#tabletop accidents

[wholelotofweird]

Sometimes..... when you GM..... you accidently make your PCs throw up dirt..........

@gallathegalla

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

Have you played AFTER THE ACCIDENT ?

By Nicolas "Gulix" Ronvel

A solo journaling game. You play as a lone survivor somewhere after an accident. The accident can be anything and in any period of History.

Pick a card and read the corresponding prompt

[haveyouplayedthisboardgame-poll]

[hungryhungrygremlins]

Tabletop games, Late/Mid campaign like:

[cavegirlpoems]

So many TTRPG people, like yourself, seem to exist in a world where players don't actually enjoy the campaigns they're in, and don't actually like playing with the people they play with, and your whole approach to game mechanics seems like it's about trying to bribe these people to continue playing at a given table.

i have no idea where you get this idea from, I play a bunch of different games - including freeform text rp, fest larps, parlour larps, regular tabletop campaigns, longform play-by-post games and narrative wargames - and I have a lot of fun doing it. I wouldn't be a game designer if I didn't actually enjoy games. The thing is, if you study game design and ttrpg theory seriously, you think about the intent behind design decisions. Game design doesn't just happen by accident, the designer put a given rule in for a reason. So, you ask yourself why the designer made the game the way it did, and what they were trying to achieve.

A significant tool for game design is considering the feedback the game provides; what behaviours that ruleset rewards and what it discourages. (You can apply this analysis to other games, too, like video games). When I'm talking about a bribe, it's in that context; how does the game reward you for doing things, and what things does it reward. (For example, 'scrabble' rewards you for playing words with weird letters in them by making those letters worth more points.)

The thing is, ultimately, every game relies on a simple proposition; that if you volunterily use its rules, you will have fun. You don't need to follow the rules, and you can have fun without them, but the idea is that using the rules will let you have more fun, or a different type of fun, than if you didn't. (For example, throwing a ball around is a bit fun, but if everybody agrees to follow the rules of basketball, you get a different experience that a lot of people prefer). So, the only bribe you're making on the interpersonal, out-out-of-game level (unless something weird is going on) is "if we play this game it will be fun". When I talk about bribes and incentives, it's *inside* the game, after we've all agreed to the game's proposition of "if you use the rules, you will have fun".

Now, what counts as an incentive varies by game. Some, like Warhammer 40k, are challenge-based, and have ways to keep score of success and victory; here, things that signify overcoming the challenge are your incentives; how you get a high score, how you win, etc. Others, like most ttrpgs, are creative-based. What constitutes an incentive within the game's structure is less precisely defined. By and large, though, these incentives tend to be things like increased agency within the game fiction, space for creative expression, and experiencing and learning about more of the game fiction. (In this structure, 'being more mechanically powerful' can be thought of as a way of granting a player more agency, because their actions are more likely to succeed and result in the outcomes that they want. If the mechanical growth is lateral as well as vertical, then how to get more powerful is - itself - a venue for creative expression in what to prioritise, which is also a reward).

In the same way that you have the adage that 'restrictions breed creativity', the same goes for Fun. Limiting your scope from anything-goes freeform by voluntarily agreeing to use a set of game rules can produce similar results. Voluntarily limiting your agency in the fiction according to a set of game rules produces a friction that players of roleplaying games find enjoyable to push against. In this context, a reward structure within a game serves the useful purpose of signposting which direction you should push to get the fun kind of friction. A game which limits your options, and then gives you more options when you engage with certain behaviours, is telling you that those are the intended behaviours. Likewise, a game that limits your options even further when you do something is encouraging you not to do that. This is because game designs are not neutral and universal, they exist to create specific experiences. A game that rewards you by giving you more space for creative expression when you get in a fight - and gives you less space for creative expression when you avoid violence - is one that wants you to engage in violence, because it's designed to be a game where you have fun by fighting. This isn't bribing the players to sit down at the table and play the game; that has already happened outside the context of the game. They have already agreed to the game's offer of 'if you use these rules, you will have fun'. Rather, this bribing is within the game-space, the games mechanics encouraging the players to engage with it as intended, in the way that will be most fun. IE: these incentive structures are a tool the game uses to achieve the promise it makes; they guide the players towards the fun that they volunteered to have. Hope that makes sense. * * * Now, your initial ask is a weird take that's entirely unrelated to anything I've posted, and - particularly from an anon account- oddly antagonistic. I don't know if you're genuinely confused about game design, or arguing in bad faith. Either way, this probably doesn't merit the small essay I've produced, but have one anyway, it's always fun to clarify my ideas in written form.

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲 | 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶A deleted scene from chapter twelve where receptionist!reader acts like a bimbo in front of Eddie just to rile him up. Written very tongue-in-cheek at the beginning.✶

NSFW — sexual themes, handjob, unresolved sexual tension, 18+

↳ start the story here to catch up!

[wc: 2.1k]

Heeding your checklist of chores, you idled at the workbench against the far corner of the wall. There were a few of the usual things you organized: placing nuts and bolts in drawers, facing products with their labels out, tidying small boxes, folding the end of the paper towel roll so it didn’t unfurl itself in the turbulent path of the oscillating fan. You bent over to toss cellophane wrappers into the waste paper bin, and took your time musing if the liner should be changed despite the little amount of balled up paper weighing down the bottom. Standing, you swept off the unsanded tabletop with your hands, and worked a crusty rag over an oil streak, making a mental note to call the laundry service to swing by a day early.

As you stepped away, you knocked a pencil to the floor. Its bright yellow body was impossible to miss, along with its excruciatingly long hexagonal roll carried by your elbow to the very edge, but you managed. You knelt to your hands and knees to retrieve the writing utensil, inspecting its broken tip. The graphite was missing completely, leaving behind an empty hole where it once was. An unfortunate accident. You rotated it a few times looking for other flaws—an honorable way to spend your time.

“You doin’ this on purpose?” gruffed out an annoyed voice behind you.

No need to check, you heard the amused twist at the corner of his lips. His left canine was probably on show, too. Not in a hurry to confirm, you gripped the pencil in your fist, and leaned forward, stretching in search of the missing lead before it was stomped into dust and potentially transferred from someone’s boot sole into a wealthy client’s car. You were thinking of them, really.

The floor was a rewarding oasis in the noonday sun baking through the warehouse windows. Your flat splayed hands and knuckles worked over the grit of dirt to inch your pursuit closer to the wall, drinking in the chill of the epoxy coated concrete cooling you down better than a 50 cent clear plastic cup of Kool Aid at a kid’s misspelled lemonaide stand. Though, the unforgiving flooring bit into your joints, and indented your knees with the netting of your pantyhose. But Eddie’s study did not sway to your shoe slipping off your heel. No, he was a gentleman. And as a gentleman, he praised the wealth of curves you put on display.

He used the heels of his heavy boots to drag himself from under a Mustang, thumping up beside you, wheels on the creeper rolling along the slick floor.

The lower you dipped your chest, the higher your skirt hem tickled the back of your thighs. In total innocence—truly giving your best effort to find the missing pencil tip—you tilted your hips to unimaginable degrees, presenting your ass to the point even your lower back side-eyed your act.

Smooth backs of fingers lifted the hem more. Eddie curled his index under your skirt, and assisted it to the crease of your cheek, following the change in nylon with his rough thumbprint as it wove denser around your thighs to hold you in. Tummy Control, it was advertised as. To a man who had seldom encounters with women, this meant very little to him, as did the change in texture. Though, curiously, he rubbed at it with interest.

“You’re something else, you know that?” But his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise. “I’m out here working my ass off, and you’re struttin’ around the garage in this lil’ piece.” The little piece in question was your corporate approved pencil skirt from a long forgotten temp job when your apartment lost two roommates in a breakup, and rent was past due.

Pandering to your audience of one, you shuffled two of the tiniest inches backwards, and steadied your hand on his outstretched leg. You bent at the hips, filling his large palm with a handful of your ass, and he admired you in a brush of fingertips near the innermost valley of your thigh, licking a divine chill up your spine. Playing along, you pretended to just notice him, assuming a sinless gasp, and following it with many airheaded inflections, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, handsome. Am I distracting you?”

The standing fan swung its head in your direction, sweeping Eddie’s bangs off his forehead in a brief burst.

You’d been on hundreds of dates, and not once had you been so deeply complimented by someone’s gaze.

Eddie dwelled in the distraction. He stroked his thumb over the fat, and traced his pinky along the hypersensitive crease before the swell which had your muscles tightening in a squirm. He was so close to the middle seam of the pantyhose. Perhaps he knew this as well, but didn’t care—he was just happy to be touching you. Laid out in the neon orange creeper, sun glancing off the packed garage, casting a glow across his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to look at you, so forthcoming and open. A trap, if there ever was one, luring you into picturing him twisted amongst your bedding on a late morning.

As he tracked his gaze over your backside, an aching reminder moseyed its way into his consciousness. Setting into a glare, he forced his way through any pleasantness lingering in his chest to tell you plainly, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking torturing me here.” You giggled, and he broke, falling victim to the squinch at his crow’s feet.

“You think I’m not torturing myself, too?”

“Dunno.” He craned his head back to check underneath the car for where each pair of boots were moving, and you peeped through the driver’s side window to keep tabs on the seated customers in the lobby. Once you both ensured there was no danger of being caught, he turned his attention to you fully. “You’re not wearing my favorite pair, so I couldn’t tell.” In case you weren’t sure, he wrung his hand around your leg, and drummed his fingers where there should be an easily accessible hole in your tights, where he could drag his fingers through your slick truth. His sorry features were tainted with remorse when your plush thighs weren't spilling out from the nylon; however, he drew his eyebrows in mock sympathy, and traced the area. “Could make these my new favorite pair, though.”

You about melted into a puddle of dumbstruck glee at his first foray into initiating dirty talk. “Yeah?” you stressed the word like he would—big smile and all. You raised the placement of your grip on his leg up, further, still going until the inside of your thumb threatened to assist what laid fat and heavy towards his hip. Car exhaust, pungent motor oil, and fumes swam in your head. Mind dizzy, you skimmed your nails over his heavy sack pressed tight against the seam of his coveralls. An implied line was drawn along your heat by his featherlight touch. You leaned over him, real close, chest over chest, knees spread because his hand encouraged you to do so. Mouth to mouth, considering kissing the dirt from his lips. “Wanna rip ‘em, and have me on top while you’re on this thing?”

Eddie moaned, and it wasn’t shy in the loud garage. “Want it so fucking bad, baby.”

A single ding from the bell atop your desk drew your attention.

Bodies paused, you both existed in the indecision of what to do. Eddie’s forehead wrinkled from his high brows driving his attention backwards, peering under the car again. The other employees of David’s Auto Repair shuffled around a Studebaker. There was no one inside to help the customer. What a shame.

Eddie lowered his chin in long clockticks, seeking you behind his heavy lashes and heavier gaze. His nose met the side of yours in an unrefined graze, dragging his chapped lips wherever he felt your smile. He kissed you hungry. Needy, desperate to fit the magnitude of his palm at the back of your head, and dirty your mouth with noses mashed together. He wanted you messy, he wanted you catching your balance on the creeper for the same reason his held sigh became your next breath, taking a pinch of your pantyhose over your pussy and twisting it around his fist to demonstrate his annoyance, as if the dull ache of your bottom lip against his teeth wasn’t illustrative enough. The peak of your whine and his approving hum tethered the snap of your tights and the squeeze he left on your thigh. Filthy warmth blanketed the top of your hand. Stifling hot, calluses running rough over your knuckles as he cupped your palm over his hard length, and curled your fingers around himself, kicking his hips up to really stretch the limits of your grip. Together, he guided you in a few teasing pumps along the base, ego growing at the pretty sound hitched in your throat.

“Hey, Ed!” Mr. Moore’s yell burst the bubble you two surrounded yourselves in. “C’mere, ‘nd look at this.”

It wasn’t an emergency. It could wait. There were enough mechanics on duty, they could figure out what they were gawking at, or admiring, or whatever it was they were doing. That was the justification behind your shared look with Eddie, and the tension holding you two apart faded within seconds. If anything it spurred you on. You raked your fingers through his hair, mussing the roots at the crown of his head, covering the side of his body with yours, stroking his cock. The consequences didn’t matter. He increased the pressure and showed you how he liked it when you looped your thumb and index around the edge of his fat tip and pumped him faster—

Ding, ding, ding.

The kiss slowed from the distraction, but you tried to keep going, staying in the moment with Eddie’s praise burning your cheeks. He was eager, he was close. He was whispering, “Feels fucking good when you—yeah—like that,” when you added the twist of your wrist to the end of motion.

“Ed!” Mr. Moore’s voice ruined the moment. “Where’d he… And wasn’t she at her desk a second ago?”

Ding, ding ding!

Your foreheads crashed together in a defeated groan.

Eddie sagged completely limp on the creeper. “Why do you do this to me?” He dropped his arms in a big shrug, kicking his legs out flat, throbbing hard in your palm. You curbed the urge to keep going and dragged your fingers away.

“Hey, you’re the one who started this,” you sniffed, sitting back to fan your face in effort to make yourself presentable while he considered rolling under the car for the next eternity to hide his blazing red cheeks.

“I was a good worker before you came along,” he argued, pointing at you with a nail outlined in grime. He did it with such vigor his shoulders curled off the creeper, sitting up to give you a real good talkin’ to. “I never did this sorta shit with anyone before you showed up. You’re bad for me. You drive me crazy.” Not an ounce of anger dared enter his tone, not even having strength to control his smile from going lopsided, dimpling, nose scrunching in a badly contained laugh. Never would he want you to think he was mad at you, even as a joke. He was soft like that.

Eddie broke first, and that’s all you needed to kiss him against the black Mustang door, thud on the metal deadened by his nervous hand coming up to brush his curls flat.

“You drive me crazy too,” you promised against his lips. “Now, try not to cum your pants when I bend over to get this trash, and have fun explaining to the guys why you can’t stand up for the next few minutes.” You cocked your head, and smacked your tongue in a hard, “‘Kay?”

He glared at your smugness. Glared at your backside, too. Scowled at his grip formed around the swollen length rising so obvious no matter how he fixed his legs, and surrendered to the humiliation of laying back on the creeper, summoning enough dignity to roll himself to the other side where a gaggle of boots scuffed the ground in search for him, and give some excuse that he was very busy fixing something and wouldn’t be available for the foreseeable future.

originally thursday's section in chapter twelve was split into three separate scenes. i was almost finished writing the first two when i took the section in a different direction and mashed all the important elements into the scene in the breakroom which did make the cut. truthfully i had only written to eddie's line of "wanting it so badly" and they would've gotten interrupted at that point (before any touching), but since this isn't exactly canon, i went ahead and had fun and made it a little spicier.

you might also recognize some imagery, lines of prose, or descriptions i salvaged from this piece and put into the final one!

[prokopetz]

Short-campaign-oriented tabletop RPG about a society whose infrastructure is built on using pieces of a dead god, like ocean-bottom scavengers feeding on a whalefall – except they've started to run out of dead god bits.

The player characters are a specially selected team of theotechnicians tasked with finding a new source. To be clear, your mission is not to go out, murder a god, and strip it for parts – the very notion is absurd, and even if you somehow managed to do so, that's a great way to get your entire civilisation smote. However, if in the course of events a god just happened to die in such a way that your people can readily lay claim to the remains... well, accidents happen, right?

[azol-otl]

Just a silly little jaytim involving never died! Jason's big fat crush on his new friend.

Jason twirls in front of Babs again in case her Oracle eyes see something that he's missed. He worked hard on this, and he'd die of mortification if he there was a mistake he hadn't seen. He won't lie, he's kind of nervous about tonight. It's been...awhile since he's gone to do something social beyond school (and boy doesn't that make him sound like a loser) and he thinks he might have gotten a little too overenthusiastic about it. Well, Dick said it was fine but even after the coma Dick's only here every once in a blue moon and Jason isn't sure if he should take Dick's advice to heart when the man's been running around in tights since the day he was born. Plus Jason still remembers that Dick is a lying liar who lies when he thinks something would be funny or was trying to cover his ass. (Yes, he still holds that mask acne incident against him! Barbie laughed at him, Dick! Sure he now has photo evidence of Pizza Face Grayson, but still!) Everything fits him perfectly despite that last second growth spurt that finally started showing up. A tiny thing, barely an inch but it was enough to finally push him past 5ft so he's happy. His tunic fits perfectly and the stitching has an Alfred seal of approval. His armor is light, the leather looks good despite being made from old scraps of Bruce and Dick's outgrown clothes that have too much wear and tear to pass down. The cape swishes just the way he remembers, though a deep red instead of canary yellow. He decided against only tights by wearing some sturdy shorts over them, like an adventurer would, everything color matched for the time period. He looks up at Babs who's giving him a bemused look and he puffs out his chest indigently. "What?" he says tersely. "Nothing nothing," comes the amused sing song, the kind she gets when she's teasing Dick. "I just didn't expect this to be the result of introducing you to online gaming." Jason's cheeks warm but he has nothing to be ashamed of. Sure he's become...a geek after the accident. But he has friends, like actual friends close to his age that go to his school and not just co-workers six years older than him or a penpal from across the country. Plus Jason can admit he was a nerd before becoming a combo nerd/geek so it's not like his reputation took a hit. "Nothing wrong with immersion," he says. Babs gives him a wry grin. "Nothing wrong with impressing Tim you mean?"

And Jason couldn't even be mad at Barbie about that because she's absolutely right. Tabletop was Tim's thing, and Jason was excited to try it out, but it was absolutely a new thing for him. All of this was new to Jason. After being stuck with nothing but a computer for months on end any social skills Jason might have had have atrophied and what little that remains has made Jason the picture perfect geek. And he really didn't want to screw up this friendship when it was the lifeline that Jason used to actually talk to people in real life and not in front of a screen. Well, people that aren't maladjusted larpers punching criminals. "Seriously Barbie, does it look good? I don't wanna embarrass myself," Jason mumbles. This time Barbara does laugh and its just as embarrassing as the last time. "Ah, what's the world come to. Robin, the boy wonder himself, worried that he's going to embarrass his best friend in front of his Wizards and Warlocks group," she says wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "It's Trailblazer," Jason says automatically, already having corrected Bruce, Dick, and Alfred about this for weeks. Barbara starts laughing again and Jason resists the urge to stomp out like a child. It wouldn't be dramatic anyhow, he isn't wearing shoes and he refuses to stomp in his fantasy footwear that's basically just a metal band around his arch for support. Once she stops laughing she finally takes pity on Jason. "You look fine Little Bird. I don't see anything sticking out, and the outfit looks amazing. Your little fey prince character is gonna knock it out of the park," she says and Jason feels warm enough that he doesn't even correct her that he's a halfling-changeling and not a fey anything, much less a prince.

 That warmth stays with him until he's in front of Tim's door. It's then that he thinks that maybe going all out was a terrible idea. He knows that some people dress up, but it isn't like a mandatory thing. And Tim didn't say anything about needing to dress up for Jason's first tabletop night. But Jason had been so excited. Tim didn't even finish his invitation before Jason already had a dozen designs scrambling in his head and started creating a character piece by piece. He was dragging out knowledge he hasn't touched since he was Robin. Fashion design, historical trends, and how to use them to create something tangible with the sewing lessons he had begged Alfred for back when he wanted to learn every practical skill he could. In case he got dropped like a sack of steaming shit. Crap what if they think Jason's a nerd? He had read that Traiblazer book cover to cover and made notes like it was a reading assignment! To be authentic to the setting! In case Tim's friend Ives wanted to "Um actually" Jason's meticulously created backstory and full lineage and npcs he built and sent to Tim weeks ago. Shit, maybe Jason's more of a loser than he thought if he thinks a wizards and warlocks group is too cool for him.

 He thinks about calling Alfred to pick him up and make a lie about the campaign being cancelled. Maybe he can persuade Bruce to send him back to public school instead of Gotham Academy. Then he can forget all about Tim and his goofy smile and how he puts his foot in his mouth and how cute he looked when he asked Jason to join in this game because he wanted to share something about himself with— Jason's thoughts are cut off when the door opens. He looks up, eyes wide with anxiety in his stupid changeling halfling outfit without any shoes because he wanted to be authentic. The guy across the doorway was tall, taller than Jason (but who isn't) and taller than Tim (also not an accomplishment), blonde with glasses. "Are you sure this guy's a senior, Tim," he says and Jason has to stop himself from punching out Tim's other friend.

Tim's head then pokes out of the door, funny wizard hat and all and just stares at Jason. For a full minute. It gets awkward fast but neither Jason or the other guy know what to say before Jason takes the plunge. "Hey, I'm Jason, you must be Ives?" he says forcing all his nerves as deep down as he can. Ives nods, "Sebastian Ives, don't call me by my first name." It isn't until introductions are done that Tim comes back online. "Hey! Jason! Wow! Your costume is really good! A changeling right?!" he says loudly, cheeks and ears a bright pink.

[sirjaketkiszka]

Silver Springs: Chapter One

Early20s!Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I know I could have loved you but you would not let me…

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Josh breaks some news when he invites you to watch the band practice.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Word count: 4,427

Warnings: extremely light cursing, dialogue-heavy, and poor writing.

Disclaimer: apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

Silver Springs Masterpost

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The minutes seem to pass by excruciatingly slow, and the dull sound of ticking captures your full attention. Resting your chin on your open palm, your eyes focus on the wall-mounted clock's second hand passing over the minute lines. The voice of your professor has been completely drowned out at this point, the low vibrations of his voice just barely reaching your ears. Just as expected, once the clock indicates 2:30 pm, students lift from their seats and gather their belongings.

The sound of rustling, backpacks zipping up, and chairs shoved back under desks pulls your attention away from the clock, your dry eyes blinking a couple of times from your previous zoning out. Looking to your left, Josh shoves his textbook back into his bag, silently cursing when it won’t fit all the way. Following suit, you grab your textbook, laptop, and notepad off of the tabletop and neatly place them in your book bag.

“I don’t know how you keep yours so organized,” Josh frustratingly huffs, forcefully zipping up his bag, “There’re too many things to carry.” He groans, standing up and struggling to sling the cross-body strap of his bag over his head.

“I think it’s a you problem, Josh,” You chuckle, zipping up your bag, pulling the strap over your shoulder, and standing from your seat. The lecture room is nearly empty now with only a handful of students, yourself and Josh included, scattered about. Without saying a word, Josh follows behind you as you both wave goodbye to your professor, exit the room, and enter the large hallway where fellow students scatter about, “You’d think you’d be better at organizing since it’s basically the end of the year,” You tease, smirking at him.

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” He rolls his eyes, speeding up slightly to walk in front of you. Spinning around, he walks backward and faces you, completely disregarding anyone behind him. You can’t help but glance over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure he doesn’t bump into anyone, “So, you coming over to my place to watch band practice?” He asks, an eager smile pulling at his lips.

“Do I have a choice?” You question.

“Not really, because-”

“Because you drove here,” You finish his sentence, “Yep, I figured as much.”

“Oh, come on,” He begins, but nudges someone on accident and silently apologizes, taking that as his cue to walk beside you again, “It’ll be fun! You never watch us practice anymore.” He mocks a whine.

“Okay, okay, fine,” You say, looking around nervously at the surrounding students who are also making their way to the hall’s exit, “Um, will…” You clear your throat and frown at the stupid question, but ask anyway, “Will Jake be there?”

“Well, I mean…”

“Yeah, I know, stupid question,” You groan, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment.

“I’ll never understand your distaste for him,” Josh chuckles and shakes his head as he opens the hall’s exit door, holding it open for you to cross the threshold. When you step outside, the late spring, and early summer heat washes over your body, the blistering sun piercing your cool skin.

“That’s because he’s your twin,” You explain, the both of you walking toward the university’s parking lot, “And it’s not just me who dislikes him, trust me, the feeling is very mutual.”

And you are very correct when you say that. Of course, Josh doesn’t understand the extent of the mutual disliking, but he knows of it. Ever since you and Josh became friends, nearly seven years ago as freshmen in high school, you and Jake have never seen eye-to-eye. Personally? You think he’s full of himself, arrogant, and way too cocky for his own good. To everyone else, though, he’s apparently kind, understanding, and passionate, whatever that means.

“Well, I’m trusting you to behave tonight,” Josh half-teases and comes to a stop when you reach his car; an old, beat-up truck.

“I always do,” You argue, making your way to the passenger side as he unlocks the doors, “It’s him you should worry about,” You huff out, plopping into the passenger seat and immediately getting uncomfortable by the gathered heat. The inside of the truck is stuffy, and the unbearable warmth blankets your skin, suffocating you.

As soon as he starts the car, the aged engine sputters and roars to life causing a loud purr to vibrate the cabin and bed of the truck. Without missing a beat, you both immediately roll the windows down due to the lack of air conditioning.

“You’re probably right about that,” He admits, backing out of the parking spot and nearly zooming out of the parking lot as he drives in the direction of his family home. The drive is only thirty minutes; our hair collectively wisping in the strong wind current through your cracked windows. Previous layers of sweat dry in the semi-cool breeze, and views of tall trees blur in your peripheral. The music on the radio is low, but Josh talks the entire time; about his day, your shared classes, and where the band is performing next.

“Do you think you’ll be touring soon?” You ask, your voice slightly raised to battle the loud current of air.

“Maybe not on our own, but hopefully as openers,” He responds in an equally loud voice, his eyes concentrated on the road ahead of him. You simply nod, your gaze slowly drifting to look outside the passenger window. The journey to his house entails views of crop fields and thick forests. It doesn’t take long before you turn into a residential area, indicating your very soon arrival.

Dread, or nerves, you’re not entirely sure, wrap around your torso when the Kiszka house comes into view. Josh pulls up next to the curb in front of his house and puts the car in park, prompting the both of you to roll your windows up before shutting off the engine. You quickly exit the vehicle before the heat creeps back in, slamming the heavy door shut behind you, and Josh following closely behind.

The garage is already open, signaling to Josh that his brothers are patiently waiting for him. You hang back slightly, allowing Josh to walk ahead of you.

“Hey, guys,” Josh greets once you’re at the top of the driveway, two of the band members slowly coming into your view, “Y/n is going to be joining us today.” He informs them while entering the garage and setting his bag down on the old, discolored couch. You follow behind him, flashing a nervous smile to Sam and Danny, who are already smiling at you.

Sam and Danny are still seniors in high school, although they’ll be graduating next week, and they’re always happy to see you. Danny subconsciously fixes his frizzy hair, his meek smile lingering on you, making you chuckle to yourself. Sam, on the other hand, is full-on smirking at you and making his way over as you take a seat on the couch.

“So,” He begins, running a hand through his long hair, “you finally came to see me, huh?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Sam, for the hundredth time, I am too old for you,” You laugh, knowing he’s not serious, but rather keeping up the running joke that he has a crush on you. A joke that started when he was much younger, and more specifically when you and Josh first became friends. Jake was the one who made the joke to tease him when you started coming over a lot more. Speaking of which, where is Jake?

“Worth a shot,” He shrugs, turning on his heel and walking back to his keyboard, residing on its stand to the left of the room.

“What made you come today?” Danny finally asks from behind his drum kit, his hands fiddling with the drumsticks as he speaks.

“Well,” You glare at Josh, who’s actively avoiding eye contact by staring at the ceiling, “I didn’t have much of a choice, but I’m happy to be here.” You conclude, smiling at Danny, not wanting to sound too miserable about watching them practice. You’ve watched them before, and they are damn good, but it’s more so… the Jake of it all that makes you avoid it. To be fair, Jake has never warmed up to the idea of you attending practices either. Something about you being too distracting for the band? You couldn’t remember, but it was enough to make you stop going altogether.

“I figured she was overdue for a practice,” Josh explains to Danny, making him nod in agreement, “And I’d argue that we’ve gotten much better since the last time you watched us,” He pauses, “What? Two months ago?” He asks. That was around the time you stopped coming over unless it was to hang out with Josh.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” You answer, sighing. Part of you felt guilty for avoiding band practices for so long, after all, you should be supporting your best friend. Another part of you knew it was for the best, especially since the reason just walked into the garage.

“Jake! Look who’s here,” Josh says happily, holding his arms out to present you to Jake, like it was a good thing you were there. When he looks at you, his face is straight but his eyes are pained? Disgusted? Annoyed? He’s wearing his usual get-up; a self cut-up graphic tee, a pair of jeans that fit just right, and Chelsea boots that somehow work well with the outfit. His shoulder-length hair is slightly ruffled, signaling that he’s been running his hands through his hair; something he does when he’s stressed, not that you cared.

“Nice,” Jake mumbles, his eyes sweeping over your seated position, making you feel small. You hated that he could do that; make a person feel small with just a single look. With his eyes leaving yours, he picks up his plugged-in acoustic guitar and slings the strap over his shoulder, “Ready?” He asks, wasting no time and a little annoyed, looking at the other band members.

You turn to Josh, who gives you a comforting smile, to which you return an unsure one. You watch as he leaves your side, walks to the mic stand, and takes his place between his brothers– Sam to his right and Jake to his left.

Collectively, Josh and Jake turn on their respective amps, causing a small amount of feedback to fill the garage. Jake plucks his strings as Sam plays a few notes on the keys, checking the volume of the speakers while Josh mumbles unintelligible words into the mic. The floor beneath you gently trembles, carrying the sound of the speakers to your planted feet. You smile eagerly, your hands fidgeting in your lap, patiently waiting for them to begin.

“Flower Power?” Josh asks into the mic, looking around at his bandmates. They all nod, readying themselves, “1…2…3…” He whispers into the mic, looking at Jake. As on cue, Jake begins strumming the strings of his guitar, and a beautiful tune hits all corners of the small garage. It’s a tune you’re very familiar with, one you’ve heard since they started playing together, but it never loses its beauty.

Simultaneously, Sam fluidly moves his fingers above the keys, and it hardly looks like it takes effort to create such an alluring melody. Danny joins in with the pounding of his drums which immediately travels through your feet and shakes your core. Last to come in, or the best for last as he says, is Josh, whose smooth voice sounds equally unique as it is nostalgic.

“She is a lady, comes from all around,” He begins singing, sending you a wink as he does so, making you smile and shake your head. Your eyes scan the band; Sam mouths along to the tune as he plays, and Danny’s mouth mimics a ticking sound, while Jake’s body rocks back and forth with every strum and pluck of string. Lingering on Jake, you watch as his eyes absentmindedly close as he strums, his eyebrows knitting in concentration, and mouth hanging slightly agape. With your mouth suddenly feeling dry, you gulp and sit up straight, peeling your eyes away from Jake.

Every once in a while, though, your eyes drift back to him; the music flowing through his body with every forceful stomp, every rock of his hips, and every whispered word on his parted lips. You couldn’t deny that when he played, he did it well, and if you aren’t mistaken, you can almost swear that Jake’s eyes drift to you every time you look away; burning holes in the side of your face as you keep your focus on Josh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the practice is relatively normal, with a few passive-aggressive remarks between the Kiszka siblings, but again, relatively normal. As soon as practice is officially over, Jake can’t get out of there fast enough; swiftly unplugging his 1961 Les Paul, placing it on its guitar stand, and booking it for the exit without a single word.

You look over to Josh with a confused expression painted on your features, but he just shrugs nonchalantly and places the microphone back on the mic stand. Making his way to the couch, you scoot over to make room for him, letting him plop down next to you. “So, what’d you think?” He asks, slightly out of breath.

“Josh, you guys were amazing,” You answer honestly, turning to face him fully, and smiling at the growing talent of your best friend, “You’re going to go so far.”

“Thank you,” He says, smiling in return, his adorable tooth gap shining through more than anything. You’ve always loved his smile, and it made you wonder if Jake’s was the same, not that you saw it much whenever you were around anyway. “So, are you staying for dinner?” Josh asks, his genuine smile morphing into a sly one.

“You’re my ride,” You point out once again, squinting suspiciously and seeing right through him, “Do I have much of a choice?”

“Not really, no,” He smiles wider, knowing he’s gotten his way, “But, if you don’t want to stay, I won’t make you.” He says, holding his hands up in defense.

“I’m only joking when I complain about staying,” You assure him, not wanting him to think you dislike being around him or his family, “Of course I’ll stay for dinner.”

“Perfect!” He exclaims, shooting up from the couch, and holding his hand out for you to take it. When you do, he yanks you from your seated position, and you nearly lose your balance when you get to your feet. Releasing your hand, Josh grabs his bag and your bag, motioning you to follow him into the house. “We’re ordering pizza.” He states matter-of-factly over his shoulder.

You glance back at Danny and Sam, who are staying behind to debrief the practice, and walk up the short steps to the entrance that connects the kitchen to the garage. Like a gentleman, Josh holds open the door for you, allowing you to walk in before him.

The house is much cooler than the garage, where the peak spring warmth accumulates heavily, making the air sickeningly thick and humid. The sheen layer of sweat bordering your features dries quickly with the soft blow of air conditioning carrying around the house. Behind you, Josh sets both his bag and your bag on the kitchen table residing next to the garage entrance.

“Any suggestions?” Josh asks, referring to the pizza, as he picks up the home phone. Turning around to look at him, you silently shake your head, knowing you’ll be content with whatever he decides. While Josh calls in the order, you wander into the empty living room; different shades of autumn brown blanket every surface, family photos litter the tan walls, and an overstuffed shelf struggles to uphold an impressive collection of vinyl.

Since the first moment you walked through the door many years ago, the faint smell of cinnamon has always lingered, seeping into the worn furniture and even your clothes by the time your visit was over. It was a smell you grew quite fond of, and a smell you always associated with the Kiszkas.

“Pizza’s ordered,” Josh says from behind you, entering the living room, and walking past you to plop onto the faux-leather recliner next to the stairs. Following suit, you plop onto the large matching couch next to him, immediately sprawling out on the soft cushions and staring at the off-white ceiling. “So, finals are next week.” You hear Josh say from the recliner, his voice carrying above you.

“Yep,” You frustratingly sigh at the thought of them, “then our sophomore year of college is over– then onto the next.” You couldn’t wait for your college career to be over; you majored in Photography while Josh majored in Film, but you both had overlapping classes. Photography was something you participated in as a hobby, but you figured, why not make it a career? Sometimes you regret your decision.

“Yeah…” Josh responds with a sense of uncertainty on his tongue, making you take your focus off of the ceiling and lift your head to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, propping yourself on your elbows when you see the upset look on his face. It’s not a look he portrays often, and when he does, it worries you immensely. He stays silent for a moment longer, his lips parting ever so slightly, then closing again when words can’t form, “Josh, talk to me.” You urge him, your pulse actively climbing with anxiety.

“You know how I mentioned we might be touring as openers soon?” He asks, his eyes looking anywhere but yours. You were really getting nervous now, causing you to push yourself up into a slumped seated position, fully facing Josh, who still refused to look at you.

“Yes?” You simply answered, growing curious.

“We are touring as openers,” He rushes out in a strong exhale, making his shoulders slump in relief, and as if a weight has been physically lifted off of him.

“Josh!” You gasp his name, your back straightening from shock, “That’s great! When are you touring?” You ask excitedly, but his demeanor doesn’t match yours.

“August,” He answers.

“August,” You repeat back, the excited pitch of your voice still present, but gradually fading, “As in a couple of months, August?”

“Yes, that August.” His response makes your shoulders slump again, and mixed emotions tug at every facial feature. You’re smiling, happy for your friend, but your eyebrows furrow, attempting to understand the situation.

“What about school?” You press for more information before jumping to conclusions.

“I’m dropping out,” He quietly says, almost too quiet because you have to lean forward to capture his words, “After this semester, I’m done.”

“Forever?” You fully frown, your mouth suddenly going dry, and your heart pumping at an unsteady rhythm from the roller coaster of emotions.

“Indefinitely,” He tries to sound optimistic, but ultimately fails, “but, yeah, probably forever.”

“That’s…” You attempt to form words, any words, but they fall short and catch at the back of your throat, causing a whispered straining sound to come out, “...Okay.”

“I know,” He sighs, his eyes finally drifting to you.

“Your dream–”

“I know,” He repeats, a little too loudly, “But I can always come back to it.”

“I guess,” You pause for a moment, thinking of the situation at hand; you were proud of Josh, no doubt about it. Although, all that could echo in your mind was that being in a band was never his dream, working in film and creating films was, no, is. Knowing Josh, he’s already thought this through, and he knows the risk he’s taking. So, scooting closer to the edge of the couch, and closer to Josh, you reach over and grab his hands, giving him reassuring squeezes, “I’m proud of you.”

“Really?” He asks, a sad smile on his face.

“Of course, don’t be ridiculous,” You playfully roll your eyes, bringing his hands up to your heart, “I will always support you.”

“I knew you would,” He smiles genuinely, his rosy cheeks reaching his eyes, “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” You smile back, releasing his hands, which were getting quite sweaty. They fall into his lap, his fingers instantly fidgeting, and he absentmindedly chews on his lower lip. By his demeanor, you can tell the situation still weighs heavily on his conscience, “So, what are we doing for the summer before you leave me forever?” You ask with a small laugh, attempting to lighten the heavy mood, while leaning back to lay down on the couch again with your hands interlocked behind your head.

“First, it’s not forever, it’s like three weeks,” He chuckles, rocking back on the recliner, making it groan in response, “Second, I’m not sure, but I’d like to make the most of it.”

“Me too,” You agree, making a comfortable silence fall between the two of you, with the faint ticking of a clock suddenly sounding too loud. Still, your heart beats rapidly, imagining a school year without Josh, hell, even a town without Josh. You’ve been attached at the hip for seven years, and you can’t help but fear what distance might do to a close friendship.

Startling you both, a loud, forceful knock at the door causes you to swiftly sit up, and Josh shoots up from the recliner, the back of it rocking into the wall behind it, mimicking the current knocking.

“That was fast,” He observes and walks to the front door, fishing out his worn-out wallet from his back pocket. Without paying much attention, you listen to the exchange of Josh handing the money over for the pizza, thanking the delivery driver, and shutting the door with his foot. He reappears in your view, a large square box accompanying him, “Pizza’s here!” He shouts, loud enough for Jake, Danny, Sam, and the damn neighbors to hear. The sheer force of his voice causes you to flinch, a smirk forming on your lips as you shake your head in disbelief.

“Aren’t you supposed to not completely strip your vocal cords?” You ask, laughing while sitting back up.

“Yeah, well, it’s whatever,” He shrugs, leaving you in the living room.

As you’re about to stand from the couch, Jake’s footsteps thud down the steps, each stride earning a small whimper from the aged floorboards. Scrambling to get up, the task proves to be hard when the couch cushions' soft state causes your hands to sink back into them. “Damnit,” You silently curse, heat rising to your cheeks from being flustered.

When Jake reaches the bottom of the stairs, he pauses, watching you shove yourself off of the couch. Huffing out a breath, you immediately feel his presence and glance over at him; his face is stoic, his features carved from stone, and his eyes bored, but a small smirk pulls at his lips. Not a moment passes before he swiftly walks past you, causing a subtle breeze in the once-stagnant air. Your hair whooshes in his direction, reaching out to him, and he’s followed by the faint smell of cologne and smoke. Realizing your reaction, your breathing halts, unintentionally holding his rich scent in your expanded lungs.

Blinking rapidly, and exhaling a sharp breath, you walk into the kitchen where Josh, Jake, Sam, and Danny are all picking at the pizza on the kitchen table like vultures sharing an animal carcass. Luckily, Josh has set aside a plate for you with two slices of pepperoni pizza neatly placed on top. The others, however, grab what they can and hurridly stack the slices onto their plates. Stepping around Josh, you grab your plate and squeeze his shoulder to silently thank him.

With the pizza box empty, you, Josh, Danny, and Sam all file into the living room, with you and Josh calling dibs on the couch, making the two boys sit on the floor. The recliner remains empty, though, probably for Jake.

“So, you coming to the bonfire next weekend?” Josh asks, his mouth full of chewed-up pizza, making you grimace. He has a bad habit of talking with his mouth full.

“Of course, I am,” You answer, taking your first bite of pizza after you respond.

“Good,” He says happily, shoving a large bite of pizza into his mouth.

Jake finally enters the living room, holding a cold beer in his hand, and surveying the full room. His right eye twitches slightly, and he looks to the stairs, most likely deciding to eat in his room. Paying him no mind, you swallow your previous bite, “Do you mind if I bring a friend?” You ask Josh as Jake slowly treads across the living room and toward the stairs.

“Sure! Is it that guy you’ve been talking to?” Josh asks, once again with his mouth full, but doing his best to push the food aside with his tongue. Before you answer, Jake’s steps falter, and instead of going up the stairs, he turns and sits on the recliner. Everyone, including Sam and Danny, who were deep in conversation a moment ago, looks at Jake. Although, he takes a sip of his beer, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“Um… Yeah,” You hesitate in your answer, still taken aback by Jake’s voluntary presence. Shaking your head slightly to get out of the trance that is Jake, you turn back to Josh, “Yeah, it’s the guy I’ve been talking to.”

“Great! I can’t wait to meet him,” Josh says enthusiastically.

“I’m sure,” You respond, nerves hanging on the ends of your words. Josh has nothing to do with this reaction, but more so, it’s yourself. You’d be lying if you said it was easy meeting guys and keeping them in your life, but it’s not. They either come off too strong or are way too boring. There was no in-between. This new guy, however, you’re hoping he’s different. You do like him, as a person, but you haven’t quite felt that… connection. “I’ve been promising him to hang out soon, so it’ll be nice to have you there.” You say truthfully.

“Of course,” Josh smiles, his cheeks stuffed with food, and his plate becoming empty quickly. You’ve hardly touched your first slice since you can’t help but notice eavesdropping ears to your right; Jake. His eyes are fixed forward, zoning out on the well-loved but stained carpet, but you can tell he’s listening. For whatever reason, you didn’t know.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

That was chapter one of Silver Springs! I’d like to apologize if it seems a little fast paced and uneventful, but I promise it will get better as time goes on. The chapters will likely get longer as well since I have a lot planned for this fic, I just needed to lay the groundwork with this chapter. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it and I’d love to hear your opinions! All my love!

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Tag list:

@aflame4goinghome @peaceloveunitygvf @dilflover-4ever @hollyco @samfkiszka @dayumclarizzel

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!)

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Tags:

[no-gorms]

Steve/Tony, Hanahaki, UST, open ending

It is an unfortunate fact of Tony’s history that he’s familiar with the longing disease. Lung gardening. Hanahaki, or whatever other euphemisms they’ve come up with lately to describe it.

Naming conventions aside, Tony’s knows well enough what the affliction feels like – the warning sting at the back of the throat that’s followed by the pressure of something more personal, more vicious than mere phlegm. The body’s breathing apparatus has decided to betray its owner, and Tony’s had it enough times that he could be embarrassed, if he were the sort of person to be embarrassed by that kind of thing.

A cough, a heave, and then petals are cascading in a disgusting shower onto the tabletop. At least the tabletop is glass, which is easy to clean, and Tony’s reflexes were fast enough that he’d pushed Hill’s paper folder of printouts clear away.

Most people would be grateful to have their symptoms manifest in privacy. Those who do not, get used to the shocked silence that follows.

“Oh no,” comes Bruce’s voice from Tony’s left. Quiet, worried.

“Maybe—” Natasha clears her throat, businesslike, “—we can take five?”

“Ah, shit.” Tony straightens up and dabs at his mouth with a handkerchief. He eyes the pile of petals with a scowl, noting that they’re bright-colored blooms, as if he’s twenty years old all over again and doesn’t know any better. “Fantastic. Just what we needed today.”

“Yeah, we can take five—” Clint starts.

“As if we don’t have enough to do.” Tony sighs. “Goddammit, Steve.”

“What?” Steve says.

Being an old hat at surviving Hanahaki also means that Tony knows the faces he’ll see when he looks around the table. There’ll be surprise, concern, empathy, and discomfort in various combinations, and Tony gets all of that and then some, because the Avengers have so far rolled with a number of far greater inconveniences with grace.

“Look.” Tony takes one last cleaning swipe of his face with the handkerchief and drops it on the pile. “It’s not your fault, I’m not blaming you, but you gotta step up on this if we’re gonna make the flight out in time to follow Thor’s lead.”

“I, what—” Steve blinks twice, quick and robotic, before those same eyes widen.

Ah, so this is a surprise to Steve, which might be even more irritating than the Hanahaki itself. Tony could try to be half-full-cup about it and take it from the angle that this means that he hadn’t been too ridiculous openly about his burgeoning crush on the good Captain. But that would take more effort than he’s willing to expend.

It was supposed to be just admiration. Idle feelings to be nurtured like a baby bird of a side hobby. Good fucking going, Stark. What had Steve even been doing to make it tip over? Squinting at Natasha’s slide with that stoic yet judgmental purse of the mouth that usually has Tony internally clapping his hands with glee?

That could do it.

“Yeah, I know, it’s stupid,” Tony says, waving it off. “You don’t even like me as a human being, but I’m a masochist that way sometimes. Good news is, I’m also fickle, so it probably won’t be that hard to make me hate you. By this afternoon, hopefully? Or whenever you’re ready, I’m sure you’ll figure something out, but anyway this is still…” He eyes the pile of petals. “This is way early stages, we’ll have weeks, but the sooner the better.”

“What do you mean I don’t like you as a human being?” Steve says, as though that’s the most important part of what Tony just said.

“You need to be mean to me, okay?” Tony says.

Bafflement animates Steve’s normally poster-handsome face. Bafflement, and then offense, as though Tony just asked him to kick puppies, which Tony would never do, and anyway Tony isn’t a puppy. Steve can be mean, sometimes by accident and sometimes on purpose, and those glimpses of candid moments are so rare – for Tony, at least, since the others know Steve far better than Tony ever could – that Tony has and does treasure every single one.

Unfortunately, this thought sends a wave of affection rolling through Tony’s brain, which is followed by a wave of petals rolling out of Tony’s mouth. And this time they do destroy Hill’s folder of printouts.

He recovers faster this time, which may or may not be helped by Bruce patting his back gently.

“Sorry, correction.” Tony wheezes through an inhale. “You need to be mean to me, and not in a sexy way.”

“What—?” Steve starts.

“Stark means that you need to be cruel to him to stunt his feelings for you,” Thor says, nodding solemnly. “But to not use language that he’d find appealing. ‘Tis a fine line, indeed, I understand the challenge there.”

“Thor,” Bruce says.

“What?” Thor says.

“Right,” Clint says, “I think we should not be here for this.”

“We were finishing up anyway.” Tony stands up and shoves all the petals into the folder that will be going into the trash pronto. “I need to do a health scan but you guys can keep going with that entry route, and let me know what you’ve decided before suit up, yeah?“

“Tony,” Steve says. “You’re—that’s dangerous—”

“Yes, yes, I am aware,” Tony says irritably. “Romanoff, have my back?”

“We do face death on the regular,” Natasha says. “This is manageable.”

“See.” Tony points at Steve. “I’ll work on my part, but you have to do yours. Mean. You can do it, I believe in you. Just maybe… don’t use Howard?” He sighs. “No, you should probably use Howard. Anyway, I’ll be in lab, give me a buzz if there’s anything.”

Tony goes with a careless wave over his shoulder, and waits until he’s out of the room and the door is closed before he lets himself wince.

Could’ve gone worse, actually.

[sky-is-the-limit]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆:

Phillip Graves who would be in denial of his feelings about you. He'd convince himself that you were just another warm body for him to use, another pawn on his chessboard that he'd decide when or where to move. Someone easily replaced, someone only worth an hour of his day.

Every night, confusion invaded his mind. He could not stop thinking about you, where you were, who you were with.. The tremendous question bothered him whether this feeling was love or not. Whether it was some sick obssesion or if what he felt was pure possessiveness for a body he got to taste and hold. Perhaps it was both.

Falling in love with you was the easy part, it just happened. It was admitting it to himself, that was the hardest task he ever had to handle. He could try to run away from it, hell, he tried countless times with accepting missions that lasted months, wishing that time would cure his aching heart.

Until he realised that he could run forever, search forever, but in the end, every path would lead right back to you. Every time the feeling would get deeper, more complete, more bewitching. It was pointless to try. His heart had been alone for so long it was almost unsettling to suddenly have company. To have you.

You never heard him say any words of affirmation nor sweet talk. Never “I miss you” or “I love you”. Phillip Graves never trusted those words. But when he said,

“Let me do that, you're gonna hurt yourself.” It was the little things, really. Going out of his way to appear useful, to delude himself into believing that you needed him even for tasks you could handle yourself.

The Commander inside of him felt ashamed for his eagerness to run to you, to carry your groceries, to change a lightbulb, to wait almost two hours outside of the hair salon so you wouldn't have to take the train back home.. Not Phillip, though. He needed you to need him.

⚜

“Come on, I'll walk you to your car.” Let me spend the last minutes of our time together in comforting silence, his heart admitted quietly. It was the way you instinctively walked closer to him, his warmth radiating safety and protection.

Your love was a quiet emotion that in time became part of the oxygen he needed to breathe, and so though he might've fought against it's existence, any form of removal or the lack of your presence in his life and the emotions would begin to choke him.

⚜

“Don't say something you're gonna regret, sweetheart.” He closed his eyes, took a deliberate deep inhale through his nose, held it for a few seconds before forcing the trapped air out through pursed lips, attempting to calm down his accelerating heartrate and the blood that had starting racing through his veins.

You argued, yes. There were days when you couldn’t stand each other. But every disagreement was followed by a reconciliation that brought you closer than before. It was like watching two magnets, pushing and pulling until they finally clicked into place.

⚜

“It's past midnight, where were you?” His cheeks coloured, and his lips formed a wobbly scowl, bordering on a pout, as he crossed his arms over his chest. It was embarrassing how he spent hours glancing at his watch, then at the door, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the tabletop. He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t breathe normally. Everything a jumble. Thoughts. Emotions. A cacophony. He was unraveling.

What if you got into an accident? What if you were trapped unable to scream for help? What if you left with another? He had no right to ask such question and yet he did, every time because if something was to happened to you, he'd burn the world into ashes and await the company of your ghost.

⚜

“Who was that asshole talking to you?” The room was filled with people, but all he could see was you. Stormy eyes met your gaze across the room, a silent conversation passing between you. His eyes were fire in water, if such thing could be imaginable. But as he began to make his way towards you, a man stepped in, engaging you in meaningless conversation.

It was fear that brought rage, that hot burning anger that seeked to harm. Fear of losing you, fear of not being enough, fear that you would finally wake up to realise that almost any man out there was more deserving of your affections than a broken soldier who would burn in the pits of hell for his crimes.

His heart sank, but he couldn’t look away. Rage consumed him, it burned in his stomach and he swore he could feel the temperature rising. It felt like a living, breathing organism trying to claw it's way out of him.

His gaze was icy, freezing everyone it touched, making even a crowded room feel lonely until you decided to spare him a look, flashing him a smile that would put even the sun to shame and in an instant his eyes burned with a fire that could ignite even the most dampened surface.

⚜

“Do you, uh, wanna come over?” It felt like he was on fire, that he might spontaneously combust at any moment, like someone had set a slow and steady match beneath his center, deep in the pit of his stomach as you picked up the phone.

Not even an hour had passed since they landed and he was running back to you, like a fiend desperate to get his dose. It was frightening, he felt fragile as though a negative response from you would've crushed him into pieces.

⚜

“ Stay the night.” He still couldn't understand what the fuck you were doing there, being with him, choosing him, tolerating his bullshit on the daily.

He certainly didn’t deserve you, redemption for everything he had done as a Shadow and later in desperation to free himself, forever out of his grasp, never his to claim and yet your eyes seemed to pull him in, a gravitational force he couldn’t resist.

“God, I missed your lips.” And with that, he surged forward to kiss you desperately. It was odd. You were no stranger to him kissing you with desperation, but that felt different. It was soft and longing, like he was chasing something he couldn't have nor deserved to.

Deep within your chest, your heart shattered for him a little. You’ve had your fair share of romantic lovers and flings, you lived a normal life, that was until he appeared with the force of a storm, but you realised that with his line of work, he never had the chance to.

He broke the kiss abruptly and started sloppily kissing down your neck in quick succession, letting his tongue dart out intermittently to lick your skin and occasionally letting his teeth nip at you.

As he continued down over your exposed upper chest over the sweetheart neckline of your shirt, he started falling to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding down over the outside of your thighs to show his devotion, to worship you like you deserved.

⚜

“I'll fucking kill him.” The anger was first seen in his eyes, then a tension in his muscles, an inability to think clearly soon followed. How dare someone upset you? How dare someone speak to you that way? He wanted to lash out in the streets to find them, to hurt them if not vanish them from the surface of the earth.

Seeing your beautiful eyes glisten with tears was the worst type of torture. He wanted to shield you from this cruel world, protect what was his even if he had to destroy everything else as a means to do so. He would do anything for you.

If it meant unleashing his violent temper on those who dared bring you to that state, so be it. He was willing to keep you safe from it, be good to you and unforgiving to everyone else.

⚜

That was when you heard the unspoken words of love in every sentence. Phillip Graves's love was like a blazing fire, burning brightly and fiercely. It was like a lightning strike, a sudden realization that shook you to your core, it really was love. Pure and unconditional in his own messed up way.

At times, it felt like you were drowning in treacherous sea and he just stood there, watching, unwilling to help just to see how far you'd go for him. If you were just as mad for him as he was.

How could you hang on to something so incomprehensible? How could you keep pouring love into an abyss? But then there you were. Always there. There was something in those blue eyes that was so inviting, so safe and intoxicating that you couldn't help yourself nor you'd choose another. 

⚜

The cold night wrapped the world in a frosty embrace, the air crisp and biting. Stars twinkled like diamonds in the clear, dark sky, while the moon cast a silvery glow over the silent, snow-covered landscape.

You sat in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, intimate. Words weren't necessary to understand each other. A look, a touch, a shared smile was enough. His presence was enough.

“What are you doing out here? You're gonna catch a cold.” Finally, he spoke with concern, battling with the inner Commander desperately asking him to conceal his worry. His eyes were alarmingly smooth, devoid of the wrinkles that often accompany age, as if time itself hesitated to mark him.

“I like the night sky, it brings me peace.” The words came out barely as an audible whisper, like if sharing a precious secret or an embarrassing habit.

He was now standing in your shadow, closing what already felt like the non-existent distance between you. Suddenly, you ceased moving entirely when his hands reached out to place his jacket around your shoulders.

“You have to see the night sky back at home. The stars shine brighter in Texas.” His voice softened as he recalled his hometown that he missed dearly, the gentle lilt carrying a tender affection that warmed your heart.

“Really? Maybe one day I'll visit.” There was a flash of lightning outside, a prelude to the storm ahead to match the electrocuting jolt shooting down your spine as you felt his hand gently find place on your lower waist.

“Or maybe I'll take you back with me.” His face was close enough that you could feel his warm breath tickling your skin as he spoke what felt like a promise.

He didn’t say anything after that nor did you. But he held your hand, his thumb tracing your knuckles in a silent confession. He was yours the first moment he laid eyes on you. Your love was a tumultuous symphony, full of passionate crescendos, heartbreaking solos, and soft, tender interludes. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real, and it was yours. Phillip Graves was yours. Unconditionally.

[zh-lele]

TOO FAST (m)

▪︎Pairing: Mark Lee x female reader

▪︎Genres: angst, romance, street racing au, friends with benefits trope

▪︎Warnings: graphic descriptions and mentions of death, blood, violence, drug use, and depression; profanity; sexual and suggestive content. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Contains spoilers of previous parts of the series.

▪︎Word count: 12.6k words

playlist | Pictures taken by Taeyong | Drifting series

Hi everyone! New installment of my Drifting series is up :) This is Mark's part and happens right after Haechan's story, so it's filled with spoilers (if you haven't read that one yet.) I don't really think you need to read Haechan's part to understand what happens around here, but if you want, please go check 'We ridin'' that's also liked in my masterlist. Also, this fic is pretty graphic so please read warnings and don´t proceed if you feel uncomfy with any of the themes treated here. Without much more to say, I hope you enjoy this story!

0. That's a pretty big trunk on my Lincoln Town Car, ain't it?

No matter how much weight he pulls off of his car, Mark can't get to drive freely around anymore. The backseats are gone, and the truck is empty before he starts the race. And you are waiting for him at the end of the road when he makes it first to the finish line, a big smile plastered on your face while looking at him. Everybody quickly starts cheering for him and throwing money to his face. And he tries hard. He tries so hard to enjoy it and be happy behind the steering wheel like he used to do, but he can't find to be able to.

Don't they see it too?

The car's trunk filled with bodies like a Hearse. The steering wheel bleeding, painting Mark's shaky hands in red. His swollen eyes wet with tears. All those scattered pieces on the pavement… And he can never get rid of the weight because he is the one carrying all that heaviness that won't let him breathe, no matter how empty he wants to leave the car.

He rubs his face up and down in frustration, mixing the blood and the tears until he turns, looking back at the destroyed vehicle. Hanging off the open trunk it's his head, open and misshapen, covered in blood, exactly as Mark had last seen him. It feels like a nightmare. He prays and begs to God for it to be a nightmare, please let it be a nightmare.

Your smile dissipates as soon as you lock eyes with him. Mark blinks once to let the tears roll down his cheeks and wet your hands that cup his face. When he realizes it wasn't a nightmare but a distorted memory of reality, the uncontrollably sobs come. So you hold him in your arms in the middle of messy bed sheets, trying to deal with the melancholy of another sleepless night taking care of your hurt best friend.

Mark's memories haunt him. Ever since the accident happened, you're sure he hasn't got a full night of sleep, and you hardly remember the last time you did. If he's not racing or partying until the sun comes out early in the morning, he's constantly trying to fall asleep and repeatedly being awakened by these nightmares, these horrible memories being manifested in his dreams, and getting scared by only closing his eyes in the dark.

The yellow light on the old nightstand illuminates very dimly the small hotel room where Mark has been living for the last time, and where you have found yourself returning more often than usual. Everything is messy and dirty. Mark's clothes sit piled up in a mountain on a chair in the corner of the room, and the tabletop cannot be seen due to the number of boxes and empty fast food packages left behind, not being cleaned for months now. To your left, the nightstand is littered with boxes of twenty Marlboro cigarettes, empty as well; broken lighters, and a dirty glass pipe with traces of a substance you haven't quite figured out yet and are afraid to do so.

Your best friend won't talk much to you despite having you coming back to his bed every night, but you don't need that to believe he's depressed.

You remember how it started. How you got yourself into the same hole.

—

Inside the small apartment the air felt thick and humid. The dim colored lights coming from the speaker did a poor job of outlining a tall silhouette in front of you. Your body was sweaty, your feet ached from standing for so many hours, and your heart beat faster than normal. Maybe it was tiredness. Maybe it was because of the sound vibrations of fast electronic music resonating with the movement of your heart muscle. Or maybe it was because of the joint that Yuta left between your fingers after exhaling all the smoke in your face, and you didn't hesitate to repeat his actions.

You couldn't wait to leave. You also couldn't allow yourself to touch any kind of surface because you knew that as soon as you leaned against a wall or an armchair, you wouldn't be able to get up again. It might not have been the smartest decision at the time to grab the glass of vodka Yuta was holding in his hands and finish it in one gulp, but you would have done anything to make the time go by faster.

And it worked, actually. It's hard to even remember the kind of music that started playing after that moment. What you remember exactly, however, something you can't erase from your memories of that night is what Mark looked like.

The color in his electric blue hair had already begun to fade, and his bangs clung to his forehead from all the humidity. Even with his unkempt appearance and the sleeves of his t-shirt rolled up to his shoulders, revealing toned arms that glistened under a fine sheen of sweat. None of it took away from his undeniable appeal. None of that mess was meant to make you walk away from him and forget how he felt that night. Like being drunk on Mark. As if all your senses were reduced to perceiving him, and only him. When did he even appear on your side?

"You're all wet."

"It's from all the dancing," Mark said, moving his face away from yours, just enough to keep supporting your waist with one hand, and wipe the sweat that had transferred from his cheek to yours with the other.

His closeness allowed you to perceive the smell of alcohol and cigarettes that emanated from his body. Firm muscles under his clothes that you couldn't have failed to notice all night, couldn't help but feel at that moment under your touch. An innocent enough tact, with intentions to keep dancing to whatever was playing. He couldn't know how much you liked him. You were best friends for fuck's sake. And no matter how many times you imagined it, there would never be another reality where you could be more than best friends. Furthermore, you were both too intoxicated to cross the line and then be able to return to your comfort zone. You knew you wouldn't be able to come back once you allowed yourself to get to know Mark in any other way.

"You know what's missing tonight?"

Mark had won the race that night. Five grand that were going straight to his wallet and his pride. That had Yuta celebrating and patting at Mark's back when he made it out of the car with a smile on his face to wrap him in a tight hug. A victory that would give Mark a moment of reassurance, that would distract him only for a second from all the horrible things that were actually going on in his life.

Despite all fears of ending up alone and punished by all his friends, life showed Mark everyday that he was wrong. Yuta chose to keep in contact with him even after the accident and after Johnny got mad at Mark. You were still around him too. And he was still a successful street racer that made thousands per night and allowed himself to have fun with a bunch of pretty girls. So yeah, you would've never guessed the words that came out of Mark Lee's mouth after that. You would've never imagined that what that night was missing was–

"A kiss from you," he answered himself, letting out a heavy breath and leaning dead-weight on you. "Just one kiss?"

That simple line was all it took to take your breath away. He was that powerful, and you kind of hated yourself for allowing him. You thanked in silence for the lack of lights in the living room, because your temperature rising and getting your face all red would've given you away.

"I don't know." You were honest with him. It was kind of ironic inside of your head, how much you wanted him yet you couldn't decide if you wanted to act on that desire. There were pros and cons.

On one hand, you would've done anything for Mark to feel better, to let him out of that dark void you saw him getting in, deeper every day. Anything for him. On the other hand, you knew how the story goes, from your friends and because you saw it in enough movies; casualty never works when there's feelings involved. You didn't have to experience it to know it wouldn't mean just a drunken kiss to you, just a little fun. It was gonna end up hurting, dragging you in like a cult, a bad religion.

It felt like years, the time you were thinking about what to say to him. "I really don't know."

"C'mon," he was persistent, getting his head off the crook of your neck and staring right into your eyes, then dropped the sight to your lips. And he left it there while he kept mumbling. "One lil' kiss."

How many things could ruin a silly, drunken kiss between friends at a party?

Your eyes met Yuta for a brief moment, before you saw him raise his eyebrows at you, an expression that said 'Are you really doing this?' on his face, and then saw him leave the room.

The thing is, you had liked Yuta since the very first moment you saw him and had been fooling around ever since. He's a true gentleman. He's fun to be around but centered enough to give you all the calmness you might need at the end of a stressful day. He's good enough to give you some of the best fucks of your life as well. He has a good job, no bad habits, and he gives you enough space. Anyone could say Yuta is the perfect candidate. If Mark wouldn't even look at you but happened that Yuta proposed to you, you would probably agree to be his girlfriend in a second.

You wanted to tell Mark no. You truly wanted to be faithful to whatever you had with Yuta. But you had loved Mark since forever. And that was different.

Now you believe you would've never had to accept that kiss from Mark Lee that night because, spoiler: after one kiss, you weren't able to stop.

So it happened one, two, three, four, five, countless times until you finally found the solution to Mark's sleeping situation. Sometimes it required a lot of alcohol, sometimes it required him to have something to smoke. But what never changed was that it had to start with a kiss and follow with a lot of your attention. It always ended with you and him, skin to skin to his bed sheets. He gets a night's full sleep, and you usually get a headache from all the overthinking.

—

When you feel that his breathing has become heavy again and his grip around your torso loosens, you confirm that Mark has gone back to sleep. The clock on the wall above the window reads 05:02 in the morning, and if Mark doesn't have another nightmare in the next hour, he may be able to sleep until the sun comes up.

Carefully and almost moving in slow motion, you slip from his grasp to get up from the bed. Your friend has been feeling exhausted for months now, and no matter how many hours he sleeps, he never manages to recover. That's what he tells you all the time: that he's exhausted from being exhausted, from wanting to rest and not being able to.  So when you finally get him to drift off to sleep, the last thing you want is to wake him up.

You grab your pillow and place it filling the space that your body occupied between his arms, so he doesn't feel alone. You're not going anywhere but to sit on the dirty old couch in the next room. Mark's room and the space functioning as the entrance to the motel room are only separated by a thin wall of wood and plaster, and a curtain. If he happens to wake up again in the next few hours, you will be able to listen to him without any problem and return to him immediately.

When you turn on the yellow light in the gloomy bathroom—which door is broken so you won't even bother trying to close it—, the scene at the entrance lights up and you spot the figure laying on the couch. You wait for the glass to fill with water to turn off the tap in the sink and turn off the light, plunging the room into darkness again. The water runs hot and is of little help in quenching your thirst, but that's all you have for now until the convenience store near the motel opens.

Despite the darkness, you can see a large pair of eyes watching your every move carefully. He must have woken up because of Mark's nightmare, just like you. Coincidentally, in the small couch there is a space where you know you fit perfectly, so you take it and lie down next to him. The sides of your bodies rub against each other because it's a small couch afterall, and even when you can start to feel the heat of the morning you would like to get closer, snuggle into him, to wrap yourself in his arms and sleep together forever. But you're not going to do anything because Mark is only a curtain away. Also, because you were pretty sure he didn't want you anymore, not after you practically stopped seeing him the moment you started fucking Mark.

"Have you talked to Johnny?"

You turn your head to set your eyes on Yuta, lying on the couch still with all his clothes on, one arm acting as a pillow under his head. His long lashes brush his cheeks every time he blinks, and his chest rises and falls in a calm, controlled breath. Just looking at him gives you all the peace you are missing, making you sleepy. And you want to sleep, oh how you want to sleep for endless hours.

He shakes his head no.

"I feel like… I don't know, Mark really needs him right now."

There is a long silence in which you roll onto your side to keep looking at him. His eyes, now closed, make you think he has fallen asleep until he finally opens his mouth to speak.

"Johnny doesn't want to know anything about Mark." Yuta turns his head to look at you this time. His gaze is soft but holds all the truths you don't like to think of, so you can't do much more than moving your head down with a frown in your brows, and keep listening to him. "What he did to Haechan was stupid, put all of us in danger."

Memories of that night are fresh in your brain for two reasons. The first one, is that you interacted with Yuta for the first time that night, and things just escalated between the two of you from there. The second reason has to do with the fact that, all that happened back then, was Mark's breaking point.

1. You hit them stones and you broke your home

At the center of the closed road, the pavement was already painted with traces of burnt tires forming circular patterns. As the candy-colored cars drifted and slided and had all the people filming and celebrating around them, you really couldn't think of a worse way to waste your tires. It's a passion they seem to have, that you yet have to get to understand. 

You observed Mark work frantically on his car, making you feel like there wasn't enough time. All his movements were too rushed, and his eyes moved around the crowd with a paranoid look. The rest of the team was counting the money, looking for someone to flag, taking the seats out of the car to make it as light as possible, moving the people from the middle of the street. You could already hear some sirens far in the distance, getting closer and closer.

"Mark, hurry up!"

Getting off an orange car with the windows all black, a voice rushed Mark to start the race. He had that spine-chilling look despite his totally relaxed walk, looking like he owned the streets. He was the protagonist of a bunch of stories Mark had told you about his friends. And you knew Mark admired and respected Johnny a lot. But Yuta... Yuta has always been something else to Mark. Something like his weakness, and it showed in the way he talked about him and behaved around him. "I can show you some pics, but you can't like him more than me," was how he always ended conversations about him.

You really tried to listen to your friend. You really tried not to get interested in the handsome guy giving him the last directions before the first race of the night. But you had to know him personally, had to get close to him. You wished it would have been under different circumstances, though.

A few minutes later, everything was ready for the race to start. Mark had to drive a few miles straight down the road, take an impromptu hairpin turn, and be back in front of your eyes safe and sound.

After the accident he got into with his friend Taeyong, everyone thought Mark would be too scared to drive again, at least for a while. But it was the complete opposite; he got  careless and more reckless. Mark was sad and mad, and he used the races as a coping mechanism, among other things.

You, however, were worried and scared for him.

"I don't know why I agreed to come with you," you spoke with your arms crossed as you saw Mark walking towards you. He was wearing a subtle smile, and you could see how his face got rid of all that paranoia as soon as he found your eyes.

He wrapped you in a hug that forced you to uncross your arms to join them behind his head, reciprocating the gesture. "Thank you for coming," Mark told you so only you could hear him, and tightened the grip of his arms around your torso. "But you don't have to stay if you don't like it. I can ask one of the guys to get you home."

You took a look around separating yourself from him, and thought about his offer for a second. Johnny seemed busy dealing with all the bets for that night's race, so you doubted he could take you home. Jaehyun was racing too, so neither him or Mark were gonna drive you. Johnny's sister didn't own a car, so she wasn't an option. The only one who seemed like he wasn't occupied was Yuta, who was looking at the two of you with an unreadable expression, sitting on top of his car hood, probably just waiting for Mark to stop delaying the race.

You kinda, definitely wanted Yuta to take you home, to ride together and maybe chat a little on the way. To finally get to know him—and maybe exchange a kiss or two before you would come out of his car and walk to your door.

But that wasn't happening that night.

"No fucking way."

The crowd went silent. The only sound traveling through the thick summer atmosphere was the sound of the engines. No one needed him to get out of the bright yellow car to know who he was. Nonetheless, he got the audacity to do it.

"Didn't I fucking tell you," Johnny's voice was filled with rage, speaking directly to him, "that I don't want to see you around ever again?"

"I'm gonna fucking kill him." You heard Mark whisper in front of you.

"You're not doing shit." You grabbed Mark's jaw trying to get him to look at you, but his eyes were locked on Haechan. His hands left your waist to become fists at his sides, ready to attack if you weren't holding him back and speaking in his ear, trying to maintain your composure. "If you do anything to him, we're not gonna see the end of it."

But the truth was you wanted to beat him to pieces probably as much as Mark wanted to.

"Just one race!" Haechan got off his car  speaking to Johnny with open arms, palms facing the night sky. "For the old times?"

"But…" Mark rested his eyes on you again, and you could almost see yourself reflected in the accumulation of tears that threatened to fall at any moment. He spoke only for you, "Taeyong is dead because of him."

People went crazy after hearing Haechan ask for a race. Three months had passed since the accident and, since then, neither Haechan nor the Lees had dared to roam the same streets as the Suhs and his friends. Of course, people like watching other people fight, they enjoy the gossip and the problems, so it didn't take long for the crowd to start betting on Haechan as the winner of that night. Johnny had no choice but to get his team to race against the Lees, to remind them again that he didn't want them around, and that it was just a one time thing.

"Listen," Johnny held Mark's face in his hands and spoke directly to his eyes, "you're gonna race and you're gonna make it to the finish line intact. I don't give a fuck about who's winning. I just want you to finish, so he can get the fuck out of here before I lose my mind and rip his face off."

Mark nodded quickly a few times. It was clear he was nervous—from the way he grabbed and squeezed the steering wheel with his hands, and settled back and forth in the seat, impatient for the race to end when it hadn't even started.

"Don't you–" a bit of embarrassment creeped into his voice and cut him half way into the sentence, making him gulp dry before proceeding. "Don't you have something for me? I'm just feeling a little low," he finished asking, his narrowed eyes barely daring to look at his older brother.

Johnny let out a heavy sigh and moved his head to look above Mark's car, into the racing scene, and pondered on it for a moment. Honestly, he never thought he could be the best leader or the best older brother, but he managed to convince himself he was doing pretty fine, until the Donghyuck thing happened. Not that Donghyuck thing, the one that had to do with his sister and later with Taeyong. But the Donghyuck thing that made the big family they all were before break apart, and split into two rival groups. Something happened in that moment that Johnny felt made him fall apart; he lost all that confidence he once had. It only got worse when Donghyuck got with his sister, though, and he took Taeyong with him too, and now he felt like he was losing Mark as well.

Johnny reached into the front pocket of his jeans and held the small bag there for a few seconds, while debating whose fault it was, and thinking about how he could stop ruining his family. Back then, he had no clear answer. He felt like Mark was fucked up enough already. And because he loves him unconditionally, he just did what he thought was best for Mark at the time.

He ended up taking the small bag from his front pocket and tossing it to Mark, who quickly grabbed it with both hands and didn't even thank Johnny before he was closing his tinted windows on his friend's face.

Johnny thought that even if it was the wrong thing to do, he himself would help Mark sober up later, because he couldn't dare lose any more brothers.

You watched the entire exchange from afar.  From Mark positioning himself in line with Jaehyun, Haechan and another boy's cars at his sides, until Johnny and Yuta joined you with the same worried look that your eyes wore.

There was a constricting sensation in your chest, a pressure watching that scene unfold that made your voice tremble. "I have a bad feeling about this." 

You know what they say, that there are friends with whom you live certain things, and friends with whom you are part of other things. Haechan, Mark and you were all good friends once, way back in high school, but after they parted ways you decided not to get involved in their illegal activities. You barely knew this side of Mark's life, most of it since he loved his friends so much and always told you everything about them. He tried to integrate you as much as possible when situations called for it: birthdays, casual meetings at Johnny's garage, and parties. But all that pretty far from the street racing scene, that being the first time he actually invited you to go watch him race after years.

"Don't worry," Johnny said to you at the same time his sister was positioning herself at the middle of the starting line, ready to give them the direction. "They know what they have to do very well.

And as soon as she lowered her arms, the cars sped off, leaving a huge cloud of smoke in front of you that obstructed your view for a few seconds. 

"They will be driving in a straight line for about a kilometer," he continued. "Then they will reach a crossroads and must take the path to the right, we will lose sight of them at that moment."

"But if they do everything right and don't cause any trouble, we'll see them come out of that other corner." Yuta pointed at a corner a few blocks from you with a blinking yellow traffic light while explaining to you. "And someone will make it right here first. The winner."

You assumed that you managed to make him feel your intense gaze on him, and that made his eyes meet yours. His arms crossed while still leaning on the hood of his car. He noticed your nervousness.

"Relax," his voice was soft while speaking to you. A smile adorned his face when he invited you to sit with him, right beside his body on top of the orange hood. "Let's root for our team."

You nodded with your head at him and chose to remain silent. While you waited to see your friend return, you reached in the back pocket of your pants for the small box and the lighter, and lit a cigarette. It was the best thing you could think of to pass the time.

"You're a smokestack."

Your eyes widened hearing that. You didn't take it as an insult, since when you turned around and saw Yuta's face you only found a playful smile. But you still decided to take a long drag on the cigarette, blow out all the smoke, and then ask him in an offended tone.

"Excuse me?"

"You smoke too much," he said nonchalantly, jumping off the car and standing right in front of you.

His eyes traveled from your legs hanging off his hood, to your hand holding the cigarette, to your chest and lastly your face in a matter of milliseconds. A quick check out that awakened a whole new rush of adrenaline and nervousness to your body. A stare that only sent shivers down your spine, so you tried to play it cool and straighten your back, wanting to reach the level of his face.

"And how would you know?"

You made an effort not to let the conversation die. Ever since Mark told you about them and showed you photos of his friends, you had wanted to meet Yuta. Walking across him at Johnny's house or at random parties had never been enough. Firstly, because Yuta was rarely alone. And secondly, because when he was alone you would never have thought of being the first to approach him and talk to him.

Because you weren't expecting it from Yuta—the only friend of Mark that was quiet and mysterious enough that you had never struck up a conversation with—it took you a couple of seconds to process the words that came out of his mouth.

"I've been watching you." Yuta took your hand that was holding the cigarette and held it very gently in between his. Enough to notice how yours trembled.

Yuta definitely didn't have to do that to notice how anxious you were. But then you would understand how powerful his energy is and how physical contact becomes completely necessary and inevitable when he is around. That you didn't even need to say a word for him to notice you were attracted to him—you were painfully obvious around Yuta. It became ridiculous the way you lost yourself watching him talk and just mind his business. Yuta loved every second of it.

He would finally return all that attention to you later.

"You may fancy me." He took the cigarette off your hand and took a puff. "But you really, really love Mark."

You sighed deeply and looked down as you felt the heat rise and tint your cheeks. You didn't dare look at him when you spoke again. "I'm seriously that obvious?"

Yuta muttered positively and you could hear him smiling. That attractive teasing smile he always wore but paired with the softest looking eyes, that you knew could mean no harm.

"The problem is… I like Mark."

You couldn't help but laugh when you heard him, since you definitely weren't expecting that outcome. He only smiled while seeing you laugh.

"But he won't pay enough attention to me," he continued with a shrug. "So I thought, maybe you wanna do something with me after this?"

"So, I'm the second choice," you established, crossing your arms and putting on a straight face.

Yuta shook his head, still wearing his little attractive smile. "No, I was just joking," he reassured you. "I think you're interesting, and you're hot, so I wanna know you."

The cigarette came back to your hands right before Yuta was blowing all the smoke he had inhaled on your face. He was being pretty clear, you had no doubt at that point.

So you filled yourself up with a little courage, smiled big, took a puff of that nicotine and said, "Alright, we're going to mine."

"Sounds lovely."

Is the unexpected screeching of tires locking up what deafens your ears, bringing you and Yuta out of your little bubble to find another cloud of smoke blocking your view. Only seconds pass after the smoke clears into the air, and Mark's car comes to rest in line with Haechan's, giving your friend second place in the race.

It all happened way too quickly. One moment Mark was getting out of his car, violently closing its door and getting every person out of his way. The next moment he was above Haechan's body on the street, beating the life out of him.

Mark seemed uncontrollable, out of his mind. It took not only Johnny and Yuta to separate him from Haechan's bleeding face, but Jaehyun had to get out of his car and intervene as well. It was him trying to restrain Haechan's friends from coming and beating Mark, while Johnny's sister cried and screamed besides her lover, who wore that typical wicked, cynical smile on his bloody-dripping mouth. It was absolute chaos.

"I'm going to kill you! I swear to God, you won't mess with any of my friends ever again because I'll fucking kill you!"

After a lot of struggling and missed punches (that almost ended in yours and the boys' faces) coming from an extremely euphoric Mark, they managed to lock him in the back seat of Yuta's car. Johnny ordered Yuta to take him away, and that he didn't want to see his face in the neighborhood until the situation calmed down. It was a little cruel, the way he kicked Mark out of the house they shared, but you understood. Mark was still too hurt and resentful of Taeyong's death, but Johnny knew that trying to get revenge on the Lees would only start an endless war. Or maybe cause an ending that would badly hurt them again, and Johnny was tired of losing brothers.

A tall boy with a thin face and raven hair pointed to Mark, and that same index finger he rested on the skin of his neck moved across, from right to left. You're dead, but Mark wouldn't listen to it, still sitting in the back seat of the car.

"Jeno, let's leave this shitty place," Haechan said once he was back on his feet, blood spitting, staining his shirt and even the ground.

Haechan and his friends (including Johnny's sister) left with a promise to come back for them.

Johnny was on his right to get extremely mad at Mark. Because that was the exact reason he didn't do anything to Haechan in the first place, that one night he had him at gunpoint in the rain. He could've ended him right there, but he knew what would've come. And that was the difference between the Lees and the Suhs: Johnny cared for his people—because yes, Haechan was his people once, just as Taeyong was when he was alive. He didn't want anyone to get even more hurt.

So now they have to deal with the fear of the Lees coming for them, because they know the gang has become weak. Johnny doesn't have his sister anymore, he doesn't have Taeyong, he doesn't have Mark, and Yuta is barely there because he spends most of the time with you or Mark. And that guilt is eating your best friend alive.

It was dawn by the time you and Yuta tossed an exhausted Mark into the motel bed where he would spend the next few months. While he passed out as soon as he touched the mattress, you came down from the adrenaline rush in the form of shaking and crying.

That same night you brought Mark to the motel, after you put him to sleep, Yuta and you drank and smoked until you calmed down and then made out until any of you had energy to go on. You liked him and wanted everything with him. But Yuta was a very patient and understanding person. He made that clear from the very first moment you met properly.

You may fancy me, but you love Mark.

And yes, maybe fucking around with Yuta was fun from time to time, until that guilt started eating you alive.

Now you look at Yuta, laying on the motel couch centimeters from you, yet he feels like he's miles away. You think you miss him, his security and the sense of stability you had when you were with him. These days he comes to check on Mark, make sure you're both not starving, maybe share a beer or a cigarette with you, and he leaves. He still does all that even after you dropped him to fuck your best friend, that is one of his best friends too.

But when Yuta leaves you're back to your miserable hole, praying that Mark won't die from an overdose tonight, or that won't leave and come back hours later with some other girl, kicking you out so he can fuck because he's suddenly tired of the routine, then calling you at ungodly hours because he can't sleep without you.

The japanese boy calls your name. A fine film of sweat covers his smooth skin and is visible in the dim light of dawn, which filters through the hideous lace curtains. His eyes tell you that he's about to reveal that truth that you don't want to hear, but he's going to be brutally honest anyway.

"You need to get out of here."

2. I'm talking fear, fear of missing out on you and me/I don't think I could find a way to make it on this earth

Mark had always been very careful. The most careful of all, in fact—not just when it came to racing, but in every aspect of his life.  When he drove, when he served customers in Johnny's garage, when he would go out with the boys and have to take care of a drunk Taeyong, he was the most careful. You know he was always very careful in the way he treated girls too, because Mark did everything with love.

It isn't fair what happened to him. It made him start doing things with fear. Fear of missing out on things, fear of losing, fear of hurting people, fear of God. You can taste the fear in him, because lately everytime you connect your lips it feels like he's kissing you for the last time ever.

He holds your face and steals a long, soft kiss from your lips. Eyes squeezed shut while he deepens it and gets his tongue to explore inside your mouth. None of it is rushed nor violent, in contrast with how he usually ends up fucking you. And you like this side of Mark, the one that kinda feels like he's doing it to you with love instead of fear, but you know you can't get too attached to it.

Or at least more attached than you already are.

Mark moves his hands from your face to your back, and caresses the skin there for a moment, before hugging the middle of your torso and pushing you flush against his. Your naked breasts collide with his equally naked chest, and his skin burns yours. He's restricting you from moving now, so he angles his hips pressing his feet on the mattress and starts thrusting up into you. It's a gentle pace, but all the alcohol and the weed in your system only make you feel him ten times intensified, ten times deeper. You tug on his long hair, bite and suck on his neck trying to contain all the sounds that want to escape from your mouth, yet the pleasure is too much and more than one manages to slip and mix with Mark's whines.

You're kinda embarrassed when you come after what feels like only five minutes that passed since you sat on top of Mark.

He feels you clench and become tight around him, so he stops his movements for a moment until you catch your breath. You know he's not done with you, just trying not to hurt you from the overstimulation. After one intense orgasm heavily loaded with feelings, you're exhausted. But this has always been about him. You need to make sure he will go back to sleeping peacefully. So you get off him and lay beside his body, before Mark takes position between your legs and buries himself inside you one more time.

He doesn't need to do much, doesn't need to say anything at all. You and him have gotten to explore each other's bodies for months now, you both know damn well that you're gonna come again, and after that you're gonna let him finish making a mess all over you.

What Mark would've never expected was seeing those thick tears run down your face, that you quickly tried to swipe off before he could ask anything about it. Even if sometimes it doesn't show, Mark loves and cares for you, so he's gonna ask anyway.

"Love," he calls for you and stops his movements. You open your eyes, lashes feeling heavy with the weight of the tears on them, and see his worried face right on top of yours. His hair is messy, his neck sweats and a silver necklace with a couple of charms hangs from it, somehow making Mark look even more attractive than usual. "I didn't hurt you, right?" A deep frown takes over his features.

You feel bad for ruining such a moment like this. You answer, shaking your head no.

"Please tell me the truth."

You shake your head no once again, wrapping your arms around him to tug and make him collapse his weight on you.

Love. The pet name replays in your head like a scratched CD and you wish you could turn it off to finally go to sleep. Mark calls your name and props himself up in his arms to look at you. He's still waiting for an explicit reply to his question.

How could you tell him that you were crying because you never felt so much love for someone in your entire life, without scaring him away? How could you explain to him that you understand it was all in your head, because you know he is too broken to even love to that same extent?

"I'm fine," you finally tell him and grab his face to give his lips one last, deep kiss. "Crying 'cause it's too good."

He shows a subtle smile and makes an effort to observe how the morning light illuminates your skin, with his eyes full of sleep, drunk on alcohol and your body and barely open. It's an image he wants to remember because, for some reason, it also feels to him like it could be the last time he gets to be with you like this.

"You sure?"

You nod and smile subtly in response, and move his fingers to make him touch you, in hope you can overcome the pain of loving too hard with the pleasure.

"Wanna give me one more?" His lips get your neck and collarbones all wet while he works on bringing you to the edge. His name manages to come out of your mouth in between gasps. "The last one?"

After both of you finally finish, Mark collapses on your side, half of his body still curled up to you, and calls your name softly. You hear his voice getting filled with fatigue.

"Mhm?"

"Thank you," he says in a whisper. Next thing you know, his breathing has become heavy again and his little snores can be heard in the silent motel room.

The story repeats itself, and you curse yourself and despair for not being able to even shut your eyes closed when you're exhausted. You're overthinking again. Hours go by with barely a couple of hours of sleep, and soon you have to get up to leave food ready for Mark and continue with your life outside these four walls.

3. Permission to crash, collecting damages, boy

The metal stairs creak under your shoes as you go up to the motel room, carefully not to slip because of the night's drizzle. The walk to the room where Mark has been staying feels longer than usual, maybe because you're extremely tired, and don't even remember the last time you got to sleep for an entire night by now, always interrupted by something—if it isn't because of Mark's nightmares, it's because you're either out with him and friends or catching up with missed work instead of sleeping. You can't wait to make it through his door, find him sleeping (with a little luck) and pass out on his bed beside him.

That old clock hanging on the wall indicates 10:27 p.m.. Inside, the room is extremely quiet. If it weren't for the mess around every surface, and the image of Mark's legs knocked out on the bed that you can perceive through a thin curtain separating the bedroom and the common area, you would believe the space is completely empty, abandoned.

The small table that Mark uses to eat is almost imperceptible for all the garbage that has accumulated there. Empty beer bottles, packs with leftover food, cigarettes, dirty napkins, his car keys and even some clothes cover the surface. You wonder how Mark continues to use the table when you're not there, or if he's just using it to leave stuff .

The delivery bags will serve to collect all the waste and clean up the environment a bit. Your friend has been going through a difficult time for a while now, and of course it's hard for him to do simple tasks like keeping the place where he lives clean and tidy. You don't even think about it much when you propose yourself to give him a helping hand while he sleeps; throwing everything that seems useless and dirty into the bags, and leaving it in the bins on the street. You hope Mark will feel more uplifted when he wakes up, finding himself in a slightly nicer, more livable place.

He's in a deep sleep leaning on his side, and watching him breaks your heart. You like it when Mark sleeps naturally. Even when he passes out from being extremely exhausted, you prefer it instead of when he goes to sleep after injecting that destructive drug right into his veins. On his bedside table is the glass syringe, the lighter, the aluminum foil. On the floor, in the space between the rickety bed and the little table, a plate with lines of half-consumed cocaine and the belt of his pants.

He doesn't even care enough to hide it anymore. It breaks your heart some more.

In an impulsive act, you grab whatever is there that has been destroying him, Yuta and you. Everything that has been making life difficult for everyone, ever since Taeyong left, since Johnny kicked Mark out, and your friend fell even harder into that pit.

You flush it down the toilet. Tears run down your cheeks, and the sound of the water taking everything down the drain mixes with your sobs. At the same time, the lights from the garbage truck outside the motel come in through the bedroom window, blinding your view a bit. Nothing is left.

With shaky hands, you open the window and light up a cigarette, in hope of calming down a little. Every day that passes is becoming harder to understand how you made it this far. You can't imagine how worse it could be if you weren't there for him, or if Yuta wasn't with Mark too.

One cigarette is consumed after another, until the ashtray is almost full and you stop because your chest starts to hurt. Mark's voice is present in the room; he calls your name dragging it full of confusion.

Here begins the story of how everything you two once were ended in a few minutes, too fast. Or perhaps the fall was anticipated, but no one knew how to cushion it.

"What happened here?" he asks hoarsely, clearly struggling to fully open his eyes, despite the place being subtly illuminated by the street lights peeking through the windows.

"Just did a little cleaning," you answer, letting the smoke out of your lungs. You said to yourself it would be the last one of the night, but something about the situation is making you slightly anxious.

Mark only nods in response and keeps turning around in his place, taking everything in. He ruffles his head in a poor attempt at fixing the bed hair, scratches the back of neck down to his arm. It's nerve-wracking—seeing him act so natural after having passed out for you don't know how many hours, at the risk of overdosing and dying alone, choking on his own vomit.

It fills you with rage inside how inconsiderate he's been lately, but you're exhausted and don't plan on fighting tonight.

"You coming back to bed?" 

"No, sorry," he says when you're already on your way to the bedroom. The clarity in his voice tone indicates to you he's wide awake now. "I have a race in like an hour or so."

You sit on his side of the bed to finally take your shoes off and start undressing. A heavy sigh unconsciously escapes you, and you have to ask him. You've been thinking for a couple weeks now that it would be good for him if he just left the racing scene, only for a while until he fully recovers from all the pain he's gone through. If it all started with it, the answer should be there too, ending it.

"Why do you do that?" You watch his figure enter the room. "Why do you keep racing?" Your questions come out a little exasperated, the tiredness getting the worst out of you even when you don't mean to sound rude.

"Why do I keep racing? How do you think I'm paying for the fucking expenses right here?"

His tone disorients you for a moment, making you believe that your question may, in fact, have been inappropriate. "Sorry, I just- I just thought you could get a job that makes you feel a little more normal, you know?" you propose, almost as if you're afraid of how he might react. "Give you a routine, make you feel better."

"No," he answers quickly, shaking his head low. "Racing is the only thing that makes me feel alive right now. That, and"– he doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he gulps dryly and keeps his thoughts only for himself.

You know it's better not to push it. Because he's not good with words, and because you don't think you're capable of dealing with whatever other emotions Mark could be going through right now.

You love Mark endlessly. You're sure the only thing that's wrong right now is that work drained you. You could have this conversation in the morning.

"And you? Why do you do it?" he decides to ask without looking you in the eye.

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you keep playing with Yuta and me at the same time?"

The question makes your heart stop and your stomach turn, but you try not to show it.

"That's seriously the last thing I needed to hear today."

You finish saying the sentence and move to the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth, ignoring the eyes of Mark following you from his spot in the bedroom. Too familiar with his look on you only wearing your underwear. Too used to Mark's bad mood after putting substances into his body until he falls unconscious. Too guilty because, in fact, you've been feeling confused about the two boys.

"I know you like him. I– I can feel it. I saw you laying so close early, saw the way you looked at him."

It makes your head hurt, and you squeeze your eyes shut trying to, somehow, ease the pain away. Yes, of course there has always been something about Yuta. Something about the calmness and security you feel when you're together. Something about the love you see he has for Mark that you wish someone had for you. Something about his kisses and touches and the look in his eyes that feel safe. Because Mark was your best friend once, your unconditional support; you were each other's until you weren't anymore. You just started to take care of him and to fall for him harder, and harder. You only became his while you lost him and he lost himself in the process. But Yuta somehow was there to make it easier for you, and numb a little part of the pain away.

You still love Mark endlessly, but he's not good for you. You don't love Yuta, but he feels like the right one for you. And you know their brotherhood might come before your friendship—with any of them. You can't ruin that for them only because you can't decide between the two boys.

It's always been easier to ignore all that.

"Can we just– not have this conversation?"

"Are you fucking him too?"

"I'm not." You look up to him as you accommodate yourself on the bed once again, rage filling your insides for the second time that night. "And what the fuck do you care, huh? The fuck do you care about me?"

"I care because I thought you were with me?" he asks, a tone of disbelief in his voice.

"Mark, we never agreed on being exclusive. We didn't even talk this out. We just started fucking because you were too fucking selfish and couldn't even notice what actually happens here"– you get interrupted by him calling your name.

His eyes are fixed on the nightstand that you emptied while he was passed out. And you swallow dryly, afraid to say a word. You can't imagine what he's going to say to you but, from his look, you can be sure it's not nice at all.

"You did a little cleaning," he repeats.

The room stays quiet. Mark starts looking for something around the nightstand—over it, behind it, under the little furniture and in the space around it. Frantically. And calls your name again. This time his voice is shaky, and when he looks at you he's at the verge of tearing up.

You imagined throwing all his drugs away would be hard for him. A risky move. All kinds of reactions were expected.

"Where is Taeyong's necklace?"

"Huh?" discomposure shows in your tone.

"Taeyong's necklace! It was right here, on the nightstand."

You remain quiet while observing him starting to look around the entire motel room. His body has got all tensed up and began shaking in consequence. He empties the drawers, the bags with his clothes, takes the bedsheets off, makes you move to turn the bed and the pillows upside down and checks inside the bathroom too. There's only curses coming out of his mouth and his voice breaks more and more, starting to sob like a little kid in front of your eyes when he realizes the object he's looking for is nowhere around.

He yells your name to get your attention but it only scares you even more. You're terrified of telling him, because you know you've really screwed up this time.

Meeting his teary eyes, yours fill with tears too.

"Mark," you call for him but he's already looking at you, waiting for an explanation.

You remember it now. It had been standing over the little table since you got here for the first time, but you never paid much mind to it—a silver chain that ended in a small cross and a rose, Chrome Hearts style. And that was Taeyong's favorite brand. Mark rarely wears jewelry, yet you have a vague memory of it hanging off his neck the last time you were together. It takes you a second to put two and two together; your heart finally ends up breaking into two pieces.

"I'm sorry." The tears reach your chin. "I took all the trash out."

Mark follows your finger pointing to the window, from which you can see the large garbage containers on the side of the street. Then he turns his head to the left, in the direction of the clock that reads almost twelve at night. He knows that the truck comes around eleven at night to collect all the bags, and he almost always misses it because he's sleeping and ends up accumulating all the trash in the room. Both you and him know everything is gone by the time, including Mark's memory of Taeyong.

He breaks into a desperate cry, which pierces the air and makes your ears and chest ache with his grief. It's so full of anguish, like you've never seen him before, not even when you were burying his friend together.

It takes him to the ground and makes him roll and move, tug at his clothes and his hair violently like he's trying to take the pain off his body, trying to escape the misery. You try to reach out to him to try and comfort him, still a bit in shock since you were the one that caused him this pain. But he doesn't want you near him; he lets you know by slapping you away from his body and throwing everything he finds around him in your direction.

So you step back, clearly afraid he might hurt you in this state. Mark can sense the fear, and the last thing he wants in the world is to hurt you and put you away from him too. Losing you like it happened with his childhood best friend Donghyuck, like it happened with Taeyong, like it happened with Johnny. But he can't tell you. Nothing can come out of his mouth more than those uncontrollably sobs and screams of pain. He can't clear his mind right now.

"I'm sorry," you keep saying while you get dressed and start picking up your things in a rush. "I'm sorry, please forgive me."

He's sitting on the floor, legs curled up to his chest, back to the end of the bed while his arms hang limb to his sides, defeated and body drained from all its energy. His entire face is wet with sweat and tears, and he cries looking at the dirty ceiling.

When you've already left and find yourself in the open corridor, a few room's down from Mark's, guilt washes over your body: you too left him alone, just like you know he's scared of. You manage to take your phone out of your pocket and dial the first number on your recents list with shaky hands.

The need to cry only increases when you hear his voice on the other side of the phone.

"Can you please come by Mark's? Please?" You cover your mouth with one hand trying to hold back the sobs. "I can't deal with this anymore, Yuta. I'm sorry. It's–Mark and I are never gonna work out. It's out of control–"

"Take your car and come home," his voice is soft and calm, despite the rushing sounds in the background. You know he's dropping everything to go where Mark is staying. "Come home and wait for me here, no matter how long it takes."

You nod in response, even when Yuta can't see you through the call.

"And don't worry about Mark, I got him."

4. Gotta let you go/Since you've been gone I've been having withdrawal

The dead had to be visited when they were alive, was what your mother used to say when you were little. The cemetery was never a place that she liked very much, for she never took you to visit and leave flowers for your old, dead uncles and grandparents.

You believe your mother's rejection of the dead had to do with the fear of death itself. The refusal to accept the inevitable: we will all end up right here one day. Under different circumstances, ones having lived longer than others, but dead at last. Even though you believed you had no problem accepting this, entering the place on this spring morning was becoming incredibly difficult. While it's normal to have grandparents dead when you grow up, it never feels normal to lose someone so close to your age.

You can't expect to meet anyone in particular, but you know that at least the vast majority of his friends will be there. It's the anniversary of Taeyong's death, and the morning is fresh. The sun is shining and the roses planted in the park have bloomed, as if they knew they were his favorites. This should be reason enough to walk through the gates and go lay out some flowers for him, as a way of saying thank you for such a splendid day.

The walk up to the place is quiet enough to boggle your mind a bit. The last couple of months you've been working on yourself, trying to stop overthinking things and rebuilding your self-esteem little by little. Mark and you haven't seen each other again after that big fight and after you left the place he was staying. Yuta did God's work that night, and you know Johnny and the rest of the guys helped him the following days—and months. You just stayed out of it. No one really wanted it, no one agreed to it. But it naturally happened, because deep down both of you knew it was the best outcome. Mark understood you had to go away in order for both of you to heal.

It wasn't an easy process.

"Am I a bad person for doing this to him?"

"Well, it's hard to tell what's good or bad, because it depends on who's saying it," the therapist replied.

You looked down as soon as he started talking to you, avoiding his eyes. You remember that you thought you were not going to cry in your first session, that it was going to be difficult to let go and talk about everything that had been hurting you lately. However, as soon as you sat down on his couch, tears began to roll down your cheeks.

"But how do your decisions make you feel?"

"I feel selfish."

It took you a while to learn that looking after yourself wasn't a selfish thing to do, but a completely valid way to maintain your sanity. That you needed to set boundaries with the people you love the most, because even they might hurt you, and because you might end up hurting yourself. It doesn't necessarily mean they are bad people that want to cause you pain, but humans that make mistakes and that are constantly learning how to deal with each other.

Pain is needed. Boundaries are needed. Communication is needed. Self-love is needed. We learn some of the most valuable things of life from all that.

Johnny is the first one to see you arrive. He receives you in silence, with a small smile and a hug. The next to repeat his actions is Jaehyun. Finally, Yuta presses you against his torso and you stay like that for a little longer. The soft skin of his arms envelops you; it's warm and he feels just as safe as you remember. His scent is an odd combination of cotton softener, a manly scent of pine, and cigarettes.

You will be the most grateful to Yuta, forever. He knew where you belonged from the beginning, and helped you clarify your mind to come here and speak to Mark. Not expecting anything, but knowing that whatever would result from that talk should be the best for the two of you.

You can perceive his heart is beating fast, but definitely not as fast as yours when Yuta breaks the hug, looks into your eyes and then to Mark, who is still sitting in front of Taeyong's grave and oblivious to everything that is happening behind him.

The concrete of the bench feels considerably cold compared to the rest of the environment when you sit next to him. There's a moment when you just dedicate yourself to reading Taeyong's name, over and over again on the plate.

It hasn't been easy and it will never be. It makes you rethink things. Decisions, habits, vices, relations. Coming to terms with the death of someone so close to your age. It could be any of you at any moment, so you guess your mother was right: spend time with your loved ones as much as you can while they're alive.

Mark's eyes grow heavy on your profile and you are forced to meet them. He definitely looks healthier. He has recovered some weight, his dark circles have almost completely disappeared, and his hair is back to its natural color, sporting a fresh undercut.

Most impressive, however, is the way he smiles at you and proceeds to lay his head on your shoulder. He lets out a sigh and somehow you feel relieved—he's not mad at you. In fact, he seems to feel fine, comfortable enough to approach you like that. You can't help but let out a deep sigh as well.

He's the first one to talk since you arrived.

"Hi."

"Hi," you reply, almost in a whisper. As if you were to raise your voice, all that harmony would dissipate in an instant.

"I wasn't expecting you." You feel Mark's voice vibrate through your body and reach your ears. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You have missed him so much. The past months have truly been a torture, but you didnt realize how much you needed to feel him this close, to listen to his voice, until this very moment.

"I was hesitant to come."

Mark lifts his head from your shoulder and stares at you for what seems like a minute or two. In a profound way, as if he was looking for something in your eyes, but as if he was gathering the courage to open his mouth and break your heart once and for all, giving this story a true closure. Perhaps about to do what should have happened a long time ago.

He just nods and says, "I'm sorry."

And you wait for it to come. For him to tell you that he's fully recovered now, that he doesn't need you, that you can go and live your life freely with whoever you want and that he will do the same.

"You know that night… The night we had the fight."

"Yes?"

"I said racing was the only thing making me feel alive."

You don't remember it so clearly at first. That night was quite traumatic, so you have to recapitulate and swallow the lump that forms in your throat remembering the events, and how everything about your relationship with Mark exploded in your face.

"I lied," he continues after a pause. "It was being with you. And I was afraid of hurting you and losing you, and I didn't want to lose you because you were the most important thing I had. But that's what ended up happening and–"

Mark can't finish his sentence, so he takes a deep breath. A cigarette appears between his lips, and it's when he struggles to light it up when you notice how abstained he is and how hard he's fighting it, by the incessant shaking of his hands and his sweating. He lets the smoke out of his lungs looking at the grave, remaining silent until he decides he's calmed down enough.

"I really loved you at that time," Mark says and shares the cigarette with you. "I–I still do. I really, seriously don't need you to take care of me anymore. But I want you to be with me."

He says this last sentence reconnecting with your eyes, looking at you the same way he did earlier, when you expected him to break your heart for good. He turns over his shoulder and looks at the boys one by one, who have been watching your exchange in silence until now.

"All of you," and he finishes.

Johnny pats Mark's shoulder and smiles fondly at him, giving him a little squeeze of comfort. "You'll always have us, no matter what happens."

5. Loving you almost feels like something

"And with this," Johnny starts as he places the last box at the entry of your apartment, "I get closer to being completely free for once."

"Dude," Mark tries and fails to sound upset, "can you not be so happy about me leaving your place? You're making me hurt. Like, you could at least lie about you being sad or missing me."

"But I never lie."

Jaehyun's deep laugh is present next to Johnny and he decides to speak, looking at Mark who is now hung up on you, more and more affectionate with you in front of the boys since you formalized your relationship.

"Baby's leaving the nest. Now it's just you and me, Johnny."

Since Mark was moving in with you and Yuta was leaving for Japan, it only left Jaehyun and Johnny at the Suhs' old house. The oldest was happy, because it meant he wouldn't have other three boys going in and out of the place carelessly every time he tries to bring other people home. Johnny loved the boys enormously, but they were all grown now. Maybe it was time they all found their own place to live and just do whatever they want. Jaehyun, however, seems like has no plans of leaving Johnny alone, at least for a little longer.

"Maybe we should become a married couple."

Johnny questions Jaehyun with his eyes for a couple seconds, but after what seemed like the gears of his brain working at full speed, he ends up agreeing. "That could be pretty convenient, actually. Would you cook for me?"

"You know I don't cook."

"Then forget about it."

You and Mark watch the exchange from the outside and can't help but laugh, because they're basically acting like an old married couple already.

"Alright guys," Mark claps his hands to get the boys' attention. "Thank you so much for your help, but I'll be kicking you out now to go celebrate with my girl. You know, all that boyfriend and girlfriend stuff…" He accompanied them with gestures, telling them to walk through the front door.

"Yes, we get it Mark," Johnny answered in a mocking tone. "You've got a girlfriend and you're fucking on every surface of this apartment. And I'm leaving with Jae, and we're getting stoned and going to sleep at seven. So much fun."

"Fuck you, John. Mark, work tomorrow, seven in the morning." Is all Jaehyun says as he leaves your apartment, only to keep bickering with Johnny all the way to the car.

As the afternoon sun falls and filters through the balcony door, the aroma of onion and tomatoes fills the small kitchen and your nostrils, making your stomach rumble a little. The melody of a guitar reaches your ears; it sounds soft and melancholic, the scratching of the fingers against the strings only gives it a rawer tone. You decide to leave the sauce finishing simmering, and you approach the room that you will now be sharing with Mark. You find him sitting there, on the bed, guitar in hand, facing the window with his back to the door. His subtle singing accompanies the chords on the guitar.

You can't remember when was the last time you saw Mark like this. So calm and relaxed. Music has always been his passion, ever since you met him in high school, so seeing him take up the hobby he loves so much and enjoy it brings tears to your eyes.

The words that come out of his mouth form a lump in your throat.

When no ones around me, you lost and found me

I was surrounded

With open arms

He keeps playing and singing softly, without noticing your presence.

Even though it's only been a couple of hours since you finished moving, he's already made your room a bit of his own. It seems that he has stopped in the middle of the task, that he amused himself with the guitar because most of the boxes of clothes are unpacked, the side of the wardrobe that you freed for him with only a couple of blue jeans and t-shirts in place.

On the night table rests Mark's perfume, an ashtray along with his cigarette box, and a couple of books under it. There are two sets of matching keys besides the table now—you had to make a copy for him, since it's his house too. His shoes are at the front door, and they will remain there every day. And Mark's slippers are on the edge of the bed you'll share, next to an open shoe box that catches your eye.

"What is this?"

Mark turns around to look at your face, then at the film camera and a bunch of developed pictures in your hands. A fond smile takes over his mouth.

"Taeyong was a romantic," he says, coming to stand next to you and starting to inspect the pictures. "You know, when he left we decided to divide the things that were important to Taeyong," Mark kept explaining to you. "We gotta fulfill his dreams, keep him alive that way."

"And what are you doing for Taeyong?"

"I'm dropping everything for love. For a calm and happy life."

The answer takes you by surprise, you can't hide it. The tears that had begun to accumulate since you heard Mark sing on the guitar come to the edge of your eyelids, uncontrollable, and threaten to fall at any moment.

"You know Taeyong loved danger and drama… But he really wanted to settle down with someone at some point," he continues speaking immediately. "And I kept these.

Mark takes all the developed films from your hands and starts looking at them with you. Shortly after, he says, "He loved to document the happy moments.

The pictures show various scenarios and all the boys are in there. In some pics it's just Johnny smiling under the sun, in others it's just Mark and Taeyong on a night's out, in others there's Jaehyun having breakfast with Taeyong, or Yuta and Mark acting foolish, totally like Yuta and Mark.

"But if you notice, it's just us living life together," he finishes the idea, melancholy invading his face, and his eyes also fill with tears.

However, you are sure that none of you are really sad. In fact, the horizon has never looked so bright for the two of you. There is no more fear, no more guilt, no more uncertainty.

"I think this is a happy moment," you say, picking up the camera and turning it on. "You and me together, settling down for a good life. You think Taeyong would've documented this?"

Mark smiles big and nods.

"Yeah, I think he would have."

After focusing on Mark in front of the camera, and with the evening light behind him painting the whole room a warm orange, you press the shutter. A not very powerful flash comes out of the camera, but it does its work illuminating those parts the warm light won't reach, and it indicates that the photo has been taken. Mark asks for the camera and does the exact same for you.

"I'm sure he's happy, and really proud of you, Mark," you say as you wrap your arms around his body.

Your ear on his chest even allows you to hear his heartbeat, which is unusually fast. Mark takes a big breath of air that moves his entire body and yours, also trapped in his arms. A warm feeling invades you, embraces your heart and awakens butterflies in your stomach. His heartbeat becomes softer, and his voice, smooth but full of honesty and pride, resonates throughout your body.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

Mark was once the most careful of all. An incredibly strong and humble young man that thought could have the world in his hands. He had to completely lose control over everything he knew once to know fear, to know grief, to know guilt, to finally find healthy love and forgiveness. To others, but most important to himself.

"But, babe," Mark breaks the hug to raise his head and sniff in the direction of the kitchen. "Don't you think something is burning?"

"Shit!" you exclaim and bolt for the kitchen. "The tomato sauce!"

"Yeah, that's why I didn't take Taeyong's dream to pursue cooking." He crosses his arms and rests his body in the doorway, while you fight to save a burnt, almost brown colored tomato sauce by adding a little more puree and water. "I can't cook either."

You quit trying to deal with the sauce. It looks irreparable anyway. "Yeah… Sorry about that, baby."

"We will survive." Mark shrugs, then comes to kiss you affectionately on the cheek. "Wanna order some pizza?"

Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed my work, please leave a like, reblog or some feedback. I'd love to read your thoughts!

[quirkwizard]

So recently I have been on a huge tabletop RPG kick so I thought it would be fun to talk about Class 1-A playing their own tabletop game, both the characters they'd play and how they'd be as players. For the sake of this, I will be writing in the context of Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition since that's the system myself and others would be the most familiar with.

Rikido Sato: Half Orc Life Cleric Doesn't really get the game too much. Tends to forget the rules a lot and his own abilities. Just kind of picked a class at random. Is the king of bringing snacks and the like, all of which are homemade.

Mashirao Ojiro: Wood Elf Open Hand Monk Pretty average in all respects as a player. Not too remarkable in all respects. Doesn't realized how bad the monk is until they started playing, but is too attached to the character and their concept.

Koji Koda: Firbolg Shepard Druid Is only really here to hang out with his friends. Too shy to really do any roleplay with the rest of the gang, mostly doing small moments with his animals friends. Accidently made an overpowered build.

Minoru Mineta: Dhampir Phantom Rogue Knows the rules, but is a power gamer. Uses the game more as a power fantasy to look as cool as possible at all times, even if it is dumb, though will quickly panic if anything goes slightly wrong.

Hanta Sero: Gith Horizon Walker Ranger Really interested in all the lore and history of whatever the dungeon master came up with. The kind that dungeon masters either love or dread. Is the one constantly asking question and cracking the odd joke about it.

Toru Hagakure: Changeling Arcane Trickster Rogue Super big into the roleplay of it all and is always excited. Mostly took Changeling so she'd have the excess to play as many roles as possible. Probably makes little masks to remind people who she currently is.

Yuga Aoyama: Aasimar Glory Paladin Is insanely devoted to the role of the noble paladin, much to the detriment of everyone else. Likely says the line "But it's what my character would do more then any other player. Constantly hints at a backstory that nobody is biting on.

Mezo Shoji: Hobgoblin Gloomstalker Ranger Not the biggest into roleplay, does fairly well with the actual gameplay. Plays the typically reserved ranged. Tried to tie his and Koda's backstory together to try and take some of the stress off of him in terms of roleplaying.

Kyoka Jiro: Half Elf Whispers Bard Wasn't really sure about all of this before play and went with a bard because she liked the idea of playing music. It was a rocky start, but quickly got into it and started having fun. Will make custom songs and playlists for the party, as well ambient tracks and battle music.

Denki Kaminari: Air Genesi Storm Sorcerer Wanted to try it out because it was popular. Went with something he thought was cool and did not expect it to be so complicated. Needs to be constantly handed the book and remined of the rules in order to make sure he gets it. The amount of math hurts his head. Eijiro Kirishima: Goliath Giant Barbarian Like Denki, wanted to get into because it was popular. Bakugou helped a lot with building the character. Has a lot of fun smashing stuff. Plays his role pretty well, even if his character doesn't go beyond the nice brute whose name is very close to Kirishima's own.

Mina Ashido: Satyr Glamour Bard One of the students the most into the roleplaying. Is very light hearted and goofy about the whole thing. Can play a lot in bard stereotypes because she thinks it's funny. Another instigator, though mostly from her getting too into character at the worst of times. Fumikage Tokoyami: Tiefling Fiend Warlock Has been playing the game the longest and super familiar with all of it. Always makes characters he thinks are "cool", which means are super gothic and depress, both in class and in race. Does occasionally have Dark Shadow dress up and roleplay as his patron. Ochako Uraraka: Fairy Zealot Barbarian Ochako just wants to smash stuff. She has a lot of fun rolling dice and doing cool stuff with her friends, both good and bad. Likes playing the typically pixie before going nuts. Can be an instigator, but tends to backtrack when she realizes just how badly it goes wrong. Tsuyu Asui: Halfling Moon Druid Like Koda, is mostly here to have fun with friends. Often plays mediator both in and out of character. Does a good job with roleplaying thanks to how much she had to play pretend with her simplies. Always causes a riot whenever she becomes a dinosaur. Shoto Todoroki: Hill Dwarf Fighter Champion One of the worst players both in game and in roleplay. Played a character Izuku basically made for him. Is somehow still one of the best because he is constantly getting amazing rolls at the most critical moments, much to the frustration of Bakugou.

Katsuki Bakugo: Custom Lineage Chronurgy Wizard Powergamer, no question. He knows the rules back and forth to make the most broken build possible. Acts like D&D is a game you can win, even when it comes to roleplaying. Not a full on murder hobo, but by far the biggest instigator in the group.

Tenya Iida: Warforged Devotion Paladin Very much devoted to the rules, both in and out of the game. Gets confused when people say that he's doing a good job at playing a robot. Collects a lot of dice. One of the best Dungeon Masters of any of the students, though can be rather controlling at times. Momo Yaoyorozu: High Elf Forge Cleric A really good player with the rules though can be pretty awkward with the roleplay with how much she tries to get into it. One of the best DMs in the class. Makes custom miniatures for everyone in the party. Puts a lot of money to make the ultimate game room. Izuku Midoriya: Variant Human Bladesinging Wizard The perfect player. Knows the roles, but focuses more on making characters. Takes the most notes, pay attention, and makes sure everyone is having fun and feels included. Likely gets roped into the role of dungeon master more then anyone else because of these reasons.

[live-laugh-lenney]

Hello! Can you write a story where George or Arthur messes up and they like totally grovel over the reader? I feel like they would beg for forgiveness 😆

ohh, god lord. can you imagine the amount of grovelling?

arthur didn't mean to forget.

he was never a forgetful person; if he knew his plans were going to overrun or if he knew he'd double-booked himself, he would always make it his problem to deal with and sort out.

but with multiple video shoots happening that week that kept him busy, from a sidemen shoot to a podcast recording and then back to his own channel before he partook in a reacts video for someone else on their channel, the planned dinner with her parents had just slipped his mind.

when he walked through the front door of their flat, he was greeted with the laughter and the chatter of company. and it's in that given moment, when he sees her mum's handbag hanging on a coat hook beside her dad's coat, that he knows what he had forgotten. that he knows he messed up... big time.

rounding the corner and stepping foot in the open-plan living space of their flat, he was greeted with the biggest smile from her mum and a welcoming handshake from her dad... lessening the guilt in his belly until he was met with a fake smile and darkened eyes from yn. and the guilt only bubbled more viciously because he knew he couldn't dig himself out of this one easily.

"yn said you'd gotten stuck in a meeting with your work team, lovely. that's such a shame," her mum coos softly and she pulls arthur in for a loving hug that was tight and secure, his own arms enveloping her in a warm hug, "i know you insisted we had this dinner without you but it didn't feel the same."

he swallows back the lump in his throat and the guilt felt even worse. she lied on his behalf and made it out to be an unfortunate accident when, truly, it had simply slipped his mind. the smile on her mum's lips made him want the ground to swallow him whole. his eyes dart over to yn who occupied herself in clearing away the dirtied dessert plates from the tabletop - and he remembered her telling him that morning, before he left, how she was baking a coffee and walnut cake for them all to enjoy that night.

"we'll have to organise another one, i'm so sorry," arthur apologises before helping clean up the table, collecting the empty glasses and the cutlery that yn had left behind, "i'll cook next time since yn did this. it smells delightful."

"we had your favourite dinner, kiddo," her dad informs him and arthur looks at yn as she tries her hardest not to let her emotions get the better of her, "she's a good'un, our yn. even baked us a cake."

"she's the best," arthur smiles at her.

and he was hoping for a slight smile back in his direction to know he was off the hook and they'd talk about the whole evening later on... except he doesn't and all he sees is her jaw clench and tighten, her eyes rolling discreetly, head staying low as she piles everything up on the counter beside the sink.

they said goodbye to her parents soon after with kisses, hugs and handshakes being exchanged as well as a promise of taking an entire day off so he didn't have to miss another meal planned with them. except, deep down, he felt the guilt beginning to eat away at his insides and he knew he was minutes away from being made to feel even worse.

the door closed and before he could get his apology out, she was first to break the silence.

"don't speak to me for the night."

"yn-"

"what did i just say to you?" she sneers at him and he stares at her with sorrow in his eyes, hoping that she would come round and give him the chance to explain everything; from how he felt overworked from a week of non-stop work to how he got confused with the dates to how he wanted to make it up to her for being a forgetful muppet. "don't talk to me. i don't want to talk to you tonight."

"if you let me explain then-"

"it'll just be excuse after excuse coming out of your mouth, arthur."

he follows her around the flat like a lost puppy, scared to lose her but also wanting to plea for his forgiveness and to explain, not with the hopes of being forgiven right away but with the hopes of being understood, because he really and truly never meant to miss out on the evening with her parents. stands beside her as she washes up the dishes in the sink, watching her as if he was waiting for her orders on what she wanted him to do, mind racing as he tried to come up with the most calmest way to explain everything.

"the shoot overran. the taxi for the way home got stuck in the rush-hour traffic on its way to pick us up and we were miles from a tube station," he tries to take the plate from her hand so he could dry it and put it away but she refuses his help, placing it down on the side and swatting his hand away when he tried to pick it up, "by the time it arrived, we'd been waiting an hour for it at the site."

"doesn't help me in understanding why you never showed up. not even a text. i had to lie, arthur. to my parents!"

"i know and i'm sorry you had to do that," he places a hand on the base of her back and uses his thumb to rub gentle circles into the tee on her back, "truthfully, i did forget. okay? i forgot but-"

"i know you forgot," she huffs heavily and moves from his touch, his hand still lingering where it was once placed on her back, "please, just don't come near me. don't touch me. don't talk to me. i'm angry with you so please let me be angry with you."

"i don't want you to be," he frowns.

"then you should have thought of that before you skipped on dinner," she retorts back to him and his shoulders slump in defeat, "i'm just so upset with you."

the whole night was spent apart.

and, truth be told, they hated it.

yn hated how she still wanted to be close to him, even though he had made her feel anger. hiding in the bedroom with her laptop opposed to the television because he had taken refuge on the sofa and chosen a documentary she didn't want to intrude upon. she understood how hectic his schedule could be at times and she understood that, sometimes, he was tired and he needed reminding of things... it was a minor mistake but it had upset her and she needed her feelings to be validated and she wanted him to understand how hurt she felt.

arthur hated how he had made the mistake that lead them to being apart. sleeping on the sofa so she had all the time in the world to feel better and feel angry without him being there to add fuel to the fire. it was forgivable, what he did, but it wasn't forgettable and he knew she'd be upset for a while with the situation.

the next morning, he was awake early.

he ran to the corner shop to grab her some flowers, to grab her a card, to grab ingredients for breakfast so he could surprise her and a little goody-bag of her favourite snacks to show her just how sorry he was for what had happened. deciding on breakfast pancakes, with her favourite fruits and syrup, writing a long-winded message in the card that could explain better than he could if she was looking at him whilst he spoke it verbally.

and when she rose from her slumber, ready to forgive him, he was prepared with a table full of a surprises.

"good morning," he smiles sheepishly and she lets her eyes wander over the pile of pancakes in the middle of the table beside bowls of fruit and bottles of maple-syrup, "i made breakfast."

"you made a feast," she giggles softly, stepping towards the dining table and reaching for the card that he'd leant against a jar of nutella, "what's this?"

"it's my apology. i figured i could write it better than i could say it so," he walks towards her and sets his hands on the back of a chair, pulling it out from under the table and letting her sit down, tucking her underneath before he sat beside her, "i really am so sorry for forgetting our plans."

"it's okay," she pulls the card from the envelope and lets her eyes scan over the paragraph of his writing, her mouth soundless speaking every word he had written on the piece of paper, "i figured you were just stressed and tired. i was never going to stay angry at you."

she squeezes his knee softly and looks at him.

"i made reservations at that new london restaurant you wanted to go to, too. figured we could go with your parents," he informs her and she smiles widely, "it's on me, of course."

"arthur," she hums softly, "you need to fuck up more often."

he rolls his eyes and she giggles softly.

"i don't think so. one time, you might actually leave me and i don't know if i could cope with that," he leans over and presses a kiss to her lips, "i love you and i'm truly sorry."

"i love you too, you muppet." xx

[radiance1]

A random au thought that I barely thunk up before splotching it on here.

So basically, Danny, Sam, and Trucker are doing some bullshit thing and somehow manage to create a whole ass world out of a tabletop game they were playing or something.

Basically DnD I guess.

But anyways, the three create this world so that they can play and do whatever they want. All three of them have legends about themselves from the npc's they's inhabited the world with.

Tucker is the Pharaoh of the night less desert, known as Duulaman. Freeing the citizens from the rule of the Tyrant god Abanoub and brought peace and prosperity to all across the land.

Sam is the Queen of Nature known as Terra, directly on par and sharing interests with Mother Nature. Her legend is that she freed the Forest of Vita and defeated a powerful void entity who sought to use the powers of Gaia to further its own ends for power. Joining forces with Mother Nature who almost fell to its corruption to end the void being once and for all.

Danny, known as Astraeus, unlike the other two, have two different aspects to his legend. Prince of the undead, and the constellation Star Child.

The first one as you should know, is basically Danny being the prince of ghosts, wherein in the world they made the ghosts (and extending too other undead), were disorderly and running rampant among the other races in the continuation of a war that should have longed ended. So, he rounded then all up and took control because the person who was originally supposed to be doing it was... indisposed.

(Cough, real reason is that Pariah Dark somehow got his ghostly hands on the world cords and was like "Hmmm, my son's world is awfully boring time to spice things up" and then shit happened.)

Which in turn, ended the eons long war between ghost kind and the other races.

Constellation Star Child is one he kind of got on accident, his friends made a joke about him being the spawn of death and time itself and being molded from a star. Which the npc's took seriously.

Also doesn't help that he goes out to explore the void and space around their world on numerous occasions to identify any threats that would require his attention (Which is literally just an excuse so he can go and explore space to his hearts content.). And whenever he comes back, it's like a shooting star falling down to earth.

So, after they've done all of their adventures and when it was time for them to just scrap this world and move on. They just, couldn't.

This world grew extremely on them during their time in it (Despite the unexpected inclusion of Pariah Dark), and they just didn't want to destroy it so they just, stayed.

Not like stay stay, more so they come back to it a lot more than they should. Fermenting themselves as these deities or god-like beings who protect and care for their followers or something.

They created a space for the three of them to converse, known simply as the council. A realm sitting on the plane of reality between the world and the void, basically heaven but not really heaven?

Anyways.

So, continuing on with this, the trio splits apart, a feud in reality carrying into their game world that caused Danny to just leave and explore the calmness of the cosmos so he can clear his head.

Sam went to Mother Nature to talk about it and seek aid about the recent crack in three's friendship.

Tucker just went to take care of his kingdom and confide in one of his trusted advisors, much like Sam.

This is when something unexpected happened. Danny never came back to that world, not as if he went back to his reality.

He just never came back.

Something is keeping him from going back, some powerful threat that he's keeping at bay with all of his might while out in the endless nothingness that is the void.

With the absence of his presence, a powerful void creature who managed to slip between the cracks of Danny's notice suddenly sees he's not there anymore for an extended period of time and has its sights on the core of the world, Gaia, and the two goddesses protecting it. Mother Nature and the Queen of Nature.

To distract the one known as the Pharoah, it managed to find what remained of Abanoub and gave him some of its power to combat Duulaman.

Abanoub worked behind the scenes, slowly rising back to his prime state of power and with the added power of the void entity, he managed to corrupt the roots of Duulaman's kingdom and sow discord.

Unfortunately for Abanoub, it couldn't exactly kill Duulaman, so it instead caught him by surprise and put him into eternal slumber.

The void entity who named itself Akasa, just like the previous one. Sought to use Gaia as a power source, but not just the core, but the two goddesses as well.

And with Duulaman and the Star Child of death out of the way, it was free to do so however it wished, though not to say it wasn't extremely careful when it enacted this plan.

Sam didn't know that Tucker was sent into eternal slumber, nor that Danny was never going to come back as soon as she hoped he would. So, when she went to the council and found that she was the only one there, she knew something was wrong.

Mother Nature was attacked while she was on a different plane, with such a coordinated attack on both her and Gaia by Akasa, Abanoub's army, and a recent addition, Chiwa the undead duchess' pawns. She unfortunately fell and became nothing more than power source.

Sam tried, oh she tried. But in the end, after a drawn out battle between her, Akasa, Abanoub, and Chiwa. She fell as well, with the added power Akasa gained from Gaia and Mother Nature, now with the added source of the Queen of nature. He was basically unstoppable.

That didn't mean all hope was lost, with the last bit of her power, she managed to seal all three of them to specific areas.

Abanoub, the Night less Desert. More specifically Tucker's throne.

Akasa, the realm between the world and the void. The council.

Chiwa, the blood lake of the eternal lady.

Their forces were still at large however, with the ghosts under Chiwa's command wishing to continue the war from eons ago. Abanoub's armies spreading across the world to take over their various kingdoms and be forced under his rule.

All two wished to free their master's, who in turn promised to free Akasa when they were free as well.

The rest of the races didn't take this laying down at all, immediately going to war and managing to hold their ground relatively well.

Both sides were at a standstill, with Abanoub, Chiwa and Akasa sealed they lost a signifcant portion of power.

Whereas with the Star Child gone, the Queen of Nature captured, and the Pharaoh of the Night less Desert sleeping, they couldn't push forward no matter how hard they tried.

So, what did they do?

They came together and summoned people from another world of course!

And who did they summon?

The Justice League.

[roaringdrago]

crewel + serial killer vibes

requested by anonymous

this request inspired a short fic included under the cut. it is also available on ao3. there is minor character death as well as a heavily implied off-screen death for a character who otherwise goes unmentioned. if you would like to know who, go here.

do not feed my work to any form of AI, including c.ai.

"How does anyone get this stuff?"

A gloved hand pulled a jar from a lower shelf, giving it a tentative shake. The ivory pile inside shifted and settled anew, showcasing a strange variety of off-white shades behind pristine glass. Ace's head dipped to one side. Red eyes traced the familiar curve of a sharp canine, a hazy memory floating just out of view.

Behind him, Deuce set an armful of ingredients on their lab table. He was too busy sorting botanical ingredients to spare his curiosity, caught up in the herculean task of keeping everything separate. With a deep sigh, Ace set the collection of teeth back down, turning his attention to the task at hand.

A few other students were clustered around tables for remedial work. A pair sporting burgundy goggles tucked close to one another, voices hushed as they worked in clumsy tandem. The blond—a second-year, Ace was certain—pulled a folded scrap of paper from his pocket, sliding it across the tabletop. The other peeked out from under his mop of bright red hair to quickly glance over the messy scribbles.

"No way," he hissed under his breath, "that's not possible."

"It is!" the first insisted.

He twisted the crisp white sleeve of his friend's lab coat in his gloved hand, yanking him ever closer. Their voices dipped too low for Ace to continue eavesdropping, instead forced to watch as Deuce scrambled to shovel a handful of glittering dust back into its container.

He propped an elbow on the table, leaning down to rest his chin on his palm. It wouldn't hurt to let Deuce fumble around for an extra minute or two—he would take over when the needed to start stirring.

Somewhere behind them, a slow sensation began to wet the air. It was easy to ignore, a constant in the alchemy lab, until the sounds rose and someone began to shout. Whipping around, Ace managed to catch the moment a cauldron wobbled and overflowed with bubbling black fizz that quickly overtook the other side of the room. The redhead scrambled to get out of the way, slipping on the sludge and plummeting into the spill. His friend, abandoning him to his mess, rushed to meet Professor Crewel halfway. The professor scowled down at the atrocious potion attempt now creeping toward his feet.

He extended a hand to the student on the floor, pulling him to his feet before guiding him away. He took a moment to look over the mess, then, with restraint clawing at his voice, turned to address the rest of the students.

"We'll have to continue tomorrow. Everyone, come back after class and we'll pick up where we left off."

His gaze turned rigid, shifting cold steel over the student responsible for the mess. Tension mottled his expression, painting their strict professor in a thoroughly exhausted light.

"You'll be staying to clean up your mess."

Unrestrained relief washed over the room as they were dismissed, following the cluster of students across campus as they scattered for the evening.

The alchemy workshop was spotless when Ace and Deuce returned the next door. The floors seemed to shine, exposing no hint of the unfortunate accident the day prior.

Deuce plucked their ingredient list from the table, scanning over it and mumbling to himself as he went. Left with little else to do, Ace began searching the shelves for items he could remember. A purple vial here, a wooden box full of crushed scales there... Something else was needed from a drawer, drawing his attention to the clear divide between standard fair and restricted access. Ingredients for advanced classes were kept under tight lock and key, ensuring the curiosity of wandering first-years couldn't explore beyond their means.

A red gaze scanned the shelves, looking for the strange jar of teeth he found yesterday. It wasn't what he needed, it was what he remembered.

His wandering eyes slid past shelf after shelf, drawer after drawer, finding no strange jar of questionable contents. The more he looked, the farther he strayed from Deuce, until he could no longer hear his distracted mumbling.

Something glinting in the late afternoon light pulled him deeper.

A lock, sturdy and open, hung from a wooden drawer. A quick glance over his shoulder proved the others were all too busy gathering their own ingredients to notice his diversion.

He dove down, crouching in front of the drawer to pry it open. It slid in silence, offering its insides with a hushed secrecy Ace could appreciate. Several jars lined the back of the drawer, while glass cases filled the front. He dipped a hand in to fish out one of the boxes, pressed softly into the corner with a fresh, black circular sticker stuck to the top. He turned it over, looking through the bottom to inspect the forbidden contents.

A handful of hair sat neatly spooled, bright red and familiar.

His nose scrunched. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he searched the room for the one who made such a mess yesterday, only to find the blond alone at their table. Confusion marred his features, twisting his skin with confusion.

Carefully, he placed the box back in the drawer, turning his attention to the jars. Pushing on the metallic lids tilted them enough to show something red floating inside, but the drawer was stacked too neatly to see the rest. With deft hands, he slipped a jar from between the rest, bringing it down to rest on one knee. He tipped it back, eyes wide as he stared down into the clinically clear liquid.

Red stared back.

Floating inside were two eyes. Deep crimson bobbed as his hands shook, the confusion sinking deeper.

Familiar.

He twisted at the waist, hurriedly moving the jar back into its home, only for the shake in his limbs to jostle the jar out of his hands. He jumped backward as glass cracked against the ground, landing hard on his back. Liquid spilled and crimson rolled. Pushing up on his elbows, he scrambled, trying to crawl toward his table. He made it only a few scrapes before something heavy clamped down over his shoulder. His entire body stiffened, suddenly rigid with apprehension.

Red leather twisted his lab coat.