looks up and down the hallway; thinking of the memories he has cherished over the years. He had Sirius in his life for far shorted than he deserved, but he had Grimmauld Place to help him discover the man he idolised.

Meeting your stare, he nods. “I think I will eventually.”

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands, December.

It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit; it didn’t matter how long it had been since you roamed the corridors of the place you once considered your second home, seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry rise out of the Scottish Highlands would never be something you could get used to.

From your spot in Hogsmeade, you can just make out the turrets of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Slight unease spreads through your chest as you think back to the last time you had been at the school; still a student, hurling curses and jinxes at any Death Eater that happened by you.

Reflexively, you curl your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. You gasp slightly as the pain; your mind becoming clearer and your focus becoming sharper. Harry’s hand takes yours; unfurling your fingers and replacing them with him, tangling your hands together.

“(Y/N), are you okay?”

You take a deep breath; mentally working through the exercises given to you by your therapist,. Shakily, you smile at Harry, “I’m okay, Harry, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll always worry about you,” He says gently before continuing, “I’ll be okay though. I have you.”

You smile weakly; letting yourself be led through the well-worn path from Hogsmeade to the school. Small conversation is made; Harry bringing up happier memories of your education at the magical castle. The time when Ron received a Howler from his mother; the time when Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face.

Happier times now turned to memories; each one tinted with age.

Hogwarts soon looms in front of you both. Harry’s hand tightens on yours, fingers squeezing to the point of cutting off blood flow as he leads you into the grounds of the school.

It feels like coming home, but it also feels like facing your worst enemy. The Battle of Hogwarts had been hard on everyone who found themselves there; it had been hard for students and teachers. You would never forget the screams and the sound of breaking stone. It would be a long while until the sight of dead bodies could be scrubbed from your mind.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greets from the stairs; voice warm and fond, “To what do we the pleasure of this visit with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“I was hoping to walk the school and its grounds for a bit, Professor. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m trying to get better,” Harry states; sincerity ringing in his voice so much so that even McGonagall looked to be taken aback by his words.

She nods; finding her voice but needing to clear her throat first of all the emotion he had brought up, “Of course, Potter. Take as long as you need.”

Harry smiles at the beloved Professor gratefully, stretching out a hand towards you. You take it, resisting the urge to tangle your fingers together as Harry leads you to the Great Hall. “Where do you want to start?” You ask; eyes scanning the familiar walls, lingering on the Gryffindor table.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits, sounding lost as his eyes dance around the repaired room.

“It’s strange for me too,” You whisper, voice loud in the cavernous hall.

“It was entirely destroyed,” Harry recalls, sweeping his gaze over the large wall of windows by the Ravenclaw table.

You hope up on the closest table, crossing your legs as you watch Harry work through it all in his mind. He hadn’t been in the hall too long, but even that was long enough to have to branded into your memories.

“The tables were pushed back against the wall,” He states, gesturing to both walls before sweeping his hands above the floor, “And bodies were laid out on the floor, resting on blankets and towels,” Harry turns towards the staff table, pointing to a flagstone just in front of it, “That was where Fred laid – Molly and George crying over his body,” Harry spins, his finger now pointing back in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, “Remus and Tonks rested there. Teddy, my Godson, now an orphan… like me.”

“So many lives lost,” He whispers brokenly; eyes lined with tears that won’t fall, no matter how sad or broken he feels.

You slip off the table, going to his side and clutching his hand. “We lost a lot that day,” You whisper, “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t feel that same loss, Harry.”

“I was terrified of finding you laid out in the Great Hall,” Harry admits though not for his own good; he’s coming too close to admitting his feelings for you, but this is something he had never told a living soul, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to tell you.

“What?” You ask, all thoughts emptying out of your head as you focus on Harry entirely.

“I was terrified of finding you in the Great Hall. I was so scared that I even hesitated at the door, wondering whether to walk in or walk away. I have dealt with a lot, and will continue to deal with a lot, but if there is one thing I cannot cope with the idea of, it is you hurt or worse,” He takes a deep breath, “The Battle of Hogwarts brought that out of me.”

“I’m here, Harry,” You reassure, “I’m here and I’m whole.”

“I know that now, but then I didn’t and even thinking of it drives me close to madness.”

“I wouldn’t leave without saying anything,” You laugh, “You know that Harry.”

Harry laughs, but there’s no heart to it. “I have you now, that’s something.”

Your heart skips a beat; thudding in your chest so loud you believe that it is entirely possible that Harry could hear it pounding away in your chest. You lean in, hiding your face in Harry’s shoulder – a rare moment of tenderness from both of you. Harry’s hand slips from yours to wrap around your waist, holding you to his body.

Hiding your smile in Harry’s shoulder, you murmur as loud as you dare, “You have me now, Harry. You have me forever.”

Neither of you make it further around the grounds of the castle; sticking to its interiors, wandering the corridors when students are firmly placed in classrooms, not wanting to be a distraction to their education.

Harry’s words continue to play through your mind; how he would not be able to cope if he lost you too. It makes this all more important for you, helping him come to terms with what he has experienced in such a short amount of time.

However, a small part of you rejoices in his admission, the words echoing in your head with a hint of hope. A hope that Harry may feel the same as you after all.

Hogwarts is left with a wave to McGonagall and a promise to write soon. Harry’s muscles relax the further he gets from the castle; the tension leeching away as he breathes in fresh air and Hogsmeade comes into view. He adored Hogwarts; it was his home, but he had to admit that it would be a while before he could face the whole castle without wanting to scream at the walls.

It’s a start however, Harry thinks as he grabs your hands and apparates the two of you back to his flat. It’s a start, he thinks, and now for the rest of it.

Little Hangleton, England, January.

Little Hangleton resides six miles from its paired village Great Hangleton. Little Hangleton was very much a village that was powered through gossip; the rumour mill only grew upon the deaths of the Riddle family. By the time an arrest had been made, the town had become judge, jury and executioner – sentencing poor Frank Bryce to a life of social exclusion even after being proven innocent.

Little Hangleton is made up of one main high street; five or six shops with a pub near the middle. It has a small village green where the local cricket team likes to practice every Saturday morning. It isn’t an extraordinary village; plain in comparison to other dwellings, but it’s history with the Riddle family would go down in wizarding lore until the end of days.

Harry continues to hold onto your hand long after you apparate into the village, landing in side street rather than in the high street as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. You refuse to be the first to let go; admitting to yourself that you rather like the way his hands fits in yours, how it feels like a steady anchor holding you in place.

Taking one look at the dark haired man next to you, you knew in your gut that this was going to be a hard day for him. Harry doesn’t talk about his nightmares often, but form what he has told you, this picturesque village features enough that you can see the tension line Harry’s jawline.

Nudging his shoulder, you smile softly, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry’s hand tightens on yours. He doesn’t reply verbally; nods his head and focuses on finding his destination. He can’t verbalise his gratefulness; he cannot put it into words just what this means to him because Harry is fairly certain there are no words to cover the scope of what he feels for you in this very moment.

He knew he was asking a lot of you to keep doing this; to visit these places and relive his darkest times with him. He knew it affected you more than you admitted, but he still was selfishly grateful you choose to come every time.

He thinks that he wouldn’t have been as half as productive with his feelings if it wasn’t for you. Harry’s feelings for you only having grown through these visits; he remains in awe of you, as he always has been, but now he can no longer deny himself the depth of his love for you. To deny himself that would be a grievous crime.

However, even Harry is aware that he is nowhere ready to confront the idea of a relationship. In the last few months, he has only been able to accept that Sirius’ death and your injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts were not his fault.

He has to keep working on himself; he has to keep healing so he can be worthy of a love like his parents had.

So for now, Harry is more than content to hold your hand with each apparition, to savour the way your hand fits in his perfectly and how each squeeze of your fingers sets his heart racing.

For now, Harry is happy to remain in the throes of puppy love, but still eager for the day when he can proclaim his love for you in the hopes that you feel the same.

Such thoughts are thrown out of his head when his eyes catch the sign for graveyard. His steps falter, before coming to a brief stop by the sign. Your free hand touches his arm and Harry turns to you, seeing the question reflected in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” He asks, voicing the unspoken question.

You nod, “Ready when you are.”

The graveyard looks just as it did all those years ago; dark and miserable.

You shiver as Harry pushes open the creaky metal gate. He holds the gate open for you out of politeness, but he does not return your smile of gratitude. Harry keeps his facial expression neutral as he turns to face the memories that still plague him all these years later.

His eyes run over the gravestones as he puts one wary foot in front of the other. You follow behind him timidly, footsteps slower as you too read over the names written in marble, granite, limestone.

It doesn’t take long to find the place. Harry’s feet take him there automatically despite the fact that the last time he was here, he had been apparated in and did not walk out.

The Reaper stands proudly among the gravestones; his scythe crossed against his body in readiness. Harry stills, coming to a stop in front of it. He tilts his face; staring into the faceless stone hood of the figure that had him trapped like prey all those years ago.

Harry doesn’t turn from the figure as he points directly behind him. “That is where he killed Cedric,” He states bluntly, hearing the thud the Hufflepuff’s body made as he landed lifeless at Harry’s side.

Your eyes leave Harry; body tensing as you make eye contact with the patch of grass that would be the last thing to touch Cedric’s body.

Harry finally turns; gaining control of the anger and upset that had been raging in his body since landing at the graveyard gates. He needs to approach this carefully; he needs to approach all of this carefully, so he doesn’t fall back into the dark pit he found himself in months ago.

Harry gestures to the centre of the small copse and then to the Reaper, “That is where I had to watch as Voldemort rose again.”

“Oh Harry…” You whisper, voice breaking as you say his name.

Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. He had been fourteen years old; he had not had his first kiss and yet, he had to duel the darkest wizard to have been produced in a century.

“I thought I was going to die that night,” He confesses after a moment; opening his eyes to once again focus on the faceless depiction of Death himself. “I thought I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Resolve steels your nerves and once again, your feet find their way to Harry.

“You did make it out, Harry. You made it out alive.”

“Two of us went in, (Y/N).”

“It can’t be ignored,” You start, “Cedric’s death was an utter tragedy; completely unexpected and blindsided everyone in the school, but you cannot blame yourself for this, Harry. Cedric died at the hands of a madman – not you.”

“I could have done something!” He screams, finally losing all grip on his temper, “I should have done something. Instead, as Wormtail murdered Cedric, all I did was shout his name as if it was going to help. I did nothing, I as good as murdered him.”

Breath leaves your body in one fell swoop; you had never seen Harry like this. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration as he tries to get a hold on his temper, reigning it in. You remain silent as Harry works to control himself; you watch him pace the small copse, flattening the green grass under his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“Harry,” You sigh, “I am more than capable of handling you shouting at me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong though, and I just take everything out on you.”

You laugh, short and sweet, “I think this is the first time you’ve ever shouted at me, Potter.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try not to make a habit of shouting at my friends,” Harry states, throwing you a look that states the obvious.

Wringing your hands together, you brace yourself for your next words. Meeting Harry’s stare, fixing your gaze on him, you politely demand, “Tell me more about that night, Harry.”

So he does.

It comes rushing out of him in a torrent; words flying so fast that his speech gets muddled up and he sometimes has to say his sentences again. For so long he has been holding this in; there are very few people who know what happened that night in this very graveyard and out of those, many are dead or imprisoned so Harry has been left to deal with the pain.

It feels like a confession. It feels as if he is seeking forgiveness from his crimes; seeking repentance from a priest of his choosing because he needs to get it out, he needs to know whether penance is possible for the sins committed that night.

Harry feels as if a weight is being lifted off his chest as he tells you about duelling Voldemort and the spell that had taken place beforehand. Harry seeks solace in your comforting gaze and reassuring smile as his voice breaks when he speaks of his parents, not having seen them in any physical form since that night with the Mirror of Erised.

Once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. He stutters over his feelings over Cedric’s death, pausing once in a while to let you interject a thought and for the first time since starting this exercise, since asking you to come along with him, Harry feels as if it is starting to work.

Eventually, his voice falls quiet as does his mind.

“How do you feel?” You ask; an expected question that accompanies each location visited.

Harry nods, “Better. Happy to have finally said what happened that night.”

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell you.”

“I trust you with my life,” He states honestly and plainly.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to wander across the dark graveyard once more before finally turning to face Harry. “Are you ready?”

Harry nods: more than happy to leave this place and never return. What happened in Little Hangleton will always remain a heartbreaking tragedy; a life cruelly taken before it even got the chance to begin. The village would always be stained with such misfortune, but now, Harry feels that part of his life come to a close.

As Harry reaches for your hand, readying himself to apparate you back to your flat, his heart soars at the words you utter with conviction.

“You’re a good man, Harry.”

--------

Landing back at his flat, Harry takes a seat on his couch and hangs in his head in his hands. He had dropped you off at your flat; needing to be alone to deal with the emotions that had been threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. Whilst Harry had accepted that he played no part in Cedric’s death, he still had to confront the magnitude of what had happened to himself.

It hits him all at once; the scale of what he had been through throughout his education. From the ages of eleven to eighteen, Harry hadn’t seen a school year through without injury or battle. It’s as he sits there that he realises the extent to which he was used by the headmaster he looked up to; used as a pawn to further the game of chess being played by Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The waves never cease; his parents, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Cedric.

No tears fall; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to cry anymore. Tears haven’t fallen since they fell out relief for the end of the war, but out of sadness for the deaths of Fred, Remus, and Tonks.

Sitting on his couch, shivers overtake his body. His teeth chattering as he reaches for the blanket kept across the back of his couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. Harry bites back the scream that is slowly crawling up his throat; he pushes it down as he fights for control of his mind.

Collecting his thoughts, Harry comes to a conclusion.

He needs to return to where it all began.

Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, March.

Spring blooms real and true, and Harry feels ready enough to return to Godric’s Hollow. Harry could count on one hand how many times he has stepped foot in the village his parents once called home. He had been born in Godric’s Hollow; at the end of July to two loving parents who adored him just as much as they adored each other.

Out of respect for James and Lily Potter – murdered at the age of twenty-one – the house in which they lived had never been repaired. The thatched roof remains caved in; a large hole in the middle of it, letting the elements now batter the house.

It had been twenty-two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the house he was born in. It had been five years since he stood outside of it with Hermione; only beginning to feel the grief for the parents he never truly knew.

It was this that had plagued Harry from the moment he turned eleven and arrived at Hogwarts. How does he grieve for those he never truly knew?

As crass as it is to say, Harry didn’t know his parents outside his need for food, comfort, and love. The memories of his mother and father are so clouded; he can no longer tell whether they are his own or whether he’s simply simulated a story told to him by family friends.

He was fifteen months old when they were murdered. He was fifteen months old and barely aware of his own shadow.

Whilst he hadn’t visited the house much – it being too painful to see the sight of his parent’s murder – he had visited their graves in the years that have passed.

With you in tow, Harry leads you down the worn, familiar path. He slows his pace every now and then; warning you of an upcoming dip that may make you lose your balance.

All too soon, however, you stand in front of the grave of James and Lily Potter.

Quietly, he asks, “How do I grieve my parents when I never knew them?”

Your heart breaks for him; unable to stop yourself, you wrap an arm around his waist offering any form of comfort you can. Shakily, you answer, “I guess you can mourn what could have been or you grieve the fact that they were so young. Either way, Harry, they’re never going to leave you.”

“I know that,” He whispers; gaze fixed on the grave of his parents, “All I know of them is what I’ve been told. I feel as if my memories have been tainted, and I know that they all mean well, but sometimes-”

He cuts himself off with a huff; kneeling down and drawing out his wand. Silently, Harry conjures a bouquet of Orchids, Chrysanthemums and Lilies and then bows his head in silent prayer, continuing to grieve the parents he would never know.

You place your hand on his shoulder, “Sometimes you what, Harry?”

He sighs, “Sometimes I wish they would stop. I was so young when they died – any memories I have of them are practically gone but sometimes I have these flashes. I have no idea whether they’re real or not, but I feel as if they are. Yet, when friends tell me stories of what it was like to go to school with them or to fight alongside them, it’s like they’re pushing they’re version of James and Lily Potter onto me. Does that make sense?”

Squeezing his shoulder, you answer, “It makes perfect sense. The James and Lily you knew is different from what Sirius knew or what McGonagall knew.”

“I just worry that the more stories I hear, the quicker I lose what I know of them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Harry.”

“You don’t?” He asks, shifting to his feet and facing you.

You shake your head, “I don’t. I think you’re going to remember your parents for the rest of your life; their morals and values make up yours, Harry. You might not think, but you are a lot more like them than you realise.”

Harry bows his head, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, begging the feeling to go away. Quietly, almost ashamedly, Harry asks, “Do you think they would be proud of me?”

Then and there, your heart breaks, cleaving itself in two for the man standing before you. It’s the only dream of a child; to make their parents proud, but what about children who do not have parents – who grew up in a home that did not cherish them like it should have?

Silver lines your eyes; tears threatening to make an appearance as you reach for Harry’s hands, pulling him into a hug. Against his shoulder, you state with conviction, “They would be extremely proud of you, Harry. So proud of you it would shine out of them.”

Harry sniffles; ducking down somewhat to tuck his head against your neck, hiding his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. From the outside, it looks as if two lovers are embracing, unable to keep their hands off the other for too long. However, you know that Harry is trying his best to maintain his composure, to try and gets to grips with the emotions that follow never knowing the ones who were supposed to raise you.

Minutes pass and neither of you move; neither of you willing to be the one to break this moment, but for the day to progress, you need to step away from the only man you have ever loved.

Releasing Harry, you send what you hope is a reassuring smile in his direction, “Come on, Harry,” You prompt, “Show me the rest of Godric’s Hollow?”

Framing it as a question, you offer Harry the choice. He is in control of this moment; h can choose whether he shows you the rest of the wizarding village or whether the two of you apparate back to his flat and spend the rest of the day mooching about.

Harry smiles: it’s watery, but fixed as he nods, stepping around you to lead you out of the graveyard.

Hands brush every now and then as the both of you wander back to the high street. A simple brush of hands, a simple twitch of fingers and your heart would start to race, practically shouting for Harry to take your hand and tangle your fingers together.

“I think I’m going to live here,” Harry murmurs; eyes scanning the high street.

“Are you sure?” You ask; worried not only for the fact that you may miss him while you remain in London, but also for any potential setback this may cause him.

Harry nods; his eyes now focused on a small café straight across the road from where you stand. He gestures towards it with an open hand, “Let me explain over some food.”

The bell above the door tinkles as you follow Harry inside. He chooses a table on the left hand side of the shop; sitting at the seat that faces the window and the door. It’s with stark realisation that you come to see that he’s chosen this exact spot so he can have eyes on each entrance and exit point.

You sigh as you sit across from him; old habits die hard, you guess.

Menus are placed in front of you by a teenaged witch looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in Harry’s form; the menu in her hand shaking as she places it down before him.

You bite your lip to repress the ever-growing smile on your face as you watch the waitress grow flustered under Harry’s smile and green eyes. She walks away in a daze after having taken your drink orders – coffee for Harry, Yorkshire Tea for you.

You shake your head fondly at the young witches departing figure; noting how she bumps into numerous tables before making it safely to the kitchen. Harry follows your gaze, wanting to know what’s taken your attention from him, “What is it?”

You shift your gaze back to the wizard, “You still don’t see the effect you have on people, do you?”

Harry frowns; his hand reaching up to touch his forehead self-consciously. He had grown his hair longer in order to cover the scar that mars the centre of his forehead; his black hair now fell around his head in curls he didn’t know he had until you had found an old picture of his father. The glasses and the curls along with the smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts; he was the spit image of his father.

“Not your scar, Harry, nor your name. I meant how you look; you have to know you’re handsome.”

Blush paints Harry’s cheeks as your words settle. The last thing he expected from today was to be told he was attractive; least of all, from you. He’s never had the chance before; to act upon his feelings for you. He realised just what he felt for you at the end of Sixth Year, and then the war happened, and he absolutely refused to let anything happen to you. He couldn’t tell you his feelings for you should it put a target on your back, and if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself.

He laughs, shaking his head, “You’re a flatterer.”

You hold your hands up in playful surrender, “Only speaking the truth. You’ll see it one day.”

“One day,” He promises; eyes earnest as they gaze into yours.

It’s too much; just like that, it’s too much and you have to avert your stare before you end up blurting your inner most thoughts and scaring him away for good. Clearing your throat, you wait for the teenage waitress to place your drinks in front of you before you change the subject, “Why do you want to move here?”

Harry shrugs, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink, thinking over his words. “I think,” He begins, “I want to be close to them, but I also want to start carving out my life properly and this place is so peaceful. It’s so peaceful and it’s beautiful. I think it’s one of those places that if I don’t move here now, I’ll still move later on.”

You nod, “I get that. It is gorgeous here.”

Harry hums, “I’d still be in London every week.”

“You’d commute?” You ask, puzzled in terms of train schedules.

Harry barks out a laugh that turns into silent shaking of his shoulders as the teenage waitress returns, her pad in hand as she waits for your food order. Harry continues to repress his laughter throughout his order. As the waitress walks away, you fix Harry with an unimpressed stare. “Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

Harry smiles at you; as in, he really smiles at you. He beams as he whispers somewhat in awe, “I love you. You’re one of the smartest witches I know, and you still forget about the fact that we can apparate.”

You reel back in your chair, knees knocking into the table as the air leaves your body in a single breath. “What? What did you say first?”

Harry’s smile, if possible, grows as he shrugs his shoulders, “I love you.”

“Since when?” You demand, wondering how on earth he could discuss something as important as this as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather.

“Sixth Year,” He confesses, blush beginning to paint his cheeks.

“That long?” You ask, voice hushed, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Harry finally frowns, finger tracing the lip of his coffee cup, “There was a war, and then I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confess his love for you, you admonish yourself. He had defeated the Dark lord and then had to cope with the survival guilt for years. It had only been in the last year that he finally let himself let go of the guilt surrounding the casualties of war.

“I love you too,” You admit, chewing on the inside of your cheek from nerves.

“You do?” Harry asks, about as breathless as you were when he confessed only moments ago.

“I do,” You confirm, smiling.

It isn’t much in the way of confessions, but the look on Harry’s face says it all. His green eyes remain bright and the smile wide on his face even as the waitress returns with your food. He looks as if no wrong could be done in that moment; the food could be the worst he has ever eaten but it wouldn’t matter.

You love him.

You love him as he loves you, and suddenly it all makes sense. His motivations through the war; not only wanting to rid the world of Voldemort but wanting to secure a safe future in which he can love you.

The food is eaten quickly; the both of you rushing to make it outside where you can talk more, and in private.

The bill is paid. The waitress wanders back to the till; stunned at the sight of Harry’s smile – and you couldn’t blame her.

Harry stands from his seat, reaching for his jacket and waiting patiently for you. Electricity thrums between you; holding promises of more to come, the headiness of it having you gripping the table tightly as you rise to your feet. One look at Harry’s face and you know he’s feeling it too.

Pausing outside the small café, you hold your hand out for Harry to take.

A soft breeze blows through Godric’s Hollow, disturbing your hair and the trees around you. Harry holds onto your hand tightly as the both of you begin to wander down the high street; the blossoms of the trees fluttering around you as they fall to the floor. Harry inhales deeply; the floral of the blossoms mixed with the sweetness of your perfume providing the perfect backdrop to his future.

Harry’s Flat, London, England, September.

Healing is a process. It is neither quick nor slow; it follows its own pace.

Through this process, Harry has realised that he is in fact getting better. He has his bad days; days where he seldom leaves his bedroom and refuses to stare at anything but the wall.

However, those days are becoming scarcer. Harry can sometimes go weeks before he has an episode that leaves him bedbound, and for that, he is proud of himself.

He doesn’t do it alone; he has you by his side through it all as you both prepare for the move to Godric’s Hollow. For both the good and the bad days.

********

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