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byunbaekby · 4 years

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

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

—DAY ONE.

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

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

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wants you.

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

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

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

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

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

“You’re giving it up or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying,” he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TASTE.

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

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

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

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

He hums in response, turning to look at you.

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

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

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

Does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a puff.”

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

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

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

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

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

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” is his response.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops.

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

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

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but I…”

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tease me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

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

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

Cocaine.

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

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

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

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

“So, can I have some?” You ask again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathless, you nod without words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

Luckily, neither will find out.

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

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

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

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

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

But that hadn’t happened.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST BURN.

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

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

When he wakes, you’re burning up.

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

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

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

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

It’s the cocaine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

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

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

God, he’s fucked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

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

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not alone.

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

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

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

He’s too late. Maybe much too late.

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

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

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

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

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

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re different now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

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

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

He’s learned his lesson.

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

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

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

“It’s not that, I—”

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

“... Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

“That was the last time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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empire-of-wildfire · 4 years

Text

HOLIDAY SURPRISE

A @starseternalnighttriumphant X @empire-of-wildfire CHRISTMAS MINI-FIC COLLABORATION

a/n: here’s the first part guys!! We hope you guys enjoy it! Sorry for those of you that saw this yesterday, I’m not sure why tumblr decided to post it almost 24 hours early. Send me or Hannah @starseternalnighttriumphant an ask if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Cassian Laskaris’s personal phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, causing him to frown. Almost no one bothered him on his phone while he was at work, so he fished it out of the deep pocket and looked at the name that flashed on the screen. A sigh followed by a small smirk, he answered the call and put the phone up to his ear.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Funny,” Rhys answered, voice full of amusement. “I was just checking for cold feet.”

“Are you sure you meant to call me and not Feyre?” Cassian drawled.

“Hers are warm and currently playing footsie with mine.” There was a shuffle and Feyre’s tinkling laugh in the background. “I just want to make sure you’re actually coming.”

Rhys’s worry was genuine, but it still grated Cassian’s nerves. He had promised his found brother he would be there for his wedding, and Cassian was many things, but he never broke his promises to the people he loved.

“Yes, bastard brother of mine,” Cassian sighed, spinning in his office chair. “I leave in the morning. I’ll see your ugly face tomorrow.”

His door opened, a beautiful dark haired, deeply tanned skin woman walking in, her hips swinging. Emerie smirked at him, holding a folder, and he took his time dragging his eyes over her. She looked extremely good in that tight black dress and he wanted to—

“Are you still there?”

“Sorry,” Cassian muttered, leashing his dirty thoughts. Now wasn’t the time. “Yes, Rhys, I’ll be there. I have everything set up, I’ll see you around one or two p.m.”

He hung up before Rhys could say anything else, turning his womanizing smile towards Emerie. She had started at the firm less than a year ago, and Cassian knew he shouldn’t have spent most of the time fooling around with her. But she was a good distraction, and she didn’t want anything from him besides friendship with benefits. She was also the only woman that had lasted this long in the past four years since he’d left Velaris. Most women only made it a few weeks, maybe a month or two.

“Dinner tonight before I leave?” he asked as she handed him the folder containing his next high profile law case.

“My pleasure,” she purred, winking as she left.

Despite Rhys’s protests, Cassian had decided to rent a car and stay at one of the two hotels in Velaris. He hadn’t been home once in four years; he felt awkward even being back in his old stomping grounds without the subtle tension his presence in Rhys and Feyre’s home would bring. He didn’t fit in anymore, and though his brother would never admit it, Cassian knew it was better to keep a distance. And he knew Rhys and Feyre would be busy with wedding planning, and his intrusion in their house would probably create more stress since he was staying through Christmas until the day after New Years, their wedding on the very first day of the year. Rhys and Feyre were disgustingly romantic like that.

After checking into the hotel and letting Rhys know he was on his way, Cassian decided last minute to take the scenic route to his brother’s home. He wasn’t sure what had pushed him to do it; curiosity, maybe. He hadn’t been home in four years.

Velaris hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d been gone. Honestly it was like looking into a time capsule— everything was almost identical to how it had been when he’d blown out of town to chase his dreams. Driving through the small town, he was immediately transported back in time to his high school and college days.

Ahead on his right was the park where he’d met Feyre, Nesta, and Elain not long after the Archeron family had moved to Velaris. He still remembered that night perfectly: he’d been having a normal conversation with Azriel when Feyre walked over, her sisters in tow, and his entire world had stopped the moment his eyes fell on Nesta. She was without a doubt the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Dressed simply in a gray t-shirt dress and sandals, her long golden brown hair was braided around her head. Cassian remembered marveling, knowing that something so intricate had to have taken quite a bit of time. Nesta hadn’t appreciated the staring, and made sure to tell him as much as soon as she walked up to him.

He abruptly shook himself out of the memory, trying to focus on driving so he didn’t get lost in his past and the girl who still haunted his dreams even four years later. But then just a bit further down the road, there was the restaurant where he’d taken her on their first date, almost a year after he’d met her. It had taken him so long to get her to go out with him, he honestly thought she’d just agreed to get him to leave her alone. But that night he’d walked her to the door and he’d said goodnight, not wanting to push her too far. He had moved to leave when she’d grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him. Nesta was the kind of girl who knew what she wanted, even back then, and that first kiss broke and remade him all at once.

The entire drive to Rhys’s house was a lot of the same. He passed their spot, a hidden trail leading back to a small lake that he’d taken Nesta to after six months of dating, which was where they had their first time. He still sometimes got embarrassed at how awkward he’d been then. He passed the Archeron’s old house, now occupied by a different family, which was where he told her he loved her for the first time. Everywhere he turned, memories of him and Nesta haunted him like a ghost. It left him unsettled, that despite years of silence and trying to forget and move on, Nesta was still so much a part of who he was.

He was glad when he finally pulled Rhys’s driveway, able to put the memories of the past to bed and focus on the present. His excitement at being home increased exponentially as he got out of the car; he’d missed his brothers, and despite how infrequently they communicated he still loved his family fiercely.

He knocked on the door twice and within seconds it was opening. He hadn’t expected it to be the tall and lithe woman his brother had been in love with nearly a decade, but his grin was genuine as Feyre laughed in delight and all but jumped into his arms, hugging him tight. He wrapped a strong arm around her, hefting her up as he pushed further into their house. He set her down and he ruffled her hair when she looked back at him.

She batted his hand away. “I was worried I wouldn’t recognize you.”

He raised a brow. “I’m hurt. It’s only been a few years.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and turned towards the staircase. “Rhys, my favorite brother is here!”

Cassian laughed as Rhys came down the stairs, shaking his head. “Gone four years and you’re already trying to steal my fiancée, brother.”

The two hugged firmly, and Cassian tried to ignore the tightness in his throat. He remembered the last time he’d seen Rhys in person. It had been a year after he left, and his brother had all but begged him to come home. But Cassian had been so entrenched in his work, climbing up the ladder at the law office he’d joined, and he’d refused. It had led to a huge argument, and though it had long since been resolved, Cassian still thought about it almost everyday.

“It’s good to see you,” Rhys told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “I hope you’re ready for some wedding planning because we have about five more seconds before Feyre darling sends you out on a task.”

Feyre’s slim hand smacked Rhys’s arm. “I was going to ease him into it.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, meeting his future sister-in-law’s eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

Feyre rattled off that she needed him to pick up all the stationary waiting at the printing shop, place cards and thank you notes and custom signs to scatter around the wedding venue. She gave him the receipt and told him where it was, even though it was unnecessary. It seemed that nothing had changed in this small town, and that included the local printing shop. He was willing to bet it was still owned by the same old woman that had printed their graduation announcements so many years ago.

The shop was near the town center, and he parked on the side of the road next to the library. He got out and looked at the towering structure, knowing that it used to be the town hall hundreds of years ago when Velaris used to only have a few hundred people. Now it was the library, and his mind drifted back to spending summers there, doing book reports on books he never actually read. He remembered finding Nesta there the next week after he’d met her and her sisters, nestled in a quiet corner with a book in her hands.

He’d been surprised; he’d only known her for a week but she had struck him as the reading type. He remembered he had come up to her to talk to her and she’d hid the book behind her back, a light blush staining her cheeks, taking his breath away which he had tried to hide with a laugh. He’d managed to grab the book from her hands and saw that it was one of the smutty romances that were in the adult section that he and his brothers had snickered at as young teens.

A slight smile turned his lips up as he remembered how embarrassed and angry she’d been, and how she’d gotten him back by “accidentally” spilling her drink all over his pants during lunch. He’d been mocked for weeks.

He blinked, pulling himself out of the memory, shaking his head slightly. Gods, he was going to go insane if he stayed in this town longer than he had to. It was bad enough he was here for over a week. He’d have to stay holed up in his hotel room as much as possible if he wanted to escape wave after wave of memories and nostalgia that seemed to crash into him without any warning.

Cassian headed down the street and grabbed all the wedding stationary from the printing shop. Sure enough, it was that same old lady. And she’d been delighted that he was back in town, patting his cheeks and telling him to come by before he left. He’d given her his charming grin, but he’d left feeling… off.

The drive back to Rhys and Feyre’s house was a blur, trying not to let his mind wander as he pulled into the driveway. Hefting the large paper bags that held everything Feyre had ordered, he walked up the steps and reached for the doorknob with his free hand.

The door opened before his fingers even brushed the cool metal, a figure he’d almost mistaken as Feyre standing in the doorway. She was dressed in dark blue scrubs, her golden brown hair braided in that all too familiar crown around her head. Her smooth, flawless face froze in an expression of pure shock, her full lips falling open as she stared at him.

He knew his own mouth was hanging open, his heart in his throat as he met the steel blue gaze of the woman he had known better than he’d known himself. A woman he’d loved fiercely for almost seven years, a face that haunted his dreams even when he tried so hard to forget her.

He hadn’t seen her, handn’t heard from her, hadn’t even heard her voice in four years but Nesta Archeron’s silky tone still managed to raise goosebumps along his skin as she blurted out, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

@werewolffprince

@schmlip-scribble

@justgiu12

@westofmoon

@legallyhermione

@love-is-a-contradiction

@shyvioletcat

@oversizedbats

@superspiritfestival

@ladywitchling

@highqueenofelfhame

@disgreisful

@empress-ofbloodshed

@lovemollywho

@rocky99

#holiday surprise #holiday surprise 1 #hs1 #nessian #starseternalnighttriumphant x empire of wildfire

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vminity21 · 4 years

Text

+1 | kth

Pairing: HighschoolCrush!Taehyung X StillProcessingIt!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): slight language use, angst (if you read b/w the lines), pretty much smutty kissing, hand groping, mention of alcohol, breast worship, nipple play; Rated: 18+

Summary: When a crush you had in high school unexpectedly returns to your life six years later, this is the experience you have with him when you collected the courage to invite him over to hangout.

Credit to: @suhdays for the amazing cover!

Inspiration comes in the form of little expectancy especially when life seems to throw a curveball you never dreamed would be a potential possibility; but, here you are, tapping upon the keyboard of your five-year-old laptop decorated in stickers of celebs you've admired over the years mingled with relevant quotes that have bustled yet again- inspiration that motivates you day by day to continue to be the human being that you are. Inspiration though can appear in lyrical melodies broadcasted globally for millions to pine over; or, published in numerous pages creating imaginary worlds where ones can escape to; or, sketched in a meticulous design to build whatever idea had been desired to come to life; or, filmed in scenes of an edited story by talented persons determined to enter the spotlight in any way they can; or, painted along a canvas in colors of calculated detail bringing forth the picture of accomplishment. Inspiration derives from a mere moment- one that sparks the instinct to gather the materials needed to pour out your heart in ways that may bring a sense of peace.

For you, it used to be in the lines of a song penciled into a crinkled notebook from your backpack hidden away for no one to discover; it used to be countless childhood journals where you expressed your inward battles in order to find enough solace to sleep at night. You've lost your touch over the years because life changes in the blink of an eye, as you grow older, and work can distract from the time taken to focus on yourself; thankfully graduating college to gain the degree you now behold landed you a job, one you hope lasts for many years, and you are currently living in a two-bedroom apartment with your best friend, Monica, who's presently slumbering as you brush some loose strands of hair from your vision.

Your dog is curled at the end of your bed as you write, which is something that you haven't done in what feels like forever, but the reasoning behind this sporadic urge ignited when the familiar pair of brown eyes from six years prior, re-entered your world without your preparation and his presence from a recent night shared seems to echo in every space of your brain to where you've finally had enough. It's about time to reach out, the devil on your shoulder whispers, but the angel sitting on the opposite begs to differ. Shaking your head, you pause momentarily, cracking your knuckles before resting your forehead on the desk, exhaling slowly while the memory of his touch seems to haunt your skin.

He was someone you once admired in high school- roaming the hallways where girls giggled giddily each time he'd pass by; star of the basketball team, rising popularity to the point everyone knew his name, collecting homework answers from budding friendships, and it all began once he started his junior year at a new school- the school where you attended. But the difference that set him apart from the typical cliché's of the prevalent students you never seemed to relate to, was that he talked to absolutely everybody and anybody- no judgment on what group the person took part in, his kindness won the hearts of many other than the evident attraction of his physical features. He didn't care who you were or what you were into, he would be your friend, and that, considering he was viewed on a higher level, made him even more special.

Despite never admitting it then, you had a crush on him. He was more of an acquaintance, but you enjoyed his company when he came around, and when a past friend, who is now married with a few kids, used to have a crush on the same person, your heart sank, because with every guy thinking she was hot, you felt as though you would never stand a chance. Especially not with this guy who made your hands jittery and the beat in your chest skip- the guy who is none other than Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung would frequent the chorus room at times when you and your past friend would practice music pieces and he always was fond of your singing voice- something he praised you for often, while his attention was received from his talent regarding sports. Something he was so good at that it was spread that he may have gained quite the scholarship for college if he decided to go. There were memories of bravery where you seized the day just to steal a conversation and a hug; at one time, scribbling the words 'hot af' with an arrow pointing where he signed your friend, Min Yoongi's, yearbook; Yoongi playing it off as though he had no idea who the culprit was when Taehyung asked who wrote it. Utter surprise can't even fathom when you along with Taehyung were voted 'Most Likely to be Famous' by your graduating class when senior year was conquered. The inside joke was for you to hold the basketball while he placed his hands upon the keys of a piano, the picture you still couldn't process happened, but always remained grateful for.

Six years flew by and the conversation never necessarily held, but there were the rare messages from social media where he'd reach out hoping all had been well with you. Interestingly enough, a cover you posted harmonizing with a fellow singer happened to be his absolute favorite, one of the few Instagram posts he'd commented on, and one of the few singing videos he continuously would listen to repeatedly without your knowledge until a few weeks ago when he revealed that to you. A cover that is now near to be a four-year-old video that he still finds uplifting when he hears you and the way your voice blended so well with the other female. Your mind is reeling because after all this time, and even now, there are remains of the aftershock, trying to forget the feel of him, when there's no way you can, not with everything so fresh on your mind. So fresh on your heart.

It all occurred when Yoongi, who kept in touch with you occasionally after graduation brought you up to Taehyung who happened to think of you earlier when listening to his favorite cover of yours, and he agreed he'd like to hang out. He asked if his friend, Hoseok could join you, Monica, and Yoongi which of course you said yes to learn how sweet you found it, that he had traveled within the span of a day after visiting his grandparents, because he is a man of his word, planned to come see you even though the drive was five hours out of his way. The night was filled with so much laughter mixed with serious conversations to the point the card game that was supposed to be played was never finished, and it sprung the desire of wanting to see Taehyung again, and you couldn't come to terms with never knowing so after some encouragement from Monnie and Yoongi, you messaged T to hang out a few days later, but never opened his reply until you were safely home from work.

Taehyung: Gotcha! Hmmm, I haven't decided on what I intend on doing. Either being with family or hanging out with friends. If I don't hang out with family, you could be my plus 1 or bring whomever or vice versa

[Y/N]: Sorry I just got home from work! I'll definitely be your plus 1 if hanging with family doesn't work out! Sounds like a plan!

He asked if you wanted anything from the store when it was confirmed he was on his way which you responded with your typical answer of no, and with music playing from your Bluetooth speaker, you were highly humiliated when you lost track of four minutes of time, opening a message from him to see that he had been there, at your door. Heart racing you rushed to unlock it, head spinning when you saw he leaned against the stair railing with a plastic bag of two Arbor Mist wine bottles dangling from his hand, him promising everything was fine despite your profuse apologies- him slipping his phone in his back pocket while he followed you into your home.

Monnie happened to be staying the night with her family, so it would be just the two of you tonight, besides your dog who bounced at his legs while he reached down to pet her fluffy head. Taking in the sight of him, now that was something you found hard to believe. Just a simple pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt with a black jacket complementing the dark tendrils of hair spread across his forehead leading to the carefully sculpted lining of his jaw nearly brought you to your knees, but you held it together long enough to settle across from him at your dining room table. He had taken off his shoes at the door remembering upon a few days prior, and he set out the wine while you jumped to retrieve wine glasses (Yoongi happened to purchase for you) while banter still related to greetings.

One thing that truly intrigued you when first seeing Taehyung after six years were words, he had said that touched your heart more than you'd like to profess. "That's why I try to enjoy every moment with people because you never know what day will be your last," and you knew right then, that if there was anyone you wanted to share a moment with, it was him, and there he was, right before you, smiling about something you said while the sound of the fruity liquid-filled each glass.

"I really truly do not understand what you are so afraid of. What do you even have to lose?" Monnie tinkered with the lens to her camera while she sauntered through the living room. Exasperated from anxiety, you sucked in your lips before teasingly throwing her the side-eye.

"My dignity,"

"Oh c'mon," she paused, lifting a brow. You had been talking nonstop on how bad you wanted to invite Taehyung over, but fear of rejection including the fear of humiliation seemed to overwhelm you, although deep down you knew your best friend in the entire world was correct. You did not nor do you have anything to lose.

"Well!" You squawked, raising your palms dramatically in the air before slapping them to the sides of your thighs, "Why the hell would Kim Taehyung ever want to hang out with me anyway? Do you not see how farfetched this all is?"

"Bold of you to assume that my life isn't already farfetched enough as it is-"

"Not! The point!"

Monnie sighed, and when she saw the way your shoulders slumped in disappointment that shouldn't have been an issue, to begin with, she stepped closer, placing her hand on your shoulder, "First off, you are overthinking this, and you shouldn't. Besides, I think after hanging out as a group, he only sees you as a friend, meaning no expectations. So, go into it with that mindset okay? I'm sure he'd love to hang out with you. Secondly," she smiled, her serene expression filled with promises she always kept, "You've waited six years for this. I think you should ask him to hang out."

"You really think so?" Your grin reached your hopeful eyes, and the feeling in your chest seemed to react more positively despite your earlier turmoil.

"Yeah. The dude owes us a chair anyways,"

"Ah!" You cackled, back pressed against the dining room table as you remembered literally a few days ago when Taehyung accidentally broke a spindle of the chair in half with his foot when Yoongi scared him just by suddenly walking down the hallway. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so embarrassed."

"I'm not saying to hold it over his head, but," Monnie held up her index finger, "I think that gives him enough reason to come back," she giggled, setting her camera on the dining room table before waltzing into the kitchen.

You shrugged, "At least we can still sit on it."

"Look at it, it's staring at me," Taehyung pointed swiftly at where the vacant spindle would have been, your laughter reverberated throughout the space.

"T, really, you do not owe us new chairs. I promise, it's fine," you reassured him, realizing your cheeks were sore from how much you'd been smiling since he entered your 'realm of refuge' as you liked to describe your apartment. He snapped a picture of it, probably with the intention of getting a new chair for you and Monica regardless, and you found that appreciative although you would be happy if he didn't.

Shit. You pause from the computer screen, leaning back into your chair before folding your arms tight across your chest. Eyeballing the cursor, your vision narrows as it blinks, waiting for you to add more words to the memory that seems to spin in a cycle with the subtle goal of not stopping. Or, so you figure. If recalling every little detail isn't already hard enough, reliving the reminiscence of his fingers twirling in your hair, his sweet laugh when he looked at you, or the way he held you so tight-

But, everything in between, leading up to those mesmerizing flashes are just as important to you as what it led to. Maybe it was the conversation- the three hours of conversation before the move to the sofa which it was hard to fully focus on what else was being said because how could you properly concentrate when the one person, you'd been so worried about spending time with was seriously conversing with you like the pair of you had been friends your whole lives?

Miraculously, you were able to gather the stories of past vacations that resulted in mild disappointment revolving around the complaints of people surrounding him, or the goal of visiting as many places as possible leading Taehyung to scribble down a list of where he'd been to reveal you both have equally been to the same amount of places. Of course, the thrill of going on a mini adventure with him brought an excitement you haven't felt in a while; even the story of why he was transferred to your high school years ago due to a misunderstanding, and when the pair of you made your way to the couch, he nestled into one corner while you gladly took the other, wishing you could snuggle closer but fear prevented you from doing so.

It seemed as though that he didn't want to watch the movie anyhow, because he talked to you as though he never wanted to stop, and eventually it led to you asking one too many times if he was okay with spending the rest of the night with you. "It's up to you, I'll stay if you want me too," he promised, the way your heart fluttered when you replied, "Yes, can you please stay? I don't want you to go."

"Alright, alright! I'll stay," he smiled widely, both of his large hands reaching out, and there was not one ounce of hesitation from you- your hands grasped his before your dog jumped to beg for attention, trying to lick at his face causing your hands to undo. Laughter was contagious with Taehyung, and still cuddled into the corner of the couch, you were so elated that he was going to stay, you reached to hug him, his arms wrapping around you, the feel of your bodies aligning putting the biggest smile on your face. It was crazy how everything was seeming to fall into place- the stars aligning as though it was all magic; and, you couldn't get past how right everything felt. How right he felt. Pulling away, his smile never left him, "Are you shy?" His arm remained draped around your shoulders, and timidly you peer at his surprised gape, his black hair almost covered his crescent eyes.

"I mean... Yeah, I can be," you murmured, reaching to hug him again, but something washed over you this time, a thought that had crossed your mind repeatedly that you just couldn't take it anymore. The side of his face was blurred, placing your palm upon his cheek, and without even a moment of doubt, you kissed him. A sudden decision, but one of the best ones you could have made.

His lips were so soft, the way his mouth just seemed to mold with yours for only a few mere seconds, and the shock on his face when you pulled away, paired with the realization that his hands were held in the air, you hadn't expected his reaction. Shit! You cursed inwardly, immediately jumping back to persistently make sure he was okay; even when he moved to cuddle with you, him claiming everything was fine, but that he couldn't believe you kissed him being the both of you never once saw this coming especially six years ago during the high school days. His hand was fidgety as he swiftly rubbed your shoulder, your head buried on his chest while your mind spun in a continuous loop of how you could not believe that you kissed Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung.

He became quiet- too quiet, concern etched in your expression, maneuvering yourself back to the opposite corner of the couch, so you could face him. "T, are you sure you're okay? Did I freak you out?"

"No, no, I just can't believe you kissed me," he was in awe, eyes dazed as he ran his slim fingers through his hair, "Like, really I never saw this coming,"

"I mean, have you looked in the mirror?" You teased, knowing damn well he'd been aware of you finding him attractive, and he shook his head in dismissal of your compliment as he chuckled; it took you a whole sixty seconds to realize you were holding his hand, fingers linked, and him asking if you were nervous due to your clammy palm, though you tried to swear up and down you were not, the next round of words he said nearly brought you to tears when he finally spoke.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," he looked you in the eyes without any faltering, although you tilted your head in mild confusion as to why he was saying this, to begin with, "I don't think you realize how much of an impact you've made on others, especially guys," ah, he was letting you down easy, and you knew it, but you're too stunned to speak as you listened, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit either. You're a great singer, you're pretty much a musician, you love animals, you have a job, you live on your own. Really, you shouldn't sell yourself short-"

"T," you breathed, pleading almost, but trying not to make it obvious, but he never broke eye contact, "We don't have to date or anything, I just- I just wanted a moment with you." You mentioned what inspired you to spend time with him- exposing how a few nights ago when he said he wanted to enjoy every moment with people- you knew you wanted to have a moment with him, too. Memories from high school were spoken momentarily, thirty minutes passing by which included a made-up handshake as well as the subtle twirl of his fingers in your hair- him complimenting how good your hair looked which made you blush even more.

Just when you thought he wasn't already smooth enough, you noticed Taehyung started teasing your dog, her pouncing at his chest before he'd lean in closer to you. Eyebrows scrunching, it took you a hot second to realize what he was doing. Each time Taehyung would scoot closer to you, he'd kiss you, sending the pair of you in boisterous laughter when your dog would try to break the kisses by jumping in between your faces. The more your lips would touch, it'd last a bit longer and longer, your hand clinging to the side of his jacket to pull him closer when things really started moving fast, eventually your dog left the room with the hint that attention was no longer available for her.

Still lip-locked, Taheyung's hands gripped your hips while you willingly moved to straddle him, arms resting on the top of the couch on either side of his head, the tip of your tongue glided along his, while he fanned his hands along your ass. You refrained from moaning into his kiss despite how bad you wanted to, yet you held yourself together, involuntarily grinding your clothed heat where his erection was felt. T smacked your ass before slithering the tips of his fingers to your shirt, slowly unbuttoning one by one.... One by one. His eyes were hazed from how much he was craving your mouth, and with a seductive nod in his direction, he continued until he made it to the final goal, your kisses never planning to stop, the sides of your shirt being brushed away for him to take in the sight of you.

"Ooh my God," his eyes darkened in evident lust when he saw the way your black bra cupped your breasts, "Oh my God," his voice deepened, him hardly knowing what to do with himself while your smirk remained subtlety on your mouth. Though you hadn't needed him to ask, he politely waited for your permission to touch your chest, a quick pang of frilly nerves ghosted your stomach.

"Yeah," you breathed seductively, gradually moving to capture his lips, trying to hold back a giggle when he gently moved his hands to your back, "You're not going to find it there," you mused, referring to the clip. He paused as if panicked, "It's in the front," you finally admitted, but failing miserably, Taehyung let you take initiative, you unclipped your bra uncovering what is now widening his brown eyes. "Oh my God!" His reaction made you want to cum right then and there, especially when his fingers made their way to squeeze your nipples when his mouth returned to yours. Taehyung worshiped your breasts, and for some odd, yet arousing reason, you lived for it.

You're uncertain of when the tv was switched off, and even now, as your hands continue to fly across the keyboard, one thing you do recall, one of the lingering memories of the evening was your shirt being off, thrown onto the floor mingled with your bra, and without any warning, Taehyung hoisted you in the air, your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso while he tightened his hold around your body. His steps were painfully careful, kissing you roughly while your arms kept their place behind his neck, and the direction was being taken to your bedroom where your heart pounded so anxiously to be. His jacket was shed before the bold act, and all that was left was his gray t-shirt and jeans. Laying you down with a bounce from your mattress, he remained above you, and your eyes refused to stray especially when he reached to remove his shirt- his smooth skin greeting yours sending waves of goosebumps spreading among your limbs.

There was no one like him in your eyes, and there never would be. Not in your heart. And with how perfect everything was going; you were not prepared for how hard it was going to be to stop before things went too far. Because what if he doesn't exactly feel the same? He was letting you down easy not even an hour ago, and here you were, hopes so high, you weren't sure how you were going to erase them back down. He kissed you until you couldn't breathe, your fingers dug into your comforter, while his palms glided all over your frame for however long you let him, but when he went to remove your leggings, you halted him.

Now, this is where your heart aches when you relive this part, because a conversation was held, one where you mentioned what if someone catches feelings if the both of you decided to solely be just friends with benefits? Taehyung said all you had to do was communicate with him because he was easy to get along with, and you've known this about him for six years. He was always someone easy to talk to, and you knew he would never treat you poorly over a situation like this. And, he hadn't. You made the executive decision to not sleep with him for you wanted him to remember you as the woman you are, and the woman, you've always been, and with the fear of going all the way being something that could change his image of you, you were satisfied to hear the loud echoes of his snoring after you changed into pajamas, gazing at his sleeping demeanor before you drifted into slumber as well.

When the morning came, you were not ready for him to leave, but he asked if you would walk him out, him throwing on his shirt and jacket while you rushed to brush your teeth. T asked if you had any other plans for the rest of the day which you proceeded to answer honestly with a no, as he mentioned that he was going to get breakfast.

"Let me know when you make it home," you said tenderly, "I want to know you're safe,"

"I will," he promised before you embraced him, turning just enough to place a peck to his cheek. It was his smile that decided to enter your recollection- the boxy smile that would plague you until the day you accept that you will never forget it.

And when you opened the door to the apartment where he gracefully waltzed through, you merely caught a glimpse of him leaving, ahead of you quietly shutting the door to whatever could have been.

Or, what could have started a beautiful story that has yet to unfold.

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numberonephantompizza1 · 3 years

Text

Poppy Fanfic: “Ask Her”

For context: This is a fanfic I wrote in order to join the Poppy Milk dev team and show off my writing skills. Since the callout at the time said we’d need to write a lot of sidequests, I wanted to ask the question of what a Poppy-centered side-quest would be like. I got the idea that it would be from an Asker’s perspective, and everything sort of came naturally after that. Even though I’m on the dev team right now, it’s not canon to Omega Timeline: Poppy’s Story and even has some inaccuracies that contradict canon. With that said, please feel free to read the story below the cut.

---

You noticed something very different inside your room when you woke up. The lights were off and the sun hadn’t yet risen, but there was a certain… aura, coming from your door. You were filled with a certain trepidation, but… you approached it. It was hard to see in the light, but it looked… grey.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped through...

...and found about the last person you would’ve expected. The spitting image of Frisk - CORE!Frisk, that was, looking up at you, in the middle of a white void.

“Wh- You’re real?!” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course I’m real. Have you been taking all this multiverse stuff for granted? Everything is real somewhere,” Core answered, simply.

“I… I don’t… and you, me…” you panted, starting to feel a small panic attack coming on.

“Focus,” Core snapped their fingers, grounding you back in reality. Okay, this was happening now.

“Let’s get down to business. Simply: you don’t like me. And I don’t like you. But we BOTH like Poppy. Poppy, my dear, sweet angel… has unfortunately recently come to the realization that Askers ALSO exist in the multiverse. And now she wants to do a ‘meet n’ greet’ with one of her fans. Trust me, I TRIED to talk her out of it, but she can be darn persuasive when she wants to be. And as you’re now realizing, that’s where you come in.

“I wanna make you a deal. You play along with whatever Poppy wants until she gets bored of this. If you’re on your best behavior - and that means, don’t give her anything bad, don’t tell her anything you KNOW she shouldn’t know, don’t use any magic, and be a general good influence - if you play nice, in exchange, I will allow you to hang out with ANY resident of the Omega Timeline.

“Want to spend a day full of wacky hijinks with a Papyrus, or even an Underswap Sans? Consider it done. Want to know how Deltarune Chapter 2 plays out ahead of time? I know a Susie with your name on it. Whatever you want, so long as you play by the rules, and don’t ask for anyone obviously ridiculous. So… do we have ourselves a deal?”

You contemplated that offer, and everything that was happening, trying to suppress your inner urge to geek out for just a few moments. The Omega Timeline, Poppy, and all the AU’s you could think of and more were real. And you just got an invitation to visit them.

“Yeah, of course!” you nodded excitedly, though your enthusiasm only seemed to make Core more anxious.

“Don’t make me regret this…” Core sighed, as the whiteness seemed to melt away into a cozy-looking house with wooden floors and lime walls, where you were standing directly outside of a white door. Core seemed to have disappeared.

Technically, there was nothing stopping you from exploring. So you did just that. You walked up to a shelf with some family photos. One was a photo of Poppy, Core, Dusted and Rust all together, in some meadow, looking happy. At least, you assumed Dusted and Rust were happy, they didn’t show up well on camera. There was another photo of Poppy alone, looking somewhat younger than she did on the blog, seated on a chair in a photo that looked far more staged. She held an actual poppy flower in her hand and smiled brightly.

You opened the cabinet doors, curious of what knick-knacks you might find in there. Some crayons, a few random glass cups, some art by 3-year-old Poppy that was so poorly done its meaning was hard to decipher, and a locked box. You reached for the box--

“Getting a bit sidetracked, aren’t we?”

You jolted up, and faced Core behind you. Even though they were child-sized, they crossed their arms with the poise and authority of a stern parent. You laughed anxiously. “Ahahaha… ahaha… ha……..”

“...Strike one.” Core said, and vanished. The meaning of that was all-too clear. Deciding not to dilly dally any longer, you went to the room you suspected to be Poppy’s, and knocked.

“Just a sec!” Poppy said, and opened the door. She looked up at you, and gasped. “Wow, Granpa really did come through…!” She twirled excitedly. “You must be my adoring fan, aren’t you?” she asked.

You stared down at the girl in stunned silence.

“To be honest, I kinda figured you’d be some gray guy with sunglasses, but that’s kinda silly in hindsight. How you doin’?” She asked that last line in a mock accent as you continued to stare.

“Baby,” you said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you quickly tried to change the subject. “Yeah, it’s… y’know, it’s great to be here…” You clasped your hands together, biting your lip. You were in an Undertale AU, faced with the AU granddaughter of another AU character. You still weren’t entirely over that. Was this fever dream? Fandom heaven, or fandom hell?

“I know! Once I heard you guys weren’t from the Omega Timeline, I realized I hadn’t met even ONE of my fans… even if you guys are super annoying some of the time.”

“Uhhh, yeah…” you wondered if you should apologize on behalf of the askers who put Poppy in the hospital that one time. Then again, it seemed kind of awkward, and it might have been best not to bring that up while Core was watching, which was always. Looking down at the cutesy girl, it was almost tempting to pull her into a hug, but you managed to keep your composure.

“I wanted to do something a little more special than just some sorta interview, though, because you ask me questions all the time anyways,” Poppy said. “Granpa said you’ve never been to the Omega Timeline before, so I wanna give you the big tour!” Poppy went to the door. “I’m gonna be outside when you’re ready!” She left the room.

Seeing the empty room in front of you, you were tempted to snoop again, but you’d learned your lesson after last time. You headed straight out after Poppy.

You couldn’t help but gasp in awe of the serenity of the great outdoors as you were beckoned to it. You’d been outside before, obviously, but everything just looked so… nice. The blue sky, the grassy grounds, the ornate buildings… you’ve seen this place in pixel art and a couple drawings before, but seeing it with your own eyes was another story. And the next thing for you to nearly faint at was seeing the Undertale characters running around, Sanses, Undynes, Frisks, even goat moms.

Poppy smiled. “...It’s nice, isn’t it? I KNEW taking you on a tour was a good idea.” She smirked. “Now remember, just because this is a meet-up doesn’t mean it’s free, and there WILL be a fee at the end of our ride.”

“...Uh… I left my wallet at home,” you said, patting your pockets, “And I don’t have any, uh... ‘G,’ I think. Unless the G stands for ‘Gratitude,’ amiright?” you did finger guns.

“G stands for Gold,” Poppy corrected you bluntly, unamused. She returned to her chipper attitude just as quickly, though. “Now, let me show you around!” She led you down the street.

Walking with her, seeing so many versions of your favorite characters in the flesh, walking around… well, the temptation to talk to SOME of them was irresistible, Core be damned. You did resolve not to go too far off-track, but you shared some words with the folks you passed by, Poppy thankfully stopping each time you did. You met two Frisks - one boy, one ambiguous - an Underswap Undyne, a human version of Toriel, and surprisingly, a version of Princess Peach.

You and Poppy approached an elegant fountain, stood upon proudly by a statue of a mustachio’d CORE!Frisk. “This is the Timeline Plaza! It’s sort of the local park, where people meet up to do... stuff. Just hang out. Make a picnic. Play ball. All that good park-y stuff, y’know? And there’s stores in all directions, so it’s pretty good.” She proudly showed off her home to you, with a smile.

You talked to more on the way to the next place. An Inverted Fate Papyrus. A weird Ralsei who said his name was “Noyno.” An Asgore wearing a hoodie, who you assumed was swapped with Sans. (Poppy did scold you a little bit for this, telling you that just because someone has a hoodie you shouldn’t assume they’re swapped. You apologized.)

“This is Grillby’s! One of them, anyways. The nearest one to my house. It’s pretty good if you want an OK burger. Sanses love the place, though. It’s… kind of unhealthy. And a little gross.” Poppy said. “Especially when they just drink… raw… ketchup.”

“Can’t handle a little ketchup?” you smiled mischievously. “We drink it by the gallon back in my universe,” you lied.

“...I really hope you’re joking,” Poppy said, alarmed.

“Am I?” you smiled brighter.

“...W-well, we’re not going in there, so you can FORGET about drinking that much ketchup!” Poppy said, afraid of the sheer power of your ketchup-drinking.

You and Poppy moved onto the next spot. You met an Underswap Alphys who seemed to be trapped in a red-and-gold palette. You met a robot dressed as a circus ringmaster, who claimed to be a Chara. You met a Dummy dressed in a Frisk shirt. (You didn’t assume it was swapped with Frisk this time, which turned out to be a mistake, because it was.) Poppy stared at you awkwardly now, wondering why you were talking to all these random strangers. Finally, you and Poppy reached your next destination.

“The theater! Where we show off all the greatest hits! Including MY movie, which, not to brag, but it’s--”

Except, you’d been distracted by a hyperdeath Asriel, and were ignoring Poppy for the moment.

“...” Poppy spoke up. “That’s what I don’t get about you.”

“Huh?” that seemed to wake you up, and you looked at her.

“Everytime it’s always, ‘have you met Underswap Sans,’ or ‘have you met JangoTale Frisk,’ or some other weird thing. You always ask that. But… they’re just people. Why do you always assume I know some random Sans or Frisk or someone?”

“I…” you were a bit taken aback. “...I don’t… we don’t assume you know them, they’re just… they’re just important.”

“Important?” She asked. “...I-I mean, yeah, EVERYONE’s important, but, I don’t really get what you mean…”

“They’re all--” You paused, trying to collect your thoughts, think of everything you knew from the blog, and tried to actually talk to her. “...They’re like friends to me. Kinda.”

“...You guys are friends with them? I thought you were stuck in your world…” she frowned.

“No, it’s like-- I’m not ‘friends’ with Underswap Frisk, or-- or Storyshift Frisk, or Shifty or whatever, I’m just friends with… Frisk.”

...Poppy stared at you like you just said the ground was turning to jelly, or something equally bafflingly inane. “...I… think you’re confused. Look, sometimes newcomers struggle with this. Your Frisk isn’t the only Frisk--”

“I know! It’s… You don’t get it. This world, these worlds are so special and creative, and they mean a lot to me. I know we can be really edgy, and I know we ask weird questions about Dusted and Rust, but that’s all because… because...” you paused.

Poppy looked, seeming upset about hearing her siblings mentioned in the context of ‘edgy’ questions, not seeing what you were seeing. Core, standing behind her, holding up a hand signal.

The number two.

You were getting carried away. You overstepped.

“...Um… I’m sorry.” You pulled her into a hug as Core vanished. “There’s really no reason for us to ask those questions. We can just be dumb sometimes.”

“...” She hugged back. “Yeah, it’s okay. I knew you guys were super weird and dumb before I convinced Granpa to let you in here, so I guess I should’ve seen this coming,” Poppy smiled, regaining her confidence as you did your best to not be offended at being called weird and dumb.

“Okay! I think I have just one last stop in mind to cap this tour off on a high note! Literally, hehehe…” She giggled mischievously. This time, you didn’t stop to talk to others, following her directly as you approached a peak overlooking the town. For yet another time, and probably the last, you couldn’t help but ogle at the town’s beauty. “Pretty good, right?” She sat down.

“Ha… with all the climbing, I was worried we’d fall down a mountain,” you joked. Poppy seemed to roll her eyes, as you sat beside her. “...I guess I get how you can call this place home. I mean, once I stop nerding out, anyways. You don’t see stuff like this in my… reality.”

“Just gallons and gallons of ketchup, huh?” she commented. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah.”

And you two just stared into the distance for a while. ...She wasn’t just a character. She was a human being.

...Or, technically just a ‘being,’ scratch the human part. Still, you felt a bit desensitized to all this. And so did she. You related in that way.

“I can’t say you exactly passed with flying colors, but you fulfilled your end of the agreement well enough.”

Without any warning, you were back in a white void with CORE!Frisk, just like before. You almost forgot about the deal you made, what with all the time you spent with Poppy. You stood.

“Uh… yeah. So, my reward…” you drifted off, remembering the offer Core gave you. The chance to meet just about any AU character of your imagining… or at least, any that would be peaceful enough to be in the Omega Timeline. Which still left a WIDE variety of options…

Who did you want to see? What mattered most to you?

...

Thinking deeply… you told Core their name.

“...Oh. Really? Well, I guess it makes sense for you that you’d want to see them,” Core remarked. “I can’t guarantee they’ll give you what you’re looking for, but a deal’s a deal. Let’s head off.”

You and Core went somewhere else.

---

And that’s all she wrote! If you read this far, thank you. Working on the game since then has been fun, and I think you’ll like what we have in store. Until then, ciao.

#undertale #omega timeline #poppy's story

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eideticmemory · 4 years

Text

EVER SINCE NEW YORK III | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 3! Read Part 2 here.

Soundtrack:

Hate U Btw - Rence.

Phases - Chase Atlantic.

Break From Toronto - PartyNextDoor.

Word Count: 4,647.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, drinking, substance use, a bit of angst.

Spring, Sophomore Year.

South Beach,

New York.

“C’mon,” Claire said, putting her hands on your shoulders. “Give me a smile.”

You frowned.

“Let me see that pretty, pretty smile, [y/n].”

You sighed, rolled your eyes and gave her a toothless grin.

“Okay, that’s about as fake as it gets, but it’ll do,” she shrugged. She began to load up her car, “Just keep it on when Matthew gets here.”

You groaned, “I just don’t understand why he’s coming. Or why he has to ride with us. I’m gonna kill him.”

“Whoa, black mamba, it’s a 30 minute drive — barely. You’ll survive.”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t appreciate the Kill Bill reference, and second of all, 30 minutes is the perfect amount of time for me to not only kill your little boyfriend, but bury the body too.”

“Matthew is not my boyfriend,” Claire shook her head. “He is, however, coming on this trip with us. And you’re gonna be nice.”

“Why grandma, what big teeth you have,” you mocked.

“Shut up,” she laughed, closing the trunk.

Matthew strode up to the car, smiling and announcing his presence, “Hey, hot mamas,” he said, putting his arm around Claire. “Ready to go?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, smiling ear to ear. “Yep, [y/n] and I were just discussing cinema.”

“Oh! My favorite topic,” he beamed. “We can continue it on the way there.”

Matthew broke away to take his place in the car, sitting in the backseat. You glared at Claire, your arms crossed.

“What big nose and ears you have!” She exclaimed, laughing before she could get out the words.

“Oh, God, shut up!” You giggled. “Get in the car, let’s go.”

The way there, you spoke two words to Matthew: “yeah” and “okay.” Despite his best efforts to strike up a conversation, you dodged him at every turn. Just like he had been doing for the past 3 months. Since returning from Christmas break, there’s been no sex, no conversations, not even a dm. If your friends noticed, they weren’t saying anything, probably just grateful the two of you weren’t arguing. But you could feel his eyes on you, watching you from the backseat. All the way to South Beach.

The entire group — all 9 of you — arrived at the same time, admiring the beach house as you pulled up. Claire parked in the driveway, two cars pulling in behind you. You led everyone up to the entrance and used the designated key to unlock the door. Everyone oohed and ahhed at the place. It was spacious, large, decorated to perfection. Not that you expected anything less from your aunt.

“[y/n]! This place is amazing!” Claire beamed. “Holy shit.”

“And it’s all ours for the week,” you chuckled. “There’s 5 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, the kitchen’s through there, and the pool’s out back.”

“Pool?”

“Pool,” you nodded. “Rooms are upstairs, if you guys wanna get settled.”

Claire and you set up your room together, packing your clothes into the dressers and heading down to the living room. Everyone gathered, sitting on the couches. Claire sat beside Matthew, laying her head on his shoulder. John opened all the windows in the space, claiming that he was letting in some fresh air.

“So,” John sighed. “What to do? What to do?”

“It’s a mystery to me,” Matthew shrugged.

“Yeah, well,” One of your friends said, pulling a bag of weed out of her purse. “It’s not a mystery to me.”

You laughed, “Huh, I knew I had this lighter in my pocket for a reason.”

A joint was quickly packed and passed around the room. When it got to you, you flicked at your lighter, but the flame wouldn’t ignite. “What the fuck?” You grumbled.

“Here,” Matthew said, reaching over to you. You held the rolled item between your lips and allowed him to use his lighter, setting flame to the end of the joint. You held each other’s gaze as it happened, probably for a bit longer than needed.

“Thanks,” you whispered, breathlessly.

He leaned back and gave you a smirk. Combine that with the weed entering your system, and you could feel your heartbeat between your legs.

It was a long week.

Lots of alcohol, lots of weed, and lots of sexual tension. Most nights Claire went to bed at 3 in the morning, stumbling in happy and sighing as she fell asleep. She always kissed your cheek first. Everyday was a beach day, or if you all were too lazy to go down to the beach or into town, you hung out by the pool.

Claire thought it was ridiculous that you had bought and packed seven different bikinis, but she had to admit, every single one was cute. You found different hairstyles to wear each day, dolled yourself up in bikinis all different colors of the rainbow, swam until you were walking around soaked. And it was killing Matthew. It was so much fun!

Two days before you were meant to leave, you had on your floral bikini, and you were prepared to bake in the sun at the pool.

“Ow!” John exclaimed, raising his shades from his face. Him and the other guys sat poolside, playing a game of cards. “Damn, [y/n], you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me you like my bikini, John?” You giggled.

“The bikini...the body...” he whispered. “Come over here!”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the group, allowing John to pull you into his lap, “Be my good luck charm.” He smiled. Your crossed your legs over his and watched the game in front of you.

“What are you guys playing?” You asked. You accidentally made eye contact with Matthew, who was watching you and John like a hawk. His eyes flickered back and forth between his cards and you two endlessly.

“Gin!” John replied.

“What? I thought we were playing go fish?”

“Go fish? What the fuck are you? 12?” John laughed. You shook your head and kissed John’s cheek, “Be nice, dude. Go fish is fun.” You chuckled. You got up from his lap and went to join the girls in the pool, stepping into the water.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Claire said.

The group of you mainly stayed by the edge, holding shot glasses and knocking back liquor. By your third glass, the vodka had run right through you and you had to pee. So, you excused yourself and went inside to use the bathroom. Approaching the door, you went to place your hand on the knob, but were stopped by a muffled sound coming from inside.

“What the hell?” You whispered, and stepped in. There you found a very red Matthew, panting, his eyes closed, his hand around his cock and jerking himself off quickly. He halted when you entered, and stared at you, his mouth open in shock.

“I-I-“ you stuttered, trying not to look at his dick. You left, and quickly closed the door behind you.

You went upstairs to your room, locked the door, leaned against the wall and reached down to touch yourself. It was completely unexpected, and so unlike you. But all these memories of Matthew touching you and fucking you came rushing back, and you had to get this nut off before you exploded. You applied pressure to your clit through your bikini, until you were squirming and whimpering, and you came. You swear you almost said Matthew’s name.

The next day, you wore your royal blue bikini. The top tied in the front in a loose bow, and the bottom was lined with gold trim. After a day out shopping, everyone wound up hanging out at the pool once again. You did back strokes in the water, letting the sun shine on your face.

“Oof,” you huffed, bumping into someone behind you. You opened your eyes and turned around, facing them.

“Watch where you’re going. You’re not the little mermaid,” Matthew scoffed.

“Shut up, Matthew,” you spit. “Could you be more of a jackass?”

“Actually yeah,” he nodded. “I could be.” He reached out, quickly undoing your bikini top and watching as your chest was exposed.

You yelped and held your boobs in your hands, “Ah! Matthew!”

“Nice,” he grinned, his gaze focused on your breasts. “Very nice.”

You glared at him as he swam away.

Later that night, Claire was putting on a pair of dangling earrings, and her hair was down over her shoulders, curled to perfection. “You sure you can’t come out, [y/n]?” She asked.

“I’m positive,” you murmured, sadly. “My ballet instructor deciding now was the perfect time to make an online quiz due. It’s gonna take me a while, I’m sorry.”

Claire frowned and sat across from you. Both of you were perched in the kitchen, sitting around the island counter. While everyone was dolled up and ready to go out, you sat in your wet bikini and an oversized shirt. “No, don’t apologize. But after spring break, we’re going to your instructor’s house and leaving a bag of crap on her porch.” Claire said.

You chuckled, “Real mature, Claire.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” she sighed. “And if you do finish in time, give me a call and I’ll run back to pick you up.”

You gave her a smile, “You got it. Now, go, go! Don’t worry about me. You guys have fun.”

Claire blew a kiss to you and rose to her feet, exiting the kitchen and joining the others in the living room. You continued to work on your laptop as they filed out of the house and closed the door behind them. You took a carton of ice cream from the fridge and ate from the pint, mindlessly clicking buttons to complete the quiz.

“Come for a swim with me.”

“Ah!” You jumped, hand clutching your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Come for a swim with me,” Matthew repeated, storming into the kitchen and over to you.

“What?”

“Come for a swim with me,” he grabbed your arm. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Matthew, no!” But you let him drag you away, watching as he grabbed a bottle of rum off the counter. “I have work to do!”

“It’s due at 11:59,” he told you, leading you out to the pool. “So you have...” he checked his phone. “Well over two hours.”

“And I don’t want to spend any of that time with you.” You enunciated, yanking your arm from his grasp.

“Aw, man,” he sighed. “That sucks. I thought you would’ve wanted this.” He held up a metal object, and when you focused your eyes on it, you noticed it was your ballerina. The one he’d given you.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, lunging towards him and attempting to grab the item. “What are you doing with that? Give it here!” You jumped on him, reaching high and using all your might. But Matthew was tall, and holding it way above his head. He laughed at you, keeping the prize far from you.

“Tell me, why do you keep this with you? Must be important.” He teased. He stepped backwards, holding the ballerina up in the air.

“What the hell are you doing going through my stuff?” You shouted, following him.

“Needed leverage,” he shrugged. “You want it?” He removed his shirt. “Come get it.” He stepped into the pool, a loud splash erupting around his figure. But he kept your figurine above the surface.

“This is childish! Give it back, and leave me alone!” You marched up to the edge of the pool, hands balled up in fists at your side.

“Okay,” he shrugged. He walked up to you, the ballerina extended out for you to grasp. You reached out for it, and just before you could take it away from him, you were being pulled forward. Into the pool.

You fell in with a yelp, holding your gift against your chest. You squirmed around underwater until you forced your way to the surface, your jaw dropped and your hands quickly wiping at your eyes.

“What the fuck?” You shouted. You blindly placed your ballerina on land, taking care to make sure she didn’t get lost.

When you turned around, Matthew was right behind you. His eyes were focused in on your lips. His hands were steadily snaking around your waist. And before you could back away, he kissed you. Softly, slowly, holding you close.

“Stop,” you muttered. Another kiss.

“Stop what?” Another kiss. “I’m not doing anything.” You held his face in yours hands and let your lips work together in unison.

“Wait,” you pulled away. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Matthew mumbled, kissing your neck. “We’re so good at it.”

“Claire...”

“Is not my girlfriend,” he stopped, and looked you in the eye. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“But she likes you.”

“I like...you.”

You gulped, “You don’t like me.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! You just like...my...my...goodies.”

He cackled, “You’re goodies? Well...they are good.”

“Shut up!” You rolled your eyes.

“They’re great actually,” Matthew gave you another kiss. “In fact...” A kiss. “I’d like to see some of those goodies right now if you don’t mind.” His hands slid under your shirt and pushed it up your hips, up your waist, until he was pulling it over your head. You were left in your blue bikini, and Matthew nearly drooled at the sight.

He leaned in and kissed your jaw. His lips trailed down to your collarbone, and then to your chest. He gropped your boobs in his hands and placed kisses on your sternum. He caught the string to your bikini top between his teeth, and took long strides away from you. All you could do was watch him, feel the fabric looseing on your body. When he took one finally step, the whole bow came undone and your boobs were exposed.

“Come here,” he whispered, looking intently at your chest. His voice drew you into him, and you let him pull you close and wrap his lips around your nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned. He was so, so good at this. He used the right amount of pressure and suction. His tongue twirled around the bud and his saliva dripped onto your skin. Soft hums vibrated against your chest, and his hand made it’s way between your legs.

“Your tits are so nice,” he whispered.

You looked down at him, then at your boobs. “They’re tiny.”

“They’re perfect,” he transitioned to sucking on the other nipple, and his fingertips rubbed your clit lightly.

When he kissed your lips, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held his body against yours. Your legs latched onto his torso, and he took this as an invitation to push you against the pool wall. On instinct — horny, horny instinct — the both of you reached down and touched each other. You freed his cock from his swim trunks and he pulled your bikini bottoms to the side.

Staring into your eyes, Matthew pushed into you. Slowly at first, and then slamming the rest of the way in. You gasped, and your head rolled back, along with your eyes.

“Fuck,” he cupped your hand in his hands. “You’re so hot.”

He kissed your neck as he fucked you, rhythmically and roughly. The water splashed against your skin, the sound overlapping with your quiet moans. You gripped onto Matthew’s hair, and reveled in the sound of his groans in your ear.

You bit down on your lip, muffling your whines. Matthew took your jaw in his hand and tilted your head down to kiss you. You panted against his lips, whimpering as he your back tapped the wall behind you.

“How long you think we got until they get back?” He mumbled.

You chuckled under your breath, “If my memory is correct, you’re not gonna last that long anyways.”

“Oooooouch!” He exclaimed, suddenly cut off by a breathy moan. He buried his face in your neck, “Not this time, princess. Not this time.”

While you guys were preoccupied outside, the front door to the house opened up. “[y/n]!” Claire sang. “I know you said to leave you alone, but I passed that ice cream place you like and I brought you some. Gube too.” She giggled, walking through the house. “I also — maybe, definitely — wanted to see if you two were ready to come out. Come on, we’re eating at this cute little Mexican place down the street, you should —“

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, Matthew’s fingers pressed against your clit and rubbing in gentle circles.

“Mm, you gonna come?” Matthew purred. “Wow, I’m good.”

“S-shut up,” you stuttered. “Fuck. Fuck, keep going.”

Claire stood in shock, watching from inside and peering through the glass door. She stumbled back into the kitchen, placing the bag of ice cream on the counter. She blinked away the tears in her eyes, and gulped. And she left.

Clueless, you let your orgasm wash over you. Your body trembled, and Matthew pushed his cock all the way into you as you rode it out. The sensation sent ripples of pleasure throughout your body and you fell weakly against him. “Matthew,” you whimpered.

His eyes went wide, and he pushed your hair back. “You said my name.”

“Hm?”

“You said my name,” he repeated. “Say it again.”

His hips bucked into yours and he picked up his pace, his jaw dropping as he watched your face. His nails dug into your thighs, “C’mon please?” He begged.

You looked at him in a daze, tracing his collarbone with your finger and hooking it in his chain. “Matthew,” you whispered. And it was like you were saying it to yourself, convincing yourself this was real. “Matthew.”

The sound of your voice nearly sent him over the edge and he pulled out of you, huffing and puffing. “Wait,” you panted. “Wait, I want you to come.”

He chuckled, “We’ve got some time.”

And you guys made the most of it.

You fished your shirt out of the pool, grabbed your ballerina and headed inside. Once changed into new clothes, Matthew sat beside you as you finished your quiz. He didn’t quite understand how you could be quizzed on matters of ballet, and you didn’t quite feel like explaining so you kissed him to shut him up. Which subsequently led to you closing the laptop and letting him carry you upstairs. Not forgetting the rum.

You wound up on your bed, face down, ass up. Matthew held onto your hips, and pounded into you mercilessly until you were nothing but a puddle of moans. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, feel his body tensing up with each thrust, and you gripped onto the bed sheets tightly. Matthew upheld his promise to make the experience long and pleasure, making you come twice before he even came close. He reached down and slid his fingers into your mouth, which you sucked on willingly. He released himself onto your back, following it with a swift slap on your ass. He used his shirt to clean you off.

With a few more hits of alcohol, Matthew asked you to show him some ballet moves. So, you started with the basics. But when he attempted the movement, he nearly broke his ankle and fell to the floor. You broke out into hysterics.

“You’re druuuuuunk,” you sang, sinking down to the floor to join him.

“So are you!”

“But I can do ballet drunk,” you shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

“Hm,” he hummed, pulling you into his lap. “Wanna see what I can do drunk?”

Turns out, he couldn’t really do it that well, so you had to ride him. It was still good, and you let him come in your mouth. He was ecstatic.

Laying on the floor at 1 in the morning, you finished off the last of the rum and snuggled into Matthew’s side. “Got any gas?” He asked.

“No, I don’t have to burp.” You replied.

He laughed, “I meant weed, dumbass.”

“Weed? What the hell do you need weed for? Aren’t you drunk?”

“I’m...semi-drunk. You knocked most of that back yourself, Jack Daniels.”

“Okay, look, if you’re gonna call me nicknames, can you atleast pick one and stick with it?”

He sighed and shrugged, “Yeah. Which one’s your favorite?”

“None of them!”

“Well, pick one, princess!”

You thought for a moment, silent. “Princess,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Princess is my favorite.”

He smiled at you, but you weren’t looking. “Okay. You got it.”

“Hey, Matthew?” you called, sitting up and looking down at him. He was shirtless, laid out with his necklace glimmering against his skin.

“What’s up?” He replied.

You picked at the carpet as you spoke, “Why...why did you stay tonight?”

“Huh?” He tilted his head.

“Why did you stay tonight?” You repeated. “Why didn’t you go out with everyone else?”

He looked at you, and licked his lips, like he was thinking up a response. “I—“ He was cut off by the sound of a car pulling up outside, doors being shut, loud chatter.

The two of you hopped up at lightning speed, fixing your clothes. You kicked the rum bottle under your bed and Matthew balled up his stained shirt. He rushed out of your bedroom and you stood there out of breath. As soon as you turned around, you heard running coming your way. You turned back to face the door, and there was Matthew, marching up to you. He grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you. It was a long kiss, a nice kiss.

He left without a word, and you crawled into bed with a smile on your face. Matthew made it into his bed before everyone came upstairs. You faced the wall, pretending to be asleep.

“Awwwwwwwwwwww!” Claire exclaimed as she barged into the room. “Look at little [y/n]!”

“Claire,” your friend whispered. “Shh, you’re gonna wake her up.”

“[y/n]’s my best friend, y’know?”

“I know, honey.”

“I love her and...I just hope she loves me.”

“C’mon, let’s get you in bed.” Your friend helped the very drunk Claire into bed, removing Claire’s shoes then laying her down on the mattress and covering her up.

“Goodnight, [y/n]!” Claire shouted.

You stayed silent, clutching your ballerina figurine in your hand.

Sunday morning, it was time for all of you to leave and head back to school. You woke up early and applied makeup to cover the hickies on your neck. By the time everyone was up and packing, your stuff was already squared away in bags. You sat in the kitchen, eating pop tarts, and leaving everything the way your aunt asked. Everyone said hi to you as they passed the kitchen, and they eventually landed in the living room.

“Morning,” A voice called to you.

You turned to see Matthew standing there, smiling at you. “Good morning,” you pipped. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby. You?”

“Also like an infant,” you nodded. “Ready to head to school?”

“Almost,” he whispered. He walked up to you and kissed you softly, his hand holding your jaw.

You sighed happily and pulled away. “Are you ready now?” You asked.

“Hm, not quite,” he shook his head.

He kissed you again, and put his hand on your thighs, dangerously close to your core. “Okay, dude,” you slapped his hand away. “Don’t get crazy. Everyone’s in the living room.”

“So?”

“So...we can’t do anything here.”

“Oh, yes,” he whispered against your lips. “We can. You’ve just gotta be quiet.”

You tried. Tried to be quiet. But Matthew had you sat on the island, shorts and panties pushed the side and his cock buried inside you. He had to cover your mouth with his hand as he thrusted into you. His teeth sunk into his lip, to the point blood was drawn. You could taste it. You tightened your legs around his waist, eyelid lowered in lust. He gave you a questioning nod, and you replied with a slight motion of your head to let him know you were good.

“[y/n]!” Claire called.

You and Matthew quickly broke apart. You hopped off the island, Matthew fixed his pants. You sat in the chair like nothing happened and Matthew left the room through the second exit. Claire came around the separate entrance.

“Hey,” she said. “Ready to go?”

You smiled, “I am now.”

The ride back to school was much shorter. Nothing but music filled the car, Claire being too hung over to talk. Upon arriving at school, Matthew walked the two of you up to your dorm room.

“Need me to help with your bags?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” Claire shrugged. “Talk to you later, Gube.”

“You alright?” He questioned her.

“Yeah. Hangover.” Claire sadly walked into the room, head hung low.

“She’s a lightweight,” you told Matthew. “She’ll be back to normal soon.”

“Right,” he nodded. “So. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Around midnight, he requested to add you on snapchat again. You accepted. His first snap to you was a selfie with one caption:

show me ur tits 🥴🥴

no 😠

please 🥺

You sighed, looked over at Claire who was fast asleep, and lifted your shirt over your chest. Took you five tries, but you took the perfect one. He opened it within 10 seconds. Then he was video chatting you.

“Hello?” you whispered.

“Where’s your face?”

“I took it off for the night. What do you want?”

“I wanna see you.”

“What? No! Go to bed.”

“You can come over. Please. Please. I’m begging.”

“I hear you begging,” you scoffed. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

“We have class tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m tired.”

“Just come let me suck on your tits. Five minutes, no sex, I promise.”

Yeah, right.

You came back to your room — your panties stuffed in your pocket, your hair wild, your lips swollen, throat sore, walking a little funny. You got a good night’s sleep.

Life got easier when you started listening to your body. A lot better, a lot more orgasmic. For the next month, Matthew and you got it in, whenever. Wherever. If you crossed paths on the way to class, you often didn’t make it to the lecture. When out with friends, you’d end up in the bathroom, with you bent over the sink and Matthew holding onto your hips. When you looked up in the mirror, you could see his necklace bouncing against his chest, his head thrown back.

There was something about Matthew that made you unbelievably horny and weak and impulsive. A very dangerous combination. Add that to the fact that he was admittedly not as annoying as you originally believed, and you were having a blast. However, you knew it was a means to an end. That summer would once again separate you two and there was a good chance he’d forget all about you.

When he came to say goodbye to Claire for summer break, you answered the door and had to tell him she left already.

“What?” He replied. “She didn’t tell me she was leaving.”

“Oh,” you hummed. “Um, do you want me to call her?”

“No, no. That’s alright,” he shook his head. “So...you leaving yet?”

“Nope. I leave tomorrow.”

“Cool,” he looked side to side, checking that no one was in the hallway. Then, he focused back on you and pressed his lips to yours. He pushed his way into the room and you let him, closing the door behind him.

Afterwards, he let you lay with his head on his chest, his arm around your waist. You knew it may not be forever. But it was now. And it was nice.

[PART 4.]

#mine #college!matthew #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg #mgg smut #mgg imagine

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justcourttee · 4 years

Text

And They Were Roommates-Pt 19

“Marinetteeee, tomorrow is Christmas! Don’t you want to be back in the apartment so we can decorate and drink hot cocoa and exchange presents and-“

“And risk flying back to make this Christmas even more miserable than it already is? I don’t think so Adrien.”

She bopped his nose as she skirted past him to drop a plate of pastries off at the nearest table. Hopping off the counter, Adrien slipped a croissant into his mouth, ignoring the side glances from the other workers.

“C’mon Mari, you’ve been working in the bakery for a week now, I’m sure these nice people can handle it without your guidance.”

Marinette picked up the closest rag, wiping down the counter as she hummed away, ignoring Adrien’s pleas.

“Josephine, Sydney, help a guy out.”

Both girls shook their heads as they continued filling orders for the stream of customers rushing the store.

“Marinette,” Adrien reached out, grabbing both of her hands from the rag, forcing her to look at him. “As your roommate and best friend, please listen to me when I say, you need to go back home.”

“I am home Adrien, but if you wish to leave so bad, why don’t you?”

He knew she was just trying to be stubborn, but one look at her glassy eyes and dark circles and he found himself caving.

“Fine, keep working for now. We’ll talk later.”

She didn’t respond as she pulled her hands back, returning to the chaos of the bakery. With a sigh, Adrien shoved his hands deep into his pockets, exiting the building. Two sets of expecting eyes targeted him before the door had even completely shut.

“Well Adrikins, anything?”

He shook his head, his head falling in defeat.

“That’s it, if I have to drag her kicking and screaming I will. I cannot allow her to wallow here anymore.”

Chloe began toward the door, but was stopped by a firm grip on her shoulder.

“Let me try after her shift Chloe, the last thing we want is to upset her further.”

Chloe huffed as she shrugged Damian’s hand off, nodding in agreement. The three took one last look at her floating through the bakery windows before they set off, determined to finally bring her home. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette was just finishing wiping down the last table when she heard the light bells from the entrance. Two arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close into a solid chest.

“Let me guess, it’s your turn to try and convince me to fly back tonight.”

“How did you guess?”

She shook her head as she turned into his hug, her head resting right where she could hear his heartbeat tearing through his shirt.

“Chloe came down this morning at 4 am when I was starting the morning rounds, Adrien came midday during the rush, and now here you are right as I’m closing up for the night.”

“You know they're just concerned for you. You’re torturing yourself staying in Paris, pining over the what-ifs.”

She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of his cologne as it burned her through her nose.

“Maybe I deserve it, maybe they’re not torturing themselves enough, I mean, we’re all partially responsible and they don’t even seem to be in grief anymore. They’re over their deaths too soon and I’m worried if I leave, I will be too.”

Damian pulled back, one hand reaching up to push back a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Marinette, Chloe can’t stand near the bakery for more than five minutes before breaking down because she considers it the place she feels the most connected to your parents. Adrien can’t even look at Hôtel de Ville because that’s where he came out and your parents were the only one’s there to stand behind him. They’re still grieving and being in Paris is hurting them more than helping them.”

“Then leave. As much as I don’t want them to, tell them to go. If it’s that painful for them.”

Damian tried to bite his tongue as he counted backwards from ten. He really didn’t want to yell at her, but he could finally see how impossible she was being. He really had thought that the blondes were just exaggerating, but standing here now, he was beginning to rethink shutting down Chloe’s idea so soon.

“Marinette, you can still grieve if you leave Paris, you won’t forget them, I promise. Besides, tomorrow is Christmas, don’t you all have a tradition that takes place in Metropolis?”

“They can do it without me. I’m not leaving my parent’s alone on Christmas, I refuse to.”

“But-”

“No,” her tone dropped ten degrees as her eyes hardened. “There are no buts in this situation. They’re my parents and I refuse to leave them until after Christmas has ended. I’ll go back a week before semester starts with or without you.”

It was silent for a brief moment as he weighed his options, debating if this was the battle he wanted to fight.

“Fine, I won’t argue with you. But exactly a week before semester starts, I’m booking a flight for all of us, including you,”

Her smile was grim, but her slight nod was the only thing he needed for the time. Releasing her from his hug, he shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing a grin to his face.

“So what else needs to be done around here so that I can enjoy Christmas Eve with my soulmate?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she walked the frozen streets early Christmas morning. Her thermos bumped against her leg as she trudged forward, the warmth giving her the extra push she needed.

As she turned the corner, the first gravestone came into sight. She took a deep breath before cutting across the grass, her eyes glued to the ground the whole time. Her feet knew the way, she had been everyday the past week.

A dark gray patch caught her attention as she slowly raised her eyes to meet three other sets. Her heart felt as though a dagger had been pushed completely through it, melting all the ice that had built up the past few days.

“You guys, what is this?”

She felt the tears well up as they confirmed what she had already guessed.

“We couldn’t do Friendsmas without you, so we brought it to you,” Adrien smiled brightly as he waved over the blanket filled with all their favorite snacks and games, a small pile of presents sat neatly on the edge between her parent’s gravestones.

“But I didn’t get you guys anything I-”

She choked on her words as Chloe slammed into her, swallowing the girl in a hug.

“The best gift is you being here with us today.”

Marinette met Damian's eyes, his smile sending her heart into a frenzy.

Chloe pulled back, wiping her eyes in the process, careful not to smudge her mascara in the process.

“Anyways, let’s get to it you guys. I love you all, but I’m not standing in this cold all day.”

Marinette settled into the blanket, leaning into Damian’s side as Chloe began to pop open containers across the ground.

“Thank you for this,” her voice was low as she pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

“I have the slightest idea what you mean, this was a group effort.”

She smiled as he leaned forward to grab a plate for her, her eyes watching his every movement. As he sat back, his eyes narrowed at her stare.

“Are you staring at me Miss Dupen-Chang? Is there something I can help you with?”

She shook her head giving him a light shove as she accepted the plate from his hand.

“It’s nothing at all, just glad I get to spend this day with you, all of you.”

She flashed a grateful smile to her roommates, the tears still sitting in her eyeline. But these tears were no longer sad, no, she finally knew what she could do. Paris was too painful to give her the healing she truly needed, but maybe, just maybe Metropolis wasn’t.

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul-blog @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @tis-i-beanbandit @rebecarojas07 @abrx2002 @ash-amg @loveswifi @heaven428 @dreamykitty25 @marinettepotterandplagg @smolplantmum @clumsy-owl-4178 @books-and-left-behind-journals @joejoejodee @iloontjeboontje @maybemanymuffins @zalladane @mysupporthyperfixations @tomandjerrydatingsim @naimena @redeemingmygloryintopurgatory @thornalchemist23 @goddessofthewestwind @thehufflepuffranger-blog @aestheticnpoetic @more-or-less-human-i-guess @parish-vita @kitsunebell @catthhay @kking13 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @sapphirewilliams5095 @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe @jabalem @k-poplunardreams @lordsmeldingtonthethird @purplesundaze

#daminette #maribat #roommates

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kathyprior4200 · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Wacky Wally Wackford’s World!

Greetings, I say, greetings demons of all ages! The name’s Wally Wackford, an oh so suave man of business! You may not know me, but surely you’ve seen me…pretty much everywhere. Yes, I’ve never been the type to stay in one place for long. Life can be pretty wild at times. But that’s what makes it oh so fun!

So what’s my story, you say, you say? Well look no further, ‘cause I have a tale to tell.

I’ve been doing freelance work off and on, laboring at one job, moving onto the next. The jobs vary a lot, but I’m a Wally of many trades. (Yes, I’ve been fired many times as well, figuratively and literally…it is Hell after all.) Early on, I found out that living in poverty is never a lot of fun. I quickly learned how to scam other people…and boy did I enjoy it! It was the only way I could inch toward the top, get some power of my own. I’d make a few deals here and there and then when clients got desperate, I’d say something like, “Oh I’m so sorry but there’s an extra fee you have to pay. Forgot to mention that.” Then I’d point to that small scribbled section on the contract I added in moments ago.

“I’m starving, sir!” they’d say. Or, “I left my money at home,” or my favorite: “Shove it up your trickster rear!”

Sometimes they did pay me extra. Other times they didn’t…and those were the ones who soon forgot about everything forever. (chuckles).

Anyway, moving on.

Sometimes when my days got long and hard, I’d go to saloons for a nice bottled drink. The emerald colored Greed Mead is my favorite. Twirling my thin black mustache, I’d wink at some pretty imp gals nearby and say, “Hey there. You’ve been in Hell for a long time. Is that why you’re so hot?”

Most of the time, I’d get a swift punch to the face in response. The glares on their pretty faces, “Take that remark to the Sloth Ring, lazy bootleg fucker.”

So many aggressive people these days. I could tip my black hat to many imps and they’d either fall to my charms or roll their eyes. I was fine with that. There’s not much else to do in Hell then to live your life and amuse yourself with watching others struggle. In fact, pretty much every sin is encouraged, so why not keep going?

After stalking around looking for more people to scam, I came across Loo-Loo Land in the Ring of Greed. I’ve always loved that place, its vibrant atmosphere emitting joyful fun and chaotic flair. I walked on over and asked the vendor, “I say, you have any jobs here?”

“I’ve heard of you, Wacky Wally,” he said at the ticket stand. “You may be a good pick-pocket, but your skills are nothing compared to Mammon. In fact, this whole place is a fucking rip-off of Lucifer’s Lu-Lu Land!”

“All the more reason to love this place!” I exclaimed.

“Robo Fizz is putting on another show at 7pm tomorrow,” said the beefy imp vendor. “Made in Mammon’s factory and modeled after the famous imp Fizzarolli.” He then spoke in a low whisper, “It includes some behind the scenes moments for the VIPs…you know, with tentacles and ‘special features.’”

“Oh that sounds delicious!” I said with a slow grin. “It’d be great to see how his…mechanics work someday…”

The imp vendor rolled his eyes and flinched at my lighthearted comment. Always know what to say to get that grimace reaction.

“Anyway,” said the vendor, “We’re running low on staff, so you can go sell those torches over there.”

The imp pointed to a pink cart with Mammon’s jester face on it. I shrugged and got to work.

I happily rolled my cart around, selling torches wherever I went. I could honestly stare into those mesmerizing green flames all day.

“Torches here!” I drawled in my Foghorn Leghorn southern accent. “66% off when you buy four! Parties, decoration, destruction and more!”

One time on my break, I got to talk to Robo Fizz about money, shows, sex and chaos. We even cracked some jokes together. The robot seemed a little nervous in my presence but then again, he was very unpredictable on a daily basis.

“A duck, a frog, a demon and a skunk go into a bar. The bartender told them that the drinks were one dollar each. How did they pay for them? Answer: The duck had a bill, the frog had a greenback, the demon had a soul…but the skunk only had a scent!”

“Hahahaha!” Robo Fizz laughed, sparks flying near him. “Your jokes are much better than Blitzo’s corny puns!”

“Why thank you,” I replied. “But nothing beats your organ-playing animatronics in your ‘Wonderful World of Evil’ puppet show you did last month.”

Robo Fizz grinned at the compliment. “You do anything else besides selling torches?”

“I scam, I kill, I do a little bit of both. Oh and I’m also a great inventor!”

“How marvelous!” Robo Fizz grinned. “Perhaps if you have enough mayhem in you, you could perform with me at the next Fizzarolli N Friends show!”

“I say, I’d love that! I’m sure your show will be top notch, copyright be dammed…won’t it?”

Robo Fizz smiled widely, hiding a strain. “You bet it will!”

It was during one interesting day when I pushed my cart by a large tent where several Robo Fizz posters were posted. I held up a troch with a hand and called:

“Torches, I say! I say! Get your inconvenient torches here!”

Then before I knew it, the robot and a random imp crashed right into the cart.

“Ow, I say OW!” I cried as the green flames quickly spread around. After getting the flames off me, I ran for the hills out of the burning park. I sat, dejected shortly afterward. So much for that job. Along with figuring out what to do next, I also happened to watch the imp fight off Robo Fizz…and the robot falling into the dragon’s mouth.

How unfortunate.

After helping Robo Fizz from the dragon’s insides, (killing said dragon, pulling out said robot, cleaning and making quick repairs), I inched closer to him and said, “You made some new friends, I say.”

Robo Fizz stood tense with just long wires for his body, a metal skeleton of his previous appearance. “Yes…an old time co-worker of mine. A clown of an imp named Blitzo. He and his sisters were once part of a circus act called “The Amazing Imp Siblings. A bit dowdy if you ask me. ”

Robo Fizz looked around. “Hahahaha! That was some chaotic fun. But now the park is ruined!”

“I say, if I were you,” I told him, “I’d do all I could to get this park repaired and back on track. Costs a whole lotta money. The last thing you need is to have your boss disappointed in you.”

A brief look of fear came on his face. “Oh yes, yes, good idea, Wally.”

“And your friend…whether you upstage him or what, you’d best be sure Blitzo stays out of trouble. I lost my job and almost my life because of that fight!” My yellow eyes shined in a show of sadness.

“I-I will not let master Mammon down…not that I have a choice.”

“Let Asmodeus know what’s up as well.”

Robo Fizz nodded, spun away and laughed. “Time to find that rodeo clown imp!”

0 0 0

Later on after leaving Greed, I got a brilliant idea. It was after I saw some old fashioned 1800s snake man in Pride plow down buildings with a metal bulldozer vehicle. That was it! I could start my own business!

I walked over to 666 News station. “Oh Katie,” I said in my sweetest voice.

“What is it, scum?” she asked, sitting at a mirror and doing her hair. “Can’t you see I’m preparing for a back to back broadcast right now?”

“I was considering doing my very own commercial about me exploiting…erm, employing other demons for my new factory.”

Katie barked out a laugh. “Good luck with that, filthy old man! Now get out of my studio.”

“Very well,” I said. As quiet as a hell mouse, I snatched a camera with an eye at the center and made my way out the door. The rest of the materials I needed came from a nearby junkyard. (Thankfully I avoided the wrath of some hungry kangaroo parasitic queen demon). I was running out of money fast; with no job around the corner, I figured I’d start my own!

Even I don’t really know where I got my inventing skills from. Many say it was my natural trait. Others say I learned from other experts in the trade. After all, one of the quickset ways to a man’s wallet is through the latest technology.

But I, Wally Wackford would not settle for your standard modern devices. No. I preferred to make things…well, wacky.

In no time at all, I had built myself my own mini studio where I could film my commercial! Now, what to call my company? Hmm…

The Onceler One In a Lifetime Opportunity? No, not enough Ws.

Wowing Whimsical Wonderous Wonders? Nah, too many Ws.

Ah…of course! What is a company if you don’t have your name on it?

0 0 0

“Uh huh, keep going, keep going, keep going!” Blitzo insisted at the I.M.P. office.

Moxxie switched the channel again. This time, an imp appeared wearing a large black top hat, a white shirt and pants, gray vest, black bow tie and black boots. He held a cane in his hands and he also had a thin curly mustache. A mischievous grin of sharp teeth appeared on his face.

“I say, I say!” the imp exclaimed, briefly pointing his cane at the camera. “Are you looking to get work making crazy contraptions and goofy gadgets?” “Crazy Contraptions” and “Goofy Gadgets” appeared in bold spiked icons to the imp’s left and right. The imp twirled his cane.

“Well call me at Wacky Wally Wackford’s Wacky Idea ‘Factory!’”

He pulled down another screen. The title appeared in bold red, gray and white letters surrounded by pinkish circles reminiscent of classic cartoons. “Factory” appeared in quotations. Wally Wackford appeared again.

“Where you make the things and I make the money!”

Wally Wackford then got up closer to the camera with a pleading look. “Please, I’m very desperate!”

“Bingo!” Blitzo called, shooting and exploding the TV again.

0 0 0

It was actually really easy to find where Blitzo was and the new sinner inventors. The killing company of imps had me very curious. If they could start a business, why shouldn’t I? And being in the company of amazing inventors…

I could almost see the soul dollar bills floating into my hands.

I snuck up to the building, merged into the floor, eavesdropped on their fascinating conversation…

0 0 0

Crash!

A metal plank crashed into the room from above as Moxxie scurried out of the way. Loopty Goopty strolled down the plank. “Blitz!”

“Loofa!” Blitzo called, saying his name wrong. “We can explain everything. I was…”

Crash!

Millie pulled Moxxie out of the way before another metal plank landed in the spot where he would’ve been. From on the floor, Blitzo’s butt was very much in view. Blitzo glanced down at him and remarked, “Oh chill out Moxxie, if you kiss my ass any harder you’ll go right inside me.”

Moxxie turned beet red in the face and scooted further back. Millie helped him up again.

“Thanks for saving me again,” Moxxie said. “I would’ve foamed at the mouth and maybe died again.”

“Why would you think I would ever ignore you?”

Moxxie shrugged.

Just then, the demonic form of a man rolled down the plank. His body was black and spherical, with a mint green head wearing a black bowler hat on top. He had a large bushy light gray mustache and pince-nez goggles with dark red spirals on the lens like Loopty. His grinning teeth resembled piano keys.

“Lyle Lipton?!” Millie, Moxxie, and Blitzo asked in unison.

“I don’t understand,” said Millie. “We thought you went to Heaven.”

Lyle Lipton chuckled. “Heaven?” He rolled toward Loopty Goopty. “You don’t make millions in technological advances in robotics by not experimenting on the poor!” He laughed.

Loopy Goopty grinned as he unleashed his weapons in front of Lyle Lipton. “Finally! We meet again at last! Now that you’re dead, you have no money to keep from me!”

“Well, I’m a better inventor than you!” Lyle scoffed. “And I’ll make the most money here first!”

“Nonsense you no good son of a bitch!”

“Tie yourself in a knot, loony Loopty!”

“Roll in your grave, fat shit inventor!”

“Two robotic inventors?!” called a nearby voice. A steampunk blimp hovered in the air and a well-dressed snake demon appeared from a hole in his ship.

“Who is that guy?” Lyle Lipton asked.

“I’m the one and only Sir Pentious!” he declared. Several Egg Bois were steering his ship. The eye on his dark top hat peered at the other sinners in curiosity. “With my dominating machines, I aim to take over all of Pentagram City!” Then he muttered, “The repairs were a fucking nightmare to endure.” He glanced at the leftover cracks and holes on the metal sides of his ship.

“Oooh!” Loopty exclaimed in admiration. “I’ve only seen such inventions in old time history books. How long have you been here?”

“Since eighteen eighty eight!”

“Love the loopy numbers!” Loopty grinned, making three small eights with his contraptions. “I’m Loopty Goopty! Lyle is my could’ve been partner in crime but actually rival!”

“When you’re rich as me, who needs a dead partner!” Lyle exclaimed.

“You’re dead too, you know!”

“Where did you cowardly sinners get here?” Sir Pentious asked.

“Well we just got here,” Lyle called. “Experimenting on the poor made us millionaires! Just…be careful when messing with anti-aging machines. Made us both old.”

“A machine that changes one’s age?” Sir Pentious pondered. “That could prove to be ussseful in the future,” he hissed.

“Oh, you should join us, snake man!” Loopy suggested. “Or me, rather.”

Sir Pentious briefly glared. “Hmm. While I’m perfectly capable of spreading my constrictive terror on my own…I suppose having some…lackey sidekicks would suffice.”

“Don’t call us lackeys!” Lyle sneered. “And I’m not working with him!”

“Maybe if we briefly collaborate as a team…”

Lyle grumbled in annoyance.

After a moment, Sir Pentious sighed. “Okay, you may join me, but…”

He spread out his hood, revealing pink eyes. “Don’t even think about crossssing me.” He pulled his hood back. “Now go gather your contraptions and help me manage those scrambled fucking eggs!”

A bunch of eggs in top hats and suits rolled out and jumped on the two inventors, who were stunned.

Loopty then laughed evilly. “Inventors to inventors it is!”

Just then, I popped out of the ground in the room.

“Did someone say, I say inventors?! Name’s Wally Wackford, and I am lookin’ for creative new people to exploit! I mean employ.” I twirled my mustache with an evil grin.

At last, a chance to expand my business of the mass production of robotic Fizzarollis! All of Hell will go crazy when they get a chance to buy all the sex robots, the merchandise, everything...and all to profit ME!

“Everyone, stop fucking up my walls!” Blitzo yelled. “Moxxie’s gonna have to fix all this shit! Satan’s balls! First we deal with Heaven’s table-scraps, now this?”

I smiled. “Well I guess you can say, you say, you have a holey operation here, Blitzo!”

I slapped my knee and laughed at my own joke.

“Get out,” Blitzo muttered.

Soon I doubled down on the floor laughing. “Oh! I said, ‘o’!”

Blitzo yelled, “No, I’m serious, get the fuck out!”

Everyone in the room looked at Blitzo in shock and surprise.

0 0 0

And then, that one other time where I helped host the Harvest Moon Festival Pain Games!

Wally Wackford a.k.a. me…stood on the wooden stage, holding a gray microphone decorated with an eye in the center and small horns on the top. I wore my usual white shirt, vest, white pants and dark boots. I twirled my black cane and tipped my black top hat.

I spoke dramatically through the microphone.

“Welcome, I say welcome all to Wrath Ring’s annual Harvest Moon Festival! To kick things up, we have the great prince Stolas-a here to user in this here Pain Games!”

Stolas took the microphone from me and chuckled in slight embarrassment.

“How kind, Wackford.”

Stolas then addressed the audience. “Greetings tiny Wrath Ring imps. I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell!”

A crowd of imps glared at him and several boos were heard. Many of these Wrath imps were impoverished farmers who lived on scraps, meat or good crops if they were lucky. The food they worked so hard to produce was consumed by royalty and those in the other Rings. But the reward for their work was being underfed, underpaid and underappreciated instead. The unbalanced cycle had lasted for generations.

I, too, stared at Stolas with a glare in my eyes. That rich royal thinks he can parade around, doing whatever he wants. Well unfortunately for him, I have plans of my own. Once he sees what I’m capable of…

He will know who really rules the roost.

Stolas obliviously continued. “I’m happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest imps to show their skill and dominance.” He did a little wave with his fingers. “Good luck to you all!” He noticed Blitzo in the crowd beside Moxxie and Striker and spoke lower. “Especially that sexy little one there! Yoo-hoo, Blitzy!”

“Oh fuck me,” Blitzo scowled.

A gun went off and the games began.

The first event was the race. Moxxie was instantly trampled by the other racers.

The second event was the high jump. Striker climbed over the high wooden ramp structure with ease and raced after Blitzo who jumped past him. Moxxie struggled to keep his balanced as he reached the top. He slipped down, trying to use his claws to hold on. He fell with a splash in a small puddle…and was promptly chewed on by a monstrous black and white shark with several red eyes.

The third event was an event with rope. Striker grinned as he held a tied up Blitzo. Blitzo’s arms, legs and horns were all tied up. Moxxie gulped as a stronger grinning imp tied him up with ease.

The fourth event was tug of war. The crowd cheered as the two teams pulled hard. Striker, Blitzo and Moxxie were on a team. Moxxie stumbled and fell into nearby water, where the shark attacked him again.

The fifth event was mud wrestling. Blitzo and Striker grinned as they wrestled each other, Striker getting the upper hand as he held Blitzo down, arms locked. Moxxie was instantly crushed in a football hurdle by a group of imps. As they got off of him, Moxxie sat up. And the shark leaped out of the water and over the fence.

“Mother fucker!” Moxxie screamed as the shark crushed him. (Moxxie somehow survived all this.)

I hopped back on stage.

“I say, I say for the first year ever, we have a tie, for the winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!”

Stolas took the microphone from me again.

“The winners are…Striker, and my darling Blitzy!” Stolas did a one-legged pose as the crowd cheered.

“Just say my name right!” Blitzo complained. He muttered “Fucking dick,” as he and Striker walked onto the stage.

0 0 0

After the event, I noticed that I.M.P. and Stolas had left. After sharing an undiscernible look with Striker, we parted ways.

I soon returned to a special place in Greed, tired but determined. I walked alone down dark hallways, torches burning green flames on either side. I wagged my pointed red tail.

I pushed open the double doors and came across a marvelous sight.

Gold. Heaps of it, just shining brightly all around the vast spacious chamber. Gold pillars held up the cavern-like ceiling, a chandelier made of bones and diamonds hung from above. There were chests of necklaces, precious gems, goblets and weapons of every shape and size. Hanging on a far wall, concealed in shadow were angelic weapons…at least half a dozen.

I stared around in amazement. Even Lucifer would be surprised if he could see this place.

I raced around and tossed the gold coins into the air. In a craze, I rolled around in a nearby pile of green dollar souls. With a grin, I stood up and stared with pride at the grinning face of the jester printed on there.

A face confident in his ability to deceive others, pursue wealth and bask in endless entertainment.

The grinning face was all too familiar…

…because it was my face.

Wally Wackford leaned his head back, mouth open in a high pitched shriek as dark magic flickered around him. The imp form fell and morphed into shadow. In the imp’s place, a large black beast with thick fur, razor sharp claws and red eyes decorating the body. The figure stood up on two powerful furry legs and sat comfortably in a giant golden throne that occupied the center of the chamber. Angular jester clothing of red, gold and purple stripes adorned the wolf body. And finally, a large spiked black crown sat atop the dark loopy jester hat with bells at the ends. A white and gold jester face showed sharp white teeth and glowing yellow eyes. Dark clawed hands juggled fresh demon skulls into the air and popped them into his large mouth. He crunched loudly before swallowing every bit.

My imp disguise was perfect. Literally no one else save for Robo Fizz and a few elites knew who was underneath. And even then, my magic was so powerful it could easily confuse anyone around me.

Being an imp has its advantages; you can travel anywhere and gather information along the way. You can track imps from a killing company and find out where they’ll likely travel to next. You can affiliate yourself with your own robotic creations, some slave imps and succubi…and then in your own form, work with a fellow Deadly Sin on the next stage.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Funny, really. Wally Wackford could easily be a separate being, born into poverty, learning to scam others at an early age and go up from there. I, however, didn’t need to learn anything…deceiving others and attracting material wealth was a natural talent. As was shapeshifting.

Lucifer might not be happy with me coping his idea of a theme park…but business is business…and in Hell, anything goes.

That incompetent prince Stolas would be dead soon enough. No more Goetia showoffs to get in the way of my rule and reputation. At least the prince’s wife was rightfully concerned with maintaining tradition that has existed for centuries. Aside from my dear friend Lucifer, I was, and should be, the most powerful being in Hell. I’ll keep exploiting those I choose because money is money.

Those I.M.P. assassins have no idea who they were dealing with.

I let out a crazed evil laugh, intermingled with a wolf’s howl. With a single touch of my hand, my nearby scepter turned into gold. I admired its shiny flawless sheen. Asmodeus, Leviathan, Lucifer, Satan, Belphegor, Beelzebub and myself…the Seven Deadly Sins…circus-loving rulers of the Overlords and in charge of maintaining chaotic order in our respective Rings.

I, Mammon, had much to do.

#wally wackford #helluvaboss #helluva boss theory #mammon

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edie-k · 3 years

Text

Legally Ginger - Prologue (PG-13, Romione)

Now, for something totally different...

Title: Legally Ginger

Chapter 1/9

Rating: PG-13 (I use fuck more than the MPAA allows for PG-13 but that's a stupid rule - there's no explicit content)

Pairing: Romione endgame

Summary: When Ron Weasley's college girlfriend declines his proposal because he doesn't meet her standard for future husband, he decides comes up with a plan to let her see him in a new light.

Notes: This is an AU Muggle reimagination of Legally Blonde. It's very different than anything I have ever written - and my first chapter story. I intend to update each Monday.

Thank you to adnei for all of her beta feedback!

While I really enjoy Legally Blonde, it has some things that need a bit of updating or calling out in the year 2021. This fic will attempt to do those things but not lose the fun and fluffiness of the concept.

Also... I love the pop culture/time capsule references of the movie so plan to see that same vibe in this fic. If any of them are unclear to you, let me know in the comments because I love to talk pop culture!

Finally, lots of our favorites are scheduled to appear throughout the story - I eagerly anticipate all guesses as to who will be who!

Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter or Legally Blonde or any of their characters are owned by me and are not being used for profit.

Link to AO3 or click below to read more.

“Hey Tim!” Ron Weasley shouted, raising his hand to greet the guy behind the coffee cart but not breaking his stride.

“Hey Ron! Thanks for that recommendation. She loved it!”

Ron grinned and kept on running his recreational route that wove through the Los Angeles campus of California University. Even though his cross country career had come to an end with the conclusion of his senior season this fall, he didn’t intend to let his personal records slip. In fact, he was almost working harder. If everything went according to plan tonight, he planned to be competing in the iconic Boston Marathon next April.

“Ron! We still on to study tomorrow?” shouted his chem lab partner Kelsey as he strode past her.

“Yep! We’re going to rock that test out!”

“Hi Ron!” he heard a few female voices chorus together as he passed the Zeta Beta house. Several girls were doing yoga out on the front lawn.

“Great form ladies!” he yelled back, grinning as he heard the giggles.

He grabbed his shirt to wipe his forehead and glanced at his watch. 4:30. He was approaching the house and he had time to do some cool down stretches, shower, check that they had enough brothers to cover the Animal Aid fundraiser tomorrow, send his Econ professor his problem set, and dress for dinner before he had to leave for the Delta Nu house.

He slowed to a jog as his feet hit the driveway. He took the porch steps two at a time before entering the house. Immediately, he was greeted by a snort.

“Pig! Good boy,” he greeted, scratching the pug behind his ears.

“Come on boy,” he said, starting up the house stairs to his room, Pig following dutifully behind. As president, he lucked out with his own room with an en-suite bathroom but as was typical for his life, it wasn’t empty.

“Hey brother brother!” two voices said.

Ron rolled his eyes at the twins. “That joke will never be funny.” Fred and George grinned, one sprawled on his bed and one in his desk chair.

“We just have this last semester to even make the joke. Afterwards, it’ll be pathetic,” Fred said.

“That 40k is so close I can taste it,” said George.

His twin brothers were two years older than him, however, they’d dropped out after their sophomore year to open a retail shop selling joke and novelty items. They quickly realized they were more interested in conducting their own research and development; manufacturing their own products to distribute and sell. It was certainly more profitable. In order to get the seed money, they returned to college after two years. Their schooling, like Ron’s, was financed by his Aunt Muriel and upon receiving their bachelors degree, Muriel also handed over a $20,000 cash gift. The crotchety old broad put a lot of value on their schooling.

“And little Ronniekins is going to spend his on a girl,” Fred teased. It was then that he noticed Fred was fiddling with the small gray ring box that had previously been hidden in Ron’s sock drawer. He moved to snatch it back but Fred tossed it across the room to George.

Ron frowned. “First, I’m not spending it all on a girl. Part of it will be for the wedding and the rest I’ll save for a down payment on a house. Maybe not in Boston because we may not stay there after she finishes law school.”

“Oh yes, Bah-stan,” George mocked in a truly terrible accent.

“Yes. She’s sure that it’ll happen. She’s a legacy or something like that. I hope so because I think Boston Beer Company is going to make me an offer.”

“Free Sam Adams? I’ll take it,” Fred nodded.

“Secondly,” said Ron. “She’s not just a girl.”

The twins groaned. “Ugh, Ronnie, there’s no free beer yet. I can’t listen to this sober.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“I have to ask,” started George. “Are you sure about this? You’re so young and it hasn’t been that long. You could still go to Boston with her without getting engaged.”

While it was annoying to get another “you’re too young” speech, it wasn’t often that his brothers asked him a serious question. “I’m sure. She’s the one.”

“Well then,” said George, flipping the box to him. “Go get her.”

A few hours later, he was shifting nervously in his seat at their table at Chaudron Qui Fuitfont, playing with the same gray ring box in his pocket. The dinner course had been cleared and they were now waiting for dessert to arrive as well as the bottle of champagne he’d surreptitiously requested.

“Astoria, have I told you that you look absolutely breathtaking tonight?”

“Just three or four times,” she laughed.

“Well, I might tell you a few more,” Ron said.

“It’s not everyday that you put so much effort into a date. I had to deliver on my side as well,” Astoria replied.

“It’s appreciated,” Ron smiled. “I-I appreciate everything about you. How gorgeous you are, how driven… the past 18 months with you has really made me sit down and focus on what I want for my future, you know?”

“That’s great, Ron,” Astoria said, reaching across the table to give his hand a squeeze. She glanced around him. “I want another glass of Merlot.”

“Yeah. You know I’m in the final stages for jobs at three companies,” he said.

“Mmm,” she said distractedly.

“Including Boston Beer Company,” he added.

“That’s a reputable company. Although make sure the job isn’t on the Truly brand. They’ll never get the market from White Claw. Mark my words, they’ll fizzle in two years.”

“Astoria, I see my future with you.”

She looked up at him sharply. “What?”

“Yes. I love you. I’m ready to start the next stage of our relationship. Astoria - ” Ron stood up, pulling the ring box out.

“No.”

“Will you marry me?” Ron asked, kneeling next to her.

“No, now get up.”

Ron’s blood suddenly ran cold. “Wha-what?”

“I said, no, now sit down.” He numbly followed her direction.

“Ron,” Astoria sighed. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

“But… why?”

Astoria gave him a pitying look. “Look, we have had so much fun. You’re a great guy.”

“Great guy? You told me you loved me,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low to avoid more embarrassment.

“And I do. As a college boyfriend. You are a great college boyfriend. You’re president of the second best fraternity on campus so you get all the best party invites. You’re on the cross country team so I can tell everyone I’m dating a Division I athlete, but you aren’t in one of those sports where it like, takes up all your time. You had a cool internship, everybody on campus loves you because you volunteer and help and you’re nice to everyone, even the janitors. You’re sweet and you’ve got a great body and you… you know,” she dropped her voice now “always deliver on what’s promised. You’ve been the perfect person to spend the last few semesters with.”

“I… I don’t understand what the problem is. I sound great from what you’re saying,” Ron seethed, frustration clear in his tone.

“I need a man for the next part of my life. Not a frat boy, not even if he doesn’t exactly fit the stereotype. I’m going to Harvard Law School in the fall. Do you understand how big of a deal that is?”

“Yes! That’s why I am pursuing a job in Boston. To be with you.”

“At a beer company.”

“I’m not opening a bar with my buddies. It’s a research and development role at a major corporation!”

“You have a degree in food science,” Astoria replied, rolling her eyes.

“It’s not like we spend all our time eating. It’s a real field. I got an A in Organic Chemistry.”

“Org Chem with Murphy. The serious students take it with Professor Kettle.”

Ron just gaped at her.

“If I’m going to be a federal judge by the time I’m 40, I need to stop dicking around. And I’m sorry, you’re not a Marty Ginsberg.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not an Armie Hammer either. Feels like there’s some wiggle room between those two extremes.”

“You’re a great guy. And I’m sure you’ll be a great husband to a marketing specialist or a pharmaceutical sales rep. And maybe if I was going to go to Wayne State or Northwestern, things would be different. But this is Harvard Law. There are just… expectations that any potential spouse meet a certain intellectual bar. Or at least a social bar. I mean, my sister is engaged to a Kennedy!”

At that point, the waiter approached the table with their desserts. Astoria stood up. “I’m really sorry. I’ll just call an Uber.” She paused and kissed him on the cheek before exiting the dining room.

“Uh, should I wrap these to go?” asked the waiter as Ron watched Astoria leave.

#au romione #romione fanfic #romione #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #ron weasley #ron weasley defense squad #hermione granger #muggle au #hp fanfic #fanfic

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livelongdolan · 5 years

Text

Lemons (G.D.)

Summary: The boy down the street seems as sweet as sugar, helping his little brother with practicing sports, making a lemonade stand, etc. when it turns out he’s really as sour as lemonade.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut (in next part)

A/N: I was literally just drawing stuff for a storybook I have to make for econ when I thought of this and got right on it lmao.

Tags: @rockstardolan @dolanstwintuesday @aquadolan @dolandolll <3

The sun was out at full force, beating heat down on to the bodies of those outside of their houses and forcing the ones inside to blast the A/C, but the three boys down the street weren’t afraid of any heat. Your family had been friends with the Dolan Family since you were born, so you were very familiar with them always being outside which almost always included dragging you along with them.

Today, the boys were selling lemonade. Every year, Grayson, Ethan, and their little brother Charlie made fresh lemonade and sold it for 25 cents to make some money. And every year, you were dragged into helping. That’s why you were making your way down to their house now, they had run out of sugar and you were bringing them a fresh bag. You walked up to them and placed the sugar down on the small table, noticing Ethan wasn’t there with them but just figuring he was out getting something or hanging out with his girlfriend.

“Y/N! You’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much!” Grayson exclaimed, running around the table to hug you.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.” you laugh. “Are you guys gonna need any more help?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I think we need a pretty girl to help sell our product. Maybe you could dance around in that bikini of yours or something to attract all the guys over here.” Grayson winks and pokes your sides.

The two of you had always been flirty, teasing each other here and there but it was never anything serious at least from his side. Of course, as every story with a girl and a neighbor boy goes, you had liked him when you both turned 13 (puberty had hit him early) but you were sure he didn’t feel the same way. Why, you may ask? Well he was always talking about other girls, explaining all the things he did with them (although to be honest he was quite vanilla which wasn’t your favorite but it wasn’t a turn off), and was always pointing out how hot a girl was when you were out together. You always just laughed, listening to him like the best friend you were but inside there was a small seed of jealousy that grew and grew as he talked. Sometimes you would even have to step away for a minute, going to the bathroom or something just so you wouldn’t confess your feelings right then and there.

“Hahaha.” You dryly laughed. “I’m not gonna be your eye candy.”

“Y/N, we’re never going to sell any of this lemonade! We need something” Charlie sighs.

“Fine. I’ll help. But I’m keeping my clothes on.” You glare at Grayson and he holds up his hand in fake innocence before backing away and going inside the house, saying he’ll be right back.

“Ya know Charlie, your brother can be really annoying sometimes. I don’t know how you live with him.” You laugh, half joking.

“Oh shush, I know you like him. And not just as a friend, you like like him. I may be ten years old but even I can tell.” He says blatantly.

Your face goes red as you look at the boy. How did he know? Is it really that obvious? You had tried to keep it as much of a secret as you could, only telling your best friend.

“I do not.” You say sternly. “He’s my best friend I can’t like him.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t.” He says in a sing-song way.

“Oh shut up Charlie. Don’t say anything to Grayson, okay?” Your entire face has blushed red at this point.

“Don’t worry I’m not a snitch. Plus, like you said, he’s annoying so I don’t wanna tell him.” Charlie laughs.

Just then, Grayson walks back out from the house with paper and markers.

“What are you two laughing about? Making secret plans without me?” He laughs and ruffles Charlie’s hair.

“Yeah totally Gray, we’re gonna build a bigger better lemonade stand without you.” You smile.

“I knew it.” He says jokingly. You smile back at him before he starts talking again. “So, I brought markers and paper so we can make posters and hang them around the neighborhood.”

“Sounds good.” You look at Charlie. “Good?” He nods in reply.

The three of you work on posters until it’s almost dark, then ride around in Grayson’s Bronco and tape them up on random lamp posts and any other place they’ll stick. After, you ride back to his house.

“Okay, it’s actually dark now. I gotta head home before my parents kill me for leaving them all day.” You laugh.

“Wait, I’ll walk you. They won’t mind where you were if they know you were with me.” He smiles.

He tells Charlie that he’ll be back and begins his walk to your house, which is only down the street by about four houses. On the way there, the two of you talk about random things like how Charlie is so hopeful for enough money to buy this new remote control car that he’s been wanting. The two of you finally reach your door, where he knocks. Your mom answers the door, immediately smiling upon seeing Grayson with you.

“Aw, hi Grayson sweetie. How’s your mom doing?” Your mom smiles.

“She’s great Mrs. Y/L/N. Thank you for asking. I just came by to let you know that Y/N has been helping Charlie and me with the lemonade stand all day.” He gives a sweet smile that displayed the most innocence anyone could have ever seen.

“Oh, of course honey you don’t need to tell me anything. As long as she was with you I don’t care what you do.” She laughs.

Grayson elbows you in the side and winks. You walk in through the door that your mom has held open and say goodbye to Grayson.

“Well, Y/N, don’t just leave him like that. Why don’t you come in for something to drink Grayson. You look thirsty.” Your mom says more of a statement than a question.

“Oh no, it’s okay. I’m gonna head home, I promised Charlie I’d play with him tonight.” Grayson politely declines. “Bye Mrs. Y/L/N and bye Y/N see you tomorrow.”

Your mom closes the door as Grayson walks away.

“Well, isn’t he a nice boy. Why can’t you be as nice as he always is?” She asks.

“What do you mean?” Confusion laces your voice.

“Oh sweetie I’m just kidding. You and Grayson are both very nice young adults.” She presses a kiss against your forehead. “Now go to bed, it’s late.”

You obey her orders and go to your bedroom upstairs, closing the door and gently locking it behind you so that no one would hear the click of the lock. Your bed is perfectly made from this morning before you left to help Grayson and you grab your phone from your pocket, placing it on your nightstand before taking off your clothes to put on pajamas.

Suddenly, a tap was at the window and you grabbed your big shirt to press against your bare chest before opening the curtains. It was Grayson, so you opened the window.

“Grayson!? What are you doing here?” Your words exited your mouth in a sort of whisper scream as to not alert your parents.

“I was bored. Remember when I’d always do this? What were we? Like ten?” He laughs, crawling into the window that you had just opened. You turned around, the shirt still pressed against your chest.

“Ewww Y/N. Are you naked?” He jokes around like a child. You turn around and punch him in the arm. He pretends to die, dramatically falling to his knees before laying on the floor.

“Oh no, I killed him.” You say in a monotone voice.

“Maybe a kiss will bring him back to life.” Grayson fake coughs.

“Haha Grayson, very funny. Get up and turn around so I can put my clothes on.” You blush slightly at the idea of a kiss but know that he’s joking.

“Okay fine, you’re no fun.” He stands up and turns back towards the window as you put your shirt on. You walk to your bed and sit down, tapping Grayson to let him know you’re done. He sits down next to you and turns his head towards your ear.

“Hey, guess what?” He whispers.

“Hm?” The blush returns to your face.

“I’m pretty sure I saw your boob in the reflection of the window Mrs. No Bra.” He laughs as you punch him in the arm.

“Grayso-on” You drag out the ‘o’ in his name to show your disdain, hitting his arm over and over again. “You’re such a weirdo.”

He simply laughs and grabs your hand to stop you before pushing you down, pinning your hands above your head.

“Can’t hit me now, can ya?” He teases. You try to wriggle free but his grip holds tight.

“Gray.” You whine, dragging it out. After that he quickly moves off of you, a red hue on his face.

You sit back up and rub your wrists slightly, clenching your thighs together because the action had, embarrassingly enough, got you slightly turned on.

“Did I hurt you Y/N? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to.” He frantically apologizes, taking your wrists into his hands and rubbing them for you.

“No Grayson it’s fine. Just, go please.” Your eyes stay focused on the ground as you talk, not wanting to make eye contact in fear of seeing the disappointed look in his eyes.

“Yeah. Okay, sorry again.” He quietly slips out of the window and into the night, returning back to his own home.

You laid down in your bed, not bothering to put on any blankets since it was so hot, and thought about the night. He had to be joking about everything right? He didn’t understand what he was doing. Right?

You sighed.

Life with Grayson Dolan was tough and it wasn’t going to get any easier.

Unless you told him how you really feel.

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan fluff #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan fluff #dolan twins smut #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins angst #my writing #me #mine

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theawkwardterrier · 4 years

Text

The Shops on Shield Street

Steggy Week 2k20, day 4 Prompt: AUs and crossover

Summary: Running a small business is already hard enough without someone trying to sabotage things.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents for organizing!

The first time Peggy visits Steve’s shop is the day he opens.

Working just down the street, she’s spent the past few months watching the renovations at what had been most recently been a short-lived scented candle business. When the new signs and awnings had gone up naming it as Shield Street Books, she’d been further intrigued; she’s seen various stores come and go through the space, but a bookshop is new. Now, on her lunch break, she takes the opportunity to go visit.

She looks over the front windows first: the right-hand side is filled with buzzy new releases and bestsellers for adults, the left with books for younger readers. The windows themselves are painted with a colorful but subtle border of books on the right, while the left side features lovely illustrations of Wild Things marauding across the bottom, a mockingjay pin hidden along the side, a Little Prince floating among the stars at the top, and a web reading “Some Pig” in the corner. The chalk sign reads “Grand opening” on one side and “Ask us about our events!” on the other.

Peggy is cautiously optimistic as she steps in, a cheerful little bell jingling as she does. The space isn’t cavernous but it’s large enough, and the high ceilings, big front windows, light wood flooring and shelves, and friendly gray-green walls make it seem more open. The checkout is easily visible, a chalkboard wall above it featuring a listing of upcoming book club meetings, a coffee and cookies social series, and a reading by a local poet (Peggy supposes that you have to be a bit more established to start getting better-known names).

The front area has all the typical souvenirs everyone around here sells - magnets, mugs, pens, postcards - along with fancier or more specifically bookish things like scarves, tote bags, and book weights which seem to be attracting some good attention. A few people are looking at the cookbooks and coffee table books lining the walls and stacked on tables nearby, and she can see browsers in the labeled aisles spanning out into the main area of the store: mystery, biography and memoir, young adult, politics, each with an appropriate, particularly-styled illustration. A sign pointing downstairs advertises a used book area, as well as a gallery and event space. She breathes in the scent of fresh wood and words on paper, officially impressed.

She is examining a table just before the aisles which is covered with a display of staff favorites when a voice behind her says, “I love that one.”

Turning with the copy of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters still in hand, she encounters the man who until now she’s only seen at a distance, occasionally ducking in and out of the store while it was under construction. He’s tall and blond, with broad shoulders beneath his heather gray T-shirt, plain except for a small, oddly-rendered sketch of a pale turquoise bird in side profile and showing one large eye. She tries not to let on how distracted she is by the hint of a darkly-inked tattoo peeking out from the bottom of his sleeve; his blue eyes are watching her clearly from behind a pair of thick-framed glasses.

“I’m sorry?” she asks politely, trying not to let on that she’s slightly lost the thread of how things started.

“That’s a great book. I love it,” he offers, shrugging awkward shoulders although his smile is still lovely and genuine. “Although it’s not too surprising seeing as I’m most of the staff here, so the table’s pretty much stacked with books I love.”

“You must be the new owner then,” Peggy says, putting out a hand. “Congratulations. I’m Peggy Carter. I run Top Shelf Tea and Coffee up the street.”

“Steve Rogers, good to meet you." He shakes with her, then gestures to the book she’s still holding in her other hand. “Are you browsing for yourself, or just over here to check out the new neighbors?”

“I think I can do both quite handily,” she says, smiling back at him. “Though I don’t typically read graphic novels. Perhaps you can recommend something else?”

Nothing precisely shifts about his posture, but she suddenly has the sense that he’s more settled on his heels, focused even more intently on her. “What do you typically read?”

“Very little, of late,” she admits, making a bit of a face. “I used to read quite a bit of mystery - Gothic, classics, noir, Agatha Christie, Tana French, and my favorites were those where you get suspense and a good story but a good sentence too. But with everything on my plate, I’m lucky if I can get through a half chapter before I go to sleep.”

“Sure.” He crosses his arms, which does nice things for his muscles, as well as showing off an extra sneaking bit of his tattoo. Watching him think, she has the sudden feeling that she’s in very good hands. And, when he rings up a collection of P.D. James short stories and one originally published in Swedish called An Elderly Lady Is Up to No Good (“With your schedule, it might be easier to enjoy a little section over a night or two rather than trying to force yourself to make it through a hefty novel”) along with a copy of Dorothy B. Hughes’s In a Lonely Place that he’d tracked down in the used book section (“It’s not long, and it’s dark, smart, psychological noir”) it seems she’s right.

Peggy is not behind the counter when Steve shows up at her shop the next day, but she comes out from the back when she recognizes his voice ordering the house blend coffee.

“I had expected you to have more of an opinion than that,” she teases as she walks through from the kitchen with a tray of fresh scones to load into the display case and finds him waiting to pick up his drink. He’s come in past the commuter crush and before the lunch rush, but even with Peggy’s staff working quickly and efficiently as usual there’s enough of a wait to guarantee a moment to chat. “I certainly anticipated your drink of choice would be something with minimal fuss, but I would have guessed at something with a bit more imagination at least.”

He laughs. “I’m just trying to get the lay of the land here, and the house blend is how I know what kind of joint you’re running here.” Rose places a cup labeled “Steve!” on the counter, smiling at him before she twirls away again. He picks it up, takes in the steam rising through the lid, smiling as he does. “It smells good. But when you name your place ‘Top Shelf,’ you have some pretty high expectations to meet,” he warns, smile still flickering around his mouth.

“Don’t worry.” She leans over the counter toward him. “The expectations are exactly where I want them.”

His eyes widen after the first sip and he takes a second before he’s even swallowed. “You were right. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I know,” she says plainly. “And my true expertise is with the tea. Try the Irish blend next time you’re here, or a cinnamon rooibos latte if you’re feeling adventurous.”

His eyes smile over the top of the cup and he takes another sip. “I guess I’ll have to keep coming back with so much to try.”

“I suppose you will,” she says, trying to sound friendly but casual when she adds, “And I’ve finished two of the stories in the P.D. James, so I might have to come back for more recommendations soon.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he tells her. This time, even with the clamor of people waiting behind him or skirting huffily around to pick up drinks, he isn’t smiling, he’s grinning.

By the time Steve drops in one afternoon eight months later, he is a very familiar sight. Daniel wraps one of the enormous seasonal apple-cinnamon muffins as soon as he walks through the door then waits for him to order a drink - the staff knows that while Steve certainly has favorites on the drinks menu, he changes between them often enough to keep things interesting. (He always orders a muffin, though: apple-cinnamon in autumn, blueberry the rest of the year.)

Usually they don’t have time for lengthy chats during the day considering the crowds at Top Shelf and the customers and part-timers waiting for Steve to return over at Shield Street, but today when Peggy comes out to say a brief hello, she finds Steve sitting at one of the tables. The small tilt of his head as their eyes meet is enough for her to slide the proposal she’s reading about switching dairy providers into her pocket and walk over to sit with him. The little two-seater he’s picked is away from the large front windows, and she seats herself in the comfortable leather armchair across from him with a feeling of relative privacy.

“Is something wrong?” she asks. Steve’s doing well enough as far as she knows: Shield Street seems often to buzz with foot traffic and they’ve been promoting their online store, there is a solid slate of events and programs including the coffee and cookies socials for which he sources the refreshments from Top Shelf, there was a lovely recent write-up in the local paper, and he’s even been able to hire a full time employee other than himself. Still, she knows entirely too well that the life of a small business owner can be somewhat exacting and stressful. Small mistakes in ordering stock or taking on a bit too much can be enormously costly, and even when you’ve done everything correctly, factors outside your control can conspire against you without much of anything to serve as protection. Steve’s tense expression mirrors the way she sometimes felt in the first few years after she’d opened - and still does today, if she’s being honest.

He sips his tea slowly, and she can tell it’s not because he’s finally remembering her advice about allowing the flavors to settle.

“There was a guy in at the store this afternoon,” he says finally. “Stuck around a long time, looked in every corner, and then didn’t buy anything. But I overheard him on the phone when I was coming over here.” He looks up at her, eyes somewhere between hard and stricken. “Peggy, I think he’s from Hydra.”

The common wisdom is that the largest threat to small businesses are superstores and online giants, the franchises of the world which can spring up on every corner or be available at a moment’s notice, backed by large pools of money that leave them free to take risks and undercut other vendors, offering brand recognition to customers across large areas without being tied by communal or ethical bonds to any of the places they land.

Hydra, a business conglomerate few had actually heard of, took the pushback against big chains and used that for its own ends. Rather than focusing on any single industry, or even establishing Hydra brand all-in-one stores, their model was to sweep in to buy various local businesses and keep their original names, or to establish seemingly innocuous storefronts without any stated connection to Hydra. But while people thought they were shopping locally and supporting their own neighbors, helping to maintain healthy competition and a diversity of business, mass-produced goods would slowly replace the higher quality ones, workplace regulations would be flouted while employees were scared into silence by the power of the corporate owners, and money would flow out of communities and into Hydra’s distant and ever-deepening pockets. Steve and Peggy kept their finger on the pulse of the small business world, and they had read stories online, often later hastily retracted or swiftly vanished, stories of small towns and cities across the country where, within a few years, whole streets full of businesses that seemed to be independently-run and community-owned were actually just cheery facades under one corporate umbrella.

And now Hydra was here. Peggy thought about the shops between her business and Steve’s: the florist, the hardware store, the brewpub, the rare family-owned pharmacy, the ice cream parlor which is part of a beloved local chain, the independent movie theater, the places on other streets in their town which sold toys and art supplies and comics and shoes.

Behind her, the door opens. A squat, balding man enters, grandfatherly dapper with a suit, a bow tie, round glasses, all undercut by the coldness in his gaze. He looks around at what Peggy has built - the scattered tables and cozily diverse seating options from armchairs to stools to window seats, the carefully hung plants, the racks of magazines and stacks of available books which Steve has selected for her, the displays of art by students from the nearby universities, her talented staff, and of course her carefully curated menu - and writes something brief in a small notebook. He steps up to the counter to order.

“That’s him,” she says to Steve, barely a question. “That’s who you saw.” He nods, looking down into his mug, fingers tight around the solid pottery. Peggy remembers picking out these cups, sorting through dozens of listings until she found the exact ones she wanted: an entire range of colors, big enough for a good serving size and for wrapping hands around, but not awkward to sip at.

“If it is them,” she says, knuckles clenching beneath the table, “we won’t let them win.”

Steve looks up at her; the smile on his face is wan, not up to the usual brightness she looks forward to, but it’s the first one she’s seen at all from him today. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The man approaches Steve first, introducing himself as Arnim Zola. He’s done his homework, knows about the finances of the shop and about Steve’s personal finances as well, from the loans he’s taken out to the fact that his mother had barely anything to leave him when she died.

“You’re a smart businessman, Mr. Rogers, I have seen that quite well. Though you might have good growth now, who knows what tomorrow might bring? Selling now and taking the money which comes with the offer, that is the smart business decision.”

And Steve, for whom courtesy is not second nature but first, has trouble turning him down with a “no thank you,” rather than a “piss off.”

Zola seems to hear it anyway, but he overcomes the spasm of anger with a smile. “I will be happy to speak to you later, if anything happens to change your mind. As I said, there is quite a lot of unreliability in business ownership.”

A pipe bursts in the back of the store that night, even though they’d all been replaced as part of the renovation. A good chunk of inventory gets soaked. Peggy walks past the next morning to find Steve putting the less damaged material out on a rack to sell at a steep discount. He tells her what happened with barely concealed fury in his throat. They hadn’t heard about Hydra deliberately driving owners to sell, but neither of them is exactly surprised.

Peggy goes to work for the next few days with her head full of rage and incipient plans. When Zola comes to request a meeting and make his case later in the week, she turns him down so sweetly that it takes a minute for him to understand that it had even happened.

She’s never had Steve over to her little flat above Stewart’s Sandwich Spot, but after a few days of working across the empty tables of Top Shelf or cramming into Steve’s office after they’ve locked up for the night, she invites him to join her.

“I had concerns about pests and odors when I first came,” she says as they climb the narrow back stairs single-file, “but I’ll have lived here five years this January and haven’t had a problem with either. In fact, waking up to the scent of their fresh bread every day is quite the bonus.”

“Plus you can pick up dinner on your way in.” Steve’s voice behind her is teasing, though accurate, as he’s currently holding the bag with the food they’d bought three minutes ago: a Tipsy Texan for her and his Peter Paul Ruben along with several orders of the fries which Peggy promises are outstanding.

She’s right. The agreed-upon brief break for sandwiches spirals into experimentation as to which of the various dipping options is the best for the french fries, then into conversation about places they’ve traveled and the best foods they ate there. Peggy backpacked a bit after university, and still tries to take a bit of vacation when she can. Steve, she finds out for the first time, was in the army and was deployed several times.

“The guys I went over with, we all came home,” he says quietly. They’ve gotten into the wine at this point. “We all got these together.” He stretches down the collar of his shirt enough for her to see some very nice muscles as well as a tattoo: concentric red and white circles with a blue center marked by a star. The outermost circle reads “107th Regiment.”

“What is the one on your arm?” she asks before she can stop herself. He chuckles and lifts his sleeve where she can now see the words clearly inked in black around his bicep: “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit,” ended by an ellipses trailing from black to gray to white.

“My mom used to read Tolkien out loud at bedtime,” he explains. “And I still think about the way that one sentence opened up a whole world, a whole life, for me.”

She pours a touch more into her glass, shifting her feet up onto the sofa beside herself. “You’ve always loved reading, then?”

“Yeah. Back when I was growing up, if I wasn’t really sick, I was just getting through being sick or getting started being sick again. All that time in bed, I needed a lot to read; I was always going through the big stack of books next to my bed, or listening to some audiobook on my old Discman. When I was doing okay, I used to go talk to the librarians, and I was around so much that eventually I started volunteering there.”

He chews through one of the last remaining fries, cold now. “When I got discharged, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself. All I could think of was how good books made me feel, how important they were for me, how I could help put them in the hands of others. And then one day I was walking by, saw the For Sale sign on the space, noticed that the street sign said Shield, and just knew.” He shrugs. “There are small business loans aimed at vets, and my friend Bucky went into construction after we came back, helped me put the place together the way I wanted it.”

“And all that starting with one little hobbit,” she says with a smile. She pushes her hair back, feeling flushed and a bit young.

He leans against the back of the couch. “How about you? What made you decide to open Top Shelf?”

“Spite,” she answers promptly, making him laugh. “It’s entirely true. I wish I could tell you some sweet story about my grandmother bringing me to a tea shop every Saturday back when I was a girl, but I wouldn’t lie to you. The fact of it is that my mother accepted my coming to university in the States, but as I was finishing my degree, she became quite adamant about my doing graduate work to enter into law or finance. I had little interest in either, and didn’t want simply to put in the investment because she was forcing me.

“At the same time, I had a part-time job at a coffee shop where the owner was the worst sort of boss: constantly critical without any actual suggestions for improvement or true understanding of daily operations, unwilling to make necessary changes or updates, over- and under-scheduling the staff at a whim. Finally I told him that in one day I could have the place running better than he ever could, at which point he started fuming that doing his job was harder than I could imagine, and fired me. By that evening, when my mother called once more to have a ‘little chat about my future,’ I told her that I had started a business plan and would be opening a tea and coffee shop as soon as possible.”

“How did she take it?” His voice is softer. Somehow they’ve moved closer together on the sofa. With his arm draped along the back, his fingertips graze the gauzy sleeve of her blouse.

“She shouted at me, hung up, and refused to speak to me for several days, but that just gave me time to become more confident and knowledgeable by the time she called next.”

“And you succeeded.”

“I did.” She stops herself from leaning into him the way that she wants to. She might get a bright rush hearing his voice at the counter during the day, might drop by his shop for a new book even while she already has several still waiting at home, might relish this extra time to discover the thoughtful, generous, opinionated details of him of which she’s seen captivating hints over the past months, but they have a purpose here. She clears her throat, steadies herself. “I succeeded, and I mean to keep what I’ve made.”

It’s after midnight when Steve finally goes home. She tries to tell herself that it’s a shame that they didn’t really have a chance to work on their strategy, but when it means that they come back to her house the next night, and go to his the night after, she can’t be truly upset.

As a business owner and a town resident of over half a decade, Peggy has been to a council meeting or two in her time. But she prepares for tonight with special attention, leaving the shop early enough to take a longer than usual shower. She chooses a recently purchased top - navy with silver and pale blue detailing, a flattering silhouette, and a modest V-neck - and adds makeup with more than her usual care. She finishes with her usual scarlet lip and, taking in the finished product, nods firmly, picks up her bag, and goes to meet Steve.

He arrives at nearly the same time, and they take seats together in the center of the town hall meeting room.

“A good turnout,” Peggy says quietly, glancing around. “And look who’s here as well.”

Zola sits in the back of the room, quietly taking things in. She suspects that keeping abreast of town news is a part of his job. Hopefully he will be earning his salary tonight.

Most of the agenda is spent on the typical dull dealings: a proposal to change the language on parking citations is taken up and passed, followed by a bit of a tussle over the budget, then it’s on to a rousing discussion about recent changes to state alcohol legislation and the impact on local restaurants. At least the recognition ceremony for two teenagers who rescued a man drowning in the nearby lake is touching and breaks the monotony.

“And finally,” Chester Phillips, the head of the council, grumbles. He’s clearly very much past ready to adjourn. “We have an item put forward by Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers. An item very recently put forward,” he adds, shooting a glance at Peggy. The official deadline for getting onto the agenda is 24 hours in advance, but Peggy knows that the secretary, Miriam Fry, usually prints and posts things a bit early. While their proposal came in just under the deadline, the agenda had already been publicized; Peggy wanted as much of an element of surprise as she could muster to avoid sabotage.

“Good evening.” Peggy starts them off. “As many of you know, I own Top Shelf Tea and Coffee on Shield Street. I’ve been so pleased by the welcome the town has given to myself and my shop over the past several years, and I wanted to come forward tonight to raise awareness of something which has been recently affecting our local business community.”

She knows her points well after running through them with Steve for the last few nights. Without referencing notes, she smoothly and carefully explains Hydra’s background and the way their business model has caused trouble for other communities. The articles she references, entered conscientiously into the record, might be smaller pieces, but they are from reputable and reliable news outlets; Bruce Banner, the reference librarian, had helped them put together the resources with that in mind.

“Mr. Rogers and myself have received offers to purchase our businesses. We would also request that that council hear from others who have also been under recent pressure to sell.” Peggy gestures over her shoulder, where a good-sized part of the assembled crowd is standing, ready to come forward.

“Before we get to that, is there an actual proposal attached to all of this?” Alexander Pierce asks. He’s a popular, long-serving council member, distinguished and seemingly considerate, but there’s a strange hint of ice in his voice, in the blue-gray of his eyes, that makes Peggy suspect who exactly put the town on Hydra’s radar and why they seemed so certain that they would be able to work with impunity.

“Our proposal is a council resolution simply acknowledging the remarks made here today,” Steve says, the words not loud but quite firm. “It isn’t the council’s responsibility or within their authority to prevent private sales between willing parties, but we want to make certain that everyone in this town knows the coercive measures Hydra has taken in the past and will almost certainly take in the future in order to gain and maintain control of local businesses.”

He takes a breath, pushing up his glasses reflexively before he speaks. “I opened my store more recently than Ms. Carter did hers, but I’ve also felt lucky to have been able to support and be supported by this community over the past months. Moving here and opening my business has given me something I never thought I would find.” His gaze moves, for just a moment, from the council in front of them, to Peggy, who is watching from beside him. Their eyes meet so quickly she nearly wonders whether it even happened before he turns back to conclude, “I have no intention of giving up my business. And we want everyone to know that we are willing to continue fighting for however long we have to.”

“Now I—” Pierce started, but Nick Fury, a council member who rarely speaks and who Peggy knows always gets his coffee first thing in the morning to avoid running into anyone trying to discuss council issues, leans forward so his microphone picks up his words clearly.

“I’d actually like to hear from our fellow citizens, Alex,” he says, and nods for the first speaker to go ahead.

The comments last for a long while. Some people speak only briefly about being approached by Zola or other Hydra representatives, bombarded with testimonials from business owners from other towns who sold to Hydra in the past. Others have lengthy (and well documented, Peggy made sure of that) stories of escalating problems and harassment: health or building code inspectors being called and finding minor or suddenly appearing violations, delayed shipments from previously reliable vendors, spontaneous problems with heating or cooling systems.

Someone from the local paper always covers council meetings, and she’s sitting in the front row scribbling away for what will undoubtedly be a far different article than usual. But news travels fast, and as the hours march onward, more and more of their fellow townspeople squeeze into the meeting room to hear things for themselves.

Steve and Peggy expected it, but as the last of the business owners moves aside, they trade a glance seeing Arnim Zola step up to the podium.

“In my capacity as a representative of Hydra, I would like to officially demand that minutes and records of this meeting be restricted pending a defamation lawsuit which the corporation will be bringing,” he says, eyes flashing behind his glasses. The words are so practiced that Peggy feels her suspicions about the fight against Hydra in other places nearly confirmed.

“Those are a matter of public record,” Mrs. Fry says sternly. Peggy smiles. They don’t always see eye to eye, but she knew that Miriam could be relied upon to protect the integrity of the process.

Fury adds laconically, “And it will be a little difficult to put the genie back in the bottle.” He looks over everyone’s heads to the back of the room, and raises his voice to ask, “Live stream still running smoothly, Stark?”

Tony Stark, the teenaged son of the municipal head of IT, barely looks up from his phone as he gives a thumbs up. “Directly on the town website, YouTube, and Twitter, plus a few backup sites I’ve set up just in case. And I’ve been live-tweeting the whole time. First council meeting that’s ever been even close to interesting enough for me to even want to do that.” He leans back in his chair, feet up on the table and fingers typing rapidly.

The calculation is clear across Zola’s face. Leaning into the aisle so he can hear her, Peggy says quietly, “If you still manage to convince someone to sell, there’s little we can do to stop you. But you can see the town turning against the idea of you, and any of the usual tricks you try to pull will only make it worse. I doubt you’d ever be able to make a success of things here. I would cut your losses now, Mr. Zola. Everyone knows who and what you are. You can’t hide in the shadows anymore.”

Zola leaves before the resolution passes. Although they keep an eye out for him over the next weeks, they don’t see a sign of him again.

They have the other business owners over for a drink down in the event space at Steve’s shop. It was already late when the meeting finally adjourned, and it is even later once the last person - Thor, who owns the Norseman brewpub and is still laughing heartily at a story told by Luis from the electronics repair store - closes the door behind him.

“I wanted to tell Sam to take the morning off,” Steve says as they tidy things up, “but I have the feeling we’ll be even busier than usual tomorrow.”

Peggy smiles, collecting the empty bottles in a paper bag for recycling. “I think he’ll forgive you when he sees it reflected in his paycheck.”

Steve glances over the used book shelves, making sure they’re all orderly, switching a few around to keep things alphabetized. “If this keeps up, maybe I can have Nat and Wanda full time soon.” With one last glance at the shelf, he goes over and drops tiredly into one of the chairs that they have yet to fold and put away. There are plenty of other places to sit, but Peggy comes and turns a chair so she’s facing him. Their knees are nearly touching.

“I hadn’t realized quite how tense I was until the weight was removed tonight,” she says softly, just for him. “And while I know that we should stay alert and that complacency works against us, it will be such a delight to go into the shop tomorrow without feeling as if ruin was coming up on the horizon.”

“You deserve that,” Steve says, and somewhere over their work together, they’ve become comfortable enough that he already has her hand in his and she didn’t even notice until just now. “And even if they regroup fast, we’ll have a day or two to catch our breath before we start putting out resources for other communities dealing with Hydra.”

That familiar determination is back in his voice, and she realizes that so much of him is familiar now. She knows that his glasses are the last hint of the poor health which plagued him growing up, has seen pictures of his mother and recognizes where he inherited his fair hair and strong features. She has seen his tattoos and knows what he wanted to memorialize on his skin.

Looking him over, she sees that sometime after the meeting he has changed into a T-shirt that she recognizes.

“That was what you were wearing the day we met,” she says. “What made you choose it for your opening?”

He glances down. “It’s the Pigeon, from the Mo Willems series. Popular picture books, ” he explains. “I know that I can be a little intimidating for the kids, and I wanted something that would be familiar and friendly, something we could talk about together so they could get to know me and wouldn’t be as nervous.”

It’s such a simple answer, so unsurprising and considerate and right, so Steve. She frees her fingers from his so she can hold his face in her hands.

“You’re a very dear man,” she informs him, and presses her mouth to his.

Quite a while later, as Steve finally turns the lights off in his shop, finally put to rights, he asks, “Are you free again tomorrow night? I’d like to take you out somewhere that doesn’t serve sandwiches.”

“I won’t mention it at Stewart’s.” She tucks herself under his arm as they step into the cool of the street and he turns to lock up.

He laughs. “They don’t have to worry much. I’m sure we’ll be back.”

“I’m certain we will, though perhaps Thai for tomorrow,” she says thoughtfully as they walk. “But come to the shop sometime earlier, will you?” A grin is growing on her face. “I have some ideas I want to discuss about unseating Mr. Pierce at the next election that I’m not sure are proper date conversation.”

“My definition of date conversation is whatever you want to talk about,” he says, his voice never anything but honest. “But sure, I’ll come by tomorrow. I can’t get through the day without your latest matcha concoction, and I want to hear what you have planned for Pierce.” His grin is growing to match hers. “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t bet against us.”

#steggyweek20 #Steggy #Steggy fic #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers #alternate universe fun ft. small businesses

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kpopmalereader · 5 years

Text

sight ; ten

• summary: the world turns black and white when you reach your twelfth birthday. it does not return to color until you come into contact with your soulmate for the first time. • pairing: ten x male!reader • word count: 2238 • to do

“Okay,” The director pushes your shoulders a bit to the right, forcing you to face more towards where an audience would be sitting. “Now, Ten,” The director turns to your new acting partner. “You’ve been blind for your whole life, you’ve just been given the gift of sight and you’re seeing the love of your life,” He points at you. “For the first time. You’re amazed by his looks and he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m the only person he’s ever seen.” You mention, earning a laugh from Ten and a roll of his eyes from your director.

He ignores you and continues talking to Ten. “You have to show that you’re falling in love with him all over again.”

Ten nods and holds his script by your left shoulder. You hold your own script down by your leg, looking down slightly to read it. He smiles softly at you and nods his head, facing morphing from friendly to fake in-love, eyes soft with love and wonder.

“My world before you was dark,” He starts. “Nothing visible beyond my own eyes. But when you came into my life it flooded with color. You told me how the world looked to you and it became music in my ear, and now seeing your face. Your face for the first time, lit by the colors around you, I see now, the beauty of the world you once described.”

“If only you could see the way your eyes take it in.” You say, leaning closer to him.

“I wish for this feeling to carry on infinitely.” He nods his head and uses his left hand to caress your face gently.

His fingers barely brush against your cheek but as his first finger touches you the world around you explodes with color. You gasp and jump back, dropping your script in the process. It’s yellow.

“What happened?” The director walks up to you, arms spread out in exasperation.

You pick up your script quickly and walk back up to Ten. You twist the script in your hands, asking him quietly. “Do you see it?”

He nods slowly. He looks around with wide eyes and you’re sure your own expression isn’t too far off.

The director realizes what is going on pretty quickly and turns to the other students. “Okay, let’s take a five. You two go take a break for a bit.”

“So,” You take a few steps to the edge of the stage, smacking your hands with your script. “I don’t know what to do now…”

Ten nods. “Yeah…” He points to your shoes, a light purple color you weren’t aware of. “I like your shoes. Good taste, even if you didn’t completely know what they looked like.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t completely aware they were this color. My mom told me they were purple. Purple was my favorite color when I was little, I guess she kept the theme going even when I lost the color. I think I still like it.”

Ten nods with you but as you finish talking, the silence around you becomes awkward.

“Can I have your number? So, maybe we can get to know each other.” He starts to pull his phone out of his pocket, waiting for a sign from you to continue. “Away from all of this.”

“Yeah, definitely.” You put your number into his phone, handing it back with a very small smile. “And uhm, from what I know about you, I could have a worse soulmate.”

Ten almost loses his grip on his phone as you walk off the stage. “Okay…”

“This question has been on my mind since we met…” You tap your coffee cup against the table. “What’s your favorite color?”

His favorite color has always been black. Even before, when he could steal see color, he liked black. But seeing you wear the same purple shoes almost every day, knowing he’s got a purple heart next to his name, and seeing the way you immediately send the heart and a purple circle to him with whatever you’ve texted him in the past week. He noticed your shirt when you walked in the shop, solid gray with a purple and yellow pocket and you’re wearing your purple shoes again.

“I think black,” He nods. He takes a sip of his drink before adding. “But I’m slowly becoming more partial to purple.”

You roll your eyes at him and flick your straw paper at him. “Whatever.”

“You still wear a lot of purple. Is it still your favorite color, or are you just riding on the wave of your mom giving you purple things?”

“I think it’s still my favorite.” You answer. “Especially this like light purple or lavender color. I saw this pair of lavender Doc Martens! I might have to ask my mom to splurge and get them.”

Ten makes a mental note of the shoes and nods his head. “It looks good on you.”

You take a long drink, using the cup to hide part of your face. You mumble, almost completely under your breath. “You’re flirting more.”

“Just because we’re soulmates and society expects us to get together doesn’t mean I can’t try to woo you and win you over.” He notices your flushed face but doesn’t say anything about it. “I have a question for you,”

You nod, picking up a sugar packet.

“Did you tell your parents about meeting your soulmate?”

“I may or may not have collapsed on my mom’s bed immediately after school and told her everything. I’m going to be honest with you, I was trying very hard not to have a heart attack when we were rehearsing.” You flick the packet with your finger and scrunch your face up. “You’re a very good actor. Like a great one, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone scouted you into a drama or a movie.”

“Well, I promise you’re going to be my only “showmance”. And you could be right there with me.” You shake your head at him. “You could be! You draw the audience in, your expressions and your voice, it’s melodic. And you were already off book by the third day of rehearsals. I definitely was not.”

“You also have three times the amount of lines I do.” You argue.

He leans forward and points at your face. “But I’ve seen you perform other pieces, seen your other plays and you’re amazing, you’re off book in days and even your rehearsals are spectacular!”

“You’ve seen my other stuff?”

He retracts in on himself. “You’ve been on my radar for a while now. If we’re both being honest about some things, I asked our director if I could work with a different person and I may have mentioned your name once or twice. You’re enticing, it’s interesting.”

You sink into the booth you’re sitting on, picking off small pieces of paper from the sugar packet. You look up at him, making quick eye contact before both of you dissolve into a fit of shy giggles.

“I’ve seen your work too.” You mumble. “A few people in our drama club, including me, have kind of used you as our “we need to work on this and this and this” reminder.”

“Ridiculous.” He states and regains his confident posture. “If you were able to give me half of your talent, I would have more talent in my pinky finger than most people have ever.”

“You already have more talent in your pinky finger than I have in my entire body.”

“Is my soulmate a compulsive liar? Is that what I have to deal with for the rest of my life?”

“You ready?” Ten asks, bouncing up and down on his toes.

You nod. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Are you ready to pretend to be absolutely in love with me?”

“I don’t know that I have to pretend.”

Your knees almost give out on you and you take a step back, punching him in the arm with as much force as you can without making much noise. “You can’t just say things like that before we go out on stage.”

“Shh…” He pulls you back to him, giving you a tight hug. “I’m only joking. Maybe.”

“Shut up.”

His mark is called and he pats your back. “I have to go. You’re going to do great.” He leans to very gently kiss your cheek. “Break a leg.”

You nod and lightly push him away, hoping your red cheeks are hidden by your makeup. “You too.”

You grab the sugar-glass bottle prop for your scene, standing next to the tech as Ten’s appearance unfolds. He gives a short monologue about your characters, small cloth hiding both of eyes. He gives an insight on his life and speaks about your character’s disappearance.

The fake-out antagonist of your play stands next to you. He takes a deep breath and takes a hold of your wrist, sticking the bottle into his coat pocket.

“I never realize how much I truly need him until he’s gone,” Ten finishes, taking a few steps to stage left. The background follows him as he does.

The darker background comes into view as the antagonist does, dragging you behind him. “Stop your fighting!”

Moving from the darkness of backstage to being blinded by the stage-lights always takes some getting used to. “Take me back!” You argue with him and drag your feet.

“This is ridiculous!” The antagonist grabs you by your shoulders and forces you to stand up straight. “Your love.”

You stand up straighter, playing up your forcefully hidden worry. “To what are you referring to?”

“He’s never seen you, his one true wish, to be who you fully deserve.”

“I don’t want anyone but him.” The antagonist pulls away with a smirk. “It doesn’t matter what he does or does not have.”

The antagonist opens up his arms and turns more to the audience. “That is why I’ve brought you here. For what has your love done that would deserve such a punishment?”

“I do not think of it as a punishment. He’s done nothing to deserve a punishment, it must be a hidden gift.”

“What a wonderful way to think.”

You take an apprehensive step closer to him. “What does this place have to do with him?”

“I am not sure his blindness is a hidden gift, but I do have a gift for you.” The antagonist pulls out the bottle, holding it towards you. “His unrest, your willingness to stand by him, through all trials neither of you have sacrificed each other for the sake of yourself. He’s been promised gifts beyond only sight and he’s chosen you. You have stood by him through everything, helping him through life, working when he cannot. You’re there.”

“He’s the love of my life. I will do anything I can to remain by his side.”

“And that,” The antagonist points at you with his opposite hand. “Is why I believe you should be rewarded.”

He grabs your hand and forces the bottle into it.

“What is this?”

“The gift of sight. Give it your beloved, from your hands to his, only from your hands to his, and he’ll see.”

The antagonist nods to the bottle and backs off the stage, leaving you and the audience to think over the exchange.

You look to the wings, taking two steps back as the background moves back to the home scene.

“Who’s there?” Ten asks, standing up from the porch’s seat.

“It’s me.” You walk to the bottom of the steps. “I’ve returned, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Ten slowly walks down the stairs, reaching out for your arm. “Where were you?”

You smile and fix his hair lovingly, voice becoming light and joking. “Taken by a mysterious figure.”

His hand travels down your arm, fingers bumping into the capped bottle you’re still holding. “What is this?”

“He said it was a gift.”

“That was not a joke?” Ten takes the bottle from you, moving it between his hands. “What is it?”

“He claimed it was the gift of sight.” You shake your head. “He told me it was a reward for our time together and the struggles you’ve been through. I do not believe he is to be trusted.”

Ten holds the bottle and walks downstage. “What is there to lose?”

“Don’t speak like that.” You follow him a step behind. “It could be a poison.”

Ten looks out off stage. “It might be real.”

“And it might not be.” You warn him. “Put it down. Pour it out.”

He uncaps the bottle and holds it out.

“Love.”

He brings the bottle to his lips and you begin to walk closer to him. You reach forward to grab it from him, pushing the bottle out of his hands and to the ground where it shatters, empty.

“Love, love.” You grab his shoulders. “Why would you do that? You don’t know what might happen!”

“What will happen will happen.” He smiles and leans forward to you, brushing his lips against yours.

“That’s not what you should say. We don’t know what will happen.” You back away from him, panic beginning to set in.

His face falls and his hands shake as his hands slowly move up to the fabric covering his eyes. It falls away and as his eyes adjust, you come into view.

“My love,” He says.

#nct #kpop #kpop scenario #nct x reader #male reader #nct imagine #nct scenario #ten #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #kpop male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #nct male reader #ten x reader #ten x male reader #ten x male!reader

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likeadeuce · 4 years

Text

Raven Cycle snippet: Fox Way

I was talking about how one of my favorite dynamics in The Raven Cycle is Gansey gradually moving from his self-constructed Lost Boys clubhouse at Monmouth to the chaotic but generous world of Blue’s home at Fox Way, and it turned into a thing about Blue and Gansey starting to date seriously and how that all plays out.

Spoils some specific things through book 3 so I am cutting. Also I know nothing about astrology but I probably know as much as Gansey does about interdimensional tax law, and all right thinking people know that nobody puts Baby in a corner.

It would start to get late-ish and Blue would say, “I probably need to get home” or Gansey would say, “Which of us turns into a pumpkin if I don’t get you back to Fox Way?” And without discussing it much, she’d reassemble her outfit and freshen up as best she could in Monmouth’s eternally questionable bathroom; Gansey would put on khakis or cargo shorts and a shirt with a collar and he’d make some attempt at combing his hair. Then he’d drive her home, walk her up to the porch, and they’d share a performatively chaste kiss. Every gesture said, “Here you are, Ms. Sargent, I have returned your daughter to you safely,” and it was all so absurd in the context of the kind of home Fox Way was, and how freely Gansey had come to move in and out of it over the past year and change, that absolutely no one could help being charmed.

At first, Blue simply let herself in the door and announced she’d lost track of time what with how hard they’d been studying, but eventually Maura started being there to greet them (timing her crack of the door just for the end of their goodnight kiss), and Gansey got to perform the whole ‘Delivering your daughter” ritual without exactly saying those words. Blue made eye contact with her mother, and they shared a look that was extremely aware that Maura had spent her life cavorting with tree spirits and semi-retired assassins and absolutely never being dropped off at her mother’s by a boy with a polo player on the pocket of his shirt.

“Gansey,” Maura said, “Would you like to come in? Calla’s working on a new theory of syncretizing the transits of Pluto and I think it might have bearing on what you were saying the other day about how Welsh astrology charts were --”

“ -- constructed based on lunar cycles before the invention of the telescope.”

Wonderful, thought Blue. My boyfriend and my mom finish each other’s sentences. But then she looked up at Gansey who looked down at her, trying to see if she would be okay with him accepting the invitation. She pressed her palm against his and gave a small nod.

Gansey raised his thumb to his lip, his trademark thinking gesture, and said, “I did have plans to go back home, stare at a textbook until I accept that I’m not getting over B plus in physics this term, then play Civilization for five hours and sleep through my alarm, until Adam calls to yell at me that if he doesn’t have the luxury of a senior slump neither do I. But if you’re asking . . .”

.“Come inside,” Blue clapped him between his shoulder blades, pushing him toward the door. “You are clearly completely lost without us.”

After that, whenever Gansey attempted to drop Blue off, someone would always answer the door. Once it was the Gray Man, hair rumpled and face smudged with Maura’s lipstick, who had a very specific question about the circumstance in which one might be required to pay taxes on income received for services that had, arguably, not been rendered in this particular dimension.

“Are you DMing some kind of cosmic role-playing game?” asked Gansey.

“No,” the Gray Man said, “I’m doing my taxes. Ronan said you helped with his so I thought you might have run across this issue before.”

“I am not at all confident that I am qualified to render advice on this topic but I am certainly intrigued,” Gansey said, and he stepped inside.

One time, Gwenllian greeted them. Blue was just as confused as Gansey about whether she still technically lived there, but the salient issue was that she had written a song and wanted both of their opinions on it. This definitely felt like a trap, but the song ended up being surprisingly good and while Gansey carefully opined that he would not personally have included quite so much imagery about human skulls and eyesockets full of writhing worms, there definitely was an audience for that sort of thing. He mentioned that his dear friend Henry Cheng had a number of connections in the Canadian music industry, and maybe they could have coffee and talk about it some time.

“You did not just do that to Henry,” Blue said, later.

“Please, Henry loves meeting interesting people. He’ll have the time of his life. Don’t underestimate him, either. She might end up with a record deal.”

And then there was the time Calla opened the door before they were done kissing and said. “Come inside. Dirty Dancing is on TV. You will both now join us in watching Dirty Dancing.”

“It’s true,” Blue said. “House rule. If Dirty Dancing is on TV, everyone must drop everything and watch it.”

Gansey, who was always in favor of rules, followed Blue inside. They sank onto the long sofa together with the current population of the living room: Calla, Orla, a girl they all knew from the downtown gelato place who Orla had been on a few dates with, Maura, Maura’s possibly transdimensional ex-assassin lover, and the six hundred year old daughter of the Welsh king Owain Glyndwr. Whatever differences might have existed in that room, they could all agree on the inadvisability of putting Baby in a corner.

#fanfic #snippet #the raven cycle #trc #blue sargent #300 fox way #richard campbell gansey iii #Blue/Gansey #made up astrology #made up tax law #correct opinions about dirty dancing #they're all 18 now

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devilatmydoor · 4 years

Text

love is fatal I part 3

a/n hi all! i decided to post this chapter a day early because i finished it! i had so much fun writing this chapter. i had requests to post it early bc of me doing what i do best..cliffhangers. let me know what you think! stay safe- body, mind and soul. xx

part 1 part 2

Word count; 4.7k+

Warning - language, mention of sex and piercing

“What do you mean? You came here knowing that he wouldn’t be here?” He asked as she looked at him.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying.” She explained as she nervously ran her fingers through her hair.

“Come in so you can tell me what the hell is going on.” He sighed as he moved away from the doorway and she followed him inside his office. It didn’t smell like smoke like she expected. It was clean, dark gray walls with pictures of art and presumably his family. He motioned for her to sit down while he closed the door behind him. While he moved his stuff on his desk as he sat at the corner of his desk, she sat down on the chair across from him.

“I talked to Luke a couple of days ago and asked who was the most experienced as far as piercing goes..” She trailed off and her eyes met him and she cleared her throat, “I asked if Ashton was more experienced than you because I knew you wouldn’t be totally up for what I want..”

“He is right. I’ve been piercing for 3 years. Tattooing for 5. What is it that you want? Double nose piercing? Another ear piercing?” He questioned hoping he’d get an answer.

“Not exactly.” She said softly and as she crossed her legs.

"You're not gonna keep making me guess are you?" He stressed as he widened his eyes at her.

"Maybe, it's entertaining seeing you wonder why I'm here." She raised her eyebrows and leaned back in the chair.

"Veronica! Just tell me, I can't help if I don't know why you're here.” He said sternly, his voice louder than she’s heard from him.

“Fine! I want to get my nipple pierced.” She blurted and turned bright red and avoided eye contact.

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his curls, “Well you weren’t wrong to assume I wouldn’t want to do it but I don’t want you going to somewhere else and have someone fuck it up. Especially something as sensitive as that.” He insisted as he raised an eyebrow at her

“I almost got one last year where Grayson worked at before..” She trailed off yet again and then looked into his eyes, “If you don’t want to, I don’t blame you. If you could just recommend me to someone else.” She stood up and realized how close she was to him. His smell was even more overpowering than normal; peppermint blended with sandalwood and cigarette smoke.

“I’m not recommending you to someone else. I’ll do it, Veronica. It’s my job.” He said softly as he stood up from his desk and he was less than 2 feet from her. He could smell her perfume and see her sapphire blue eyes clearer than before. He moved back slightly to go behind his desk and sit on his chair, “I’m going to safely assume you want an appointment a day when Grayson isn’t here?” He asked as he logged into his computer.

“Yes, I know he will try and talk me out of it for the millionth time.” She said as she fiddled with her rings and watched him on his computer.

“Let me look at the schedule, I’m done training him so this shouldn’t be tricky.” He mentioned as he looked through the schedule.

“A-Are you sure you want to do it?” She looked at him and he looked at her and pursed his lips at her.

“Are you sure you want to do it, Veronica?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Of course I am, I’m just not too sure about you doing it.” She mentioned as she shifted in her chair.

“Do you not trust me?” He stresses as he crossed his arms and leaned on his desk.

“Did I say that?” She leaned forward as she narrowed her eyes.

“You don’t have to. I’ve done more nipple piercings in a year than Ashton has done in his career.” He mentioned as he sighed.

“I trust you Calum, I just don’t want Grayson getting mad at you.” She said softly as she looked in his eyes.

“It’s YOUR body, Veronica. You decide what you do.” He emphasized as he sat up straight.

“I know that Calum. When is the next shift you don’t work with him?” She asked as she looked at him.

He looked at his computer and then looked at her, “This Friday, I have an opening for 1 pm or 3 pm.”

“Let’s do 3, that way I can sleep in longer..” She said as she softly smiled.

He grinned at her. “You sleep in that late? Fuck.” He said as he typed on his computer. “The piercing will be $40 not including the jewelry. The healing process can last from 3-4 months to-” He began

“To six months. I know, I’ve done a lot of research.” She finished his sentence as she sat at the edge of her seat.

“That’s good, try to come before 3 so you can pick which jewelry you want. Are you getting both done or one?” He asked tilting his head

“I haven’t decided yet, I might do both just to get it over with.” She mentioned as she crossed her arms.

“I'm going to be honest, most of the time people get both. You can decide the day of Ronnie. Do you have any questions?” He mentioned as he turned to face her in his chair.

“No, just don’t tell Grayson.” She got up from her chair and shrugged.

“I don’t have a reason to. If you have any questions or concerns,” He noted as he stood up from his chair and grabbed his card and handed it to her, “Just text me okay?”

“Thank you.” She said as she grabbed his card and he opened the door for her, “Thanks Calum.”

“Your welcome Veronica, I’ll see you Sunday.” He grinned as she walked out of the door and out of his office. He closed the door and she tucked the card in her pocket. She walked towards the desk and waved at Luke who was talking to customers. She smiled and winked at him and walked towards the front door and opened the door.

It was almost midnight, the air from the window hitting her skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip looking in her eyes and then slowly got off of her bed.

She sat up straight on her bed as she pulled the blanket over her body, “What are you doing?” She asked him as he put his boxers on.

“Getting you a drink?” He explained as he raised his eyebrows.

“In your boxers? What if Gray sees you?” She shook her head playfully.

“He’s seen me shirtless, he’ll survive V.” Caleb explained as he shrugged and opened her bedroom door and stepped outside before closing the door behind him.

She shook her head and got up from her bed and grabbed her discarded underwear on the floor and grabbed his shirt and put it on, the shirt almost long enough to cover her butt. She looked through her various vinyl and grabbed her favorite album and took out the record and set it on the player before playing the record she loved so much. She laid on her bed and focused on the lyrics to her favorite Paramore song. She heard her bedroom door open as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“You know how you were worried about Grayson seeing me shirtless? Well, he wasn’t the only one.” Caleb explained as he walked over to her bed, his cheeks turning pink.

She sat up straight and tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows, “Who else saw you?” She asked.

“I honestly have no idea who the guy was. He was looking at me weird.” Caleb explained as he sat down on the bed and handed her a water bottle.

She grabbed the water bottle, “You don’t exactly know people in Grayson’s life. And since when are you so bashful? Less than 20 minutes ago you were begging me to scream your name.” She mentioned as she took the cap off of her water bottle and winked at him as she took a sip of her water.

Caleb turned bright red and cleared his throat, “You do have a point. I’m sure you know who the mystery guy is.”

“I might. Now I’m curious to see who it is.” She drank another sip of her water before getting off the bed and setting the water bottle on her desk.

“And where do you think you’re going?” He asked as he opened his water bottle

“Where do you think?” She giggled as she walked towards her door and slowly opened the door. She walked past her doorway and closed the door slightly before walking down the hallway towards the kitchen and living room. She only recognized one voice as she walked towards the living room as she saw Grayson sitting on the couch with a guy she’s never seen before. He didn’t tell her he was inviting anyone over. She pretended to look for her phone charger and acted like she forgot it was in her purse in her room. She looked at the guy one more time to see if she recognized him but she had never seen him before. She walked back to her room and opened the door and saw Caleb laying on her bed, t.v remote in hand and going through Netflix. “Uh...Caleb? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He turned to face her and shrugged and she walked up to her bed.

“It looks like you are getting comfortable and trying to convince me to let you stay the night.” She mentioned as she grabbed her water bottle.

“You got all of that from me sitting on your bed?” He blurted as he looked at her.

“Mhmm. I know you Caleb. You always try to stay the night.” She pointed out after finishing her water and giving him the look he should know by heart.

“Ronnniiieeee.” He begged as he tried to give her his puppy eyes.

She shook her head and sighed, “For fucks sake, the puppy eyes? You know the drill. No cuddling, no netflix or staying the night. We had a pretty clear agreement dude.” She explained as she put her hair up in a messy bun.

“You’ve let me stay the night before.” He muttered as he crossed his arms.

“In the beginning! You promise to leave in the morning?” She sighed knowing that he wasn’t going to give up.

“Of course, now get over here.” He demanded as he patted his hand on her mattress and she walked over to bed hoping this wouldn’t happen every time.

* * * *

As he heard his favorite Nine Inch Nails song over the sound system mixed with the tattoo needles buzzing and Luke and Grayson talking louder than normal he decided to leave his office. He got up from his chair and opened the door, he closed it behind him and walked towards the front desk where Grayson and Luke were standing.

“What are you two up to?” He asked as he walked up to them and grabbed the iPad.

Luke turned to face Calum and explained, “Grayson forgot his lunch, so Veronica is dropping it off.”

“Really? You’ve brought one every day for a week! I’m shocked you did.” He mentioned as he looked at Grayson who was now blushing.

“I’ve been on top of it all week until today, Don’t know what happened!” Grayson admitted as he crossed his arms.

“It’s Thursday, it’s almost the weekend so don’t beat yourself up. I have to remind Calum daily to but his towels in the hamper along with his clothes.” Luke commented and Calum narrowed his eyes at him.

“It slips my mind!” He assured as he heard the door to the shop open and he turned his head to see who it was. Michael and Veronica walked through the front door, completely focused on each other and whatever they were talking about. He noticed they both had a smile on their faces, of course Michael liked her too. First Luke was best friends with her then Ashton mentioned how he met her and talked about the shop and now his manager slash best friend liked her. Michael said goodbye to Veronica and walked towards his office while she walked up to the desk.

“Thank god you had the day off, I would’ve broken my week long streak of bringing in food.” Grayson explained as she shook her head and handed him his lunch.

“Nothing would’ve happened Grayson.I promise. Who was that guy at our place last night?” She asked as she tilted her head and widened her eyes at him.

“Oh you mean the guy who saw Caleb walk around in just his boxers? He stayed the night didn’t he?” Grayson asked and Calum put the iPad down and looked at Luke.

“You’re changing the subject Gray! He wasn’t supposed to stay the night but he did! Who’s the guy?” She asked again, pursing her lips.

“He works at Whole Foods! He’s our age, super funny and likes video games. You can’t fuck him. Last time you slept with one of my friends, you told me things about him I can’t ever forget!” He explained as he crossed his arms.

Calum’s eyes narrowed and then looked at Grayson, “You just guaranteed she’ll fuck him.” He chimed in.

She glared at Calum and then huffed, “Who are you even talking about?”

“Nick for starters, and then you also slept with-” Grayson started

“Shut up Grayson! This is what I get for bringing your lunch? Next time order like a normal person.” She spat as she walked out of the stop without even saying goodbye.

“Damn Grayson, she was so mad she didn’t even say hi to me.” Luke sighed as he sat down on his chair.

“Aren’t you going to lunch with her on Sunday?” He confirmed as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

“Yes we were going to tomorrow but her schedule changed.” Luke explained as his eyes narrowed at Calum.

He gave Luke a what the fuck look before reassuring, “I’m sure it’s nothing. At least she is still having lunch with you.”

“Calum’s right, she could’ve cancelled but she didn’t. Can I eat my lunch in your office?” Grayson asked and he nodded in agreement and Grayson walked away from them.

He sighed as a sign of relief, Grayson didn’t catch on to their body language and he went back to work and made sure he had everything ready for tomorrow.

* * * *

The warm sun hitting her skin surrounded, the soft breeze surrounding her as she nervously walked to the tattoo parlor. She took a deep breath and grabbed the door handle and walked inside, relieved Grayson wasn’t there even though Calum told her he wouldn’t be. Luke stood up from the desk and smiled at her, “Hey you!”

“Hi! How are you?” She smiled as she walked up to the desk.

“Good, You?” He asked as he continued to smile at her.

“Nervous and excited.” She mentions softly.

“Calum is just finishing getting the room ready. If you want to go look at the jewelry you can darlin.” Luke explained with a smile.

“Okay, thank you Lukey.” She said as she slowly walked towards the jewelry. She looked at the barbells and tried to decide which ones she wanted. She looked around and she saw Calum walking up to her. Dressed in gray flared pants and a black tank top, the black ink complimenting his carmel skin. He smiled when he saw her, the first time she’s ever seen him smile.

“Hey Ronnie, how are you doing?” He asked as he walked up to her.

“Good, how are you?” She asked nervously as she fiddled with her rings.

“I’m good, thank you. Have you decided which ones you want? You’re getting both right?” He asked as he leaned on the counter.

She nodded and smiled, “Yes, I’ll just get both. I like the circular hot pink barbell!” She explained as she pointed to it.

“Sorry Ronnie, you gotta find a straight barbell until they are healed.” He insisted as he grinned.

She pouted and he chuckled in response. “Hmm. The black one. My favorite color.” She pointed to it.

“I couldn’t tell.” He joked as he grabbed his keys to open up the case and grab two of them, “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She said as she followed him into the room. He closes the door behind them as he walks over to the table with supplies. She set her purse down on the empty counter top space.

“Okay Ronnie, shirt and bra off. I’m gonna get my gloves on and stay standing for me okay?” He instructs as he faces the other direction for her to take her clothes off.

She takes her shirt off, the cold air hitting her skin leaving goosebumps all over her arms. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. She coughs to get his attention but he stays facing the other direction, “Calum, I’m ready.”

He slowly turns around as he puts gloves on, “Just wanted to give you your privacy. First I’m gonna use an alcohol pad to clean the area and then I’m gonna mark where I’m going to pierce them okay?” He says softly and she nods. He grabs two alcohol pads and walks up to her and opens them, his eyes focused on her as he slowly cleans both nipples. He grabs a paper towel and dries them, “The reason I want you standing up is your breasts hang more natural when you are standing up versus laying down.”

“Fun fact for the day huh?” She giggles as she tries to relax herself.

He looks at her and shakes his head followed by a soft chuckle, “Just trying to calm your nerves Ronnie.” He grabs his marker and the pads of his thumb and pointer finger hold one nipple as he marks her nipple and then he moves his hand to her other breast and does the same thing. “Perfect. Now lay down with your head right there.” He instructed as he patted the bed.

Perfect? Did she hear that right?

“Are you calling my nipples perfect Hood?” She teased as she laid down on the bed and put her head where he told her.

His cheeks instantly turned red as his eyes narrowed, “I uh- meant where I marked them.” He explained nervously and moved the supply table next to his chair. He sat down and his eyes were focused, he bit his lower lip as he grabbed the packaging and opened it to show her what he was going to use next, “This is the forcep, it holds the nipple together.”

“Got it.” She nodded and tried not to distract him as the cold metal hit her nipple and she took a deep breath. She looked away knowing if she watched she’d get even more nervous and anxious.

He was closer to her than he’d ever been before, topless no less. She felt his breath on her skin, “Take a nice big breath in.” He instructed and she took a deep breath in, “Big breath out.” And she took a deep breath out. “One more time, big breath in, Big breath out.” Before she could even register what was happening the sharp pain shot through her body and she bit her bottom lip and her eyes darted to the ceiling. It was shorter than she expected, “There you go,” He said softly as he slowly moved away, “Good job.” She looked at him as he grabbed the barbell she picked and she felt the barbell thread through her nipple before he added the other bell.

“That wasn't as bad as I was expecting.” She breathed as she looked at him.

“Good, I’m gonna move over and do the next one okay? You're doing great Ronnie.” He smiled as he moved his chair over to the other side of her and moved his table.

“I could’ve gotten up and switched sides for you.” She mentioned

“Not a chance, you stay put.” He insisted as he sat down on the other side of her and she felt the cold metal hit her other nipple. “Are you gonna tell me why Grayson was so against you getting this done?” He asked softly

“I got a belly button piercing when I turned 16 and when I turned 18 I got the Marilyn Monroe piercing and I hated both of them and took them out months later. So he assumed every piercing since then I would regret.” She admitted as she saw him move to the table across from him.

“That’s not his business, it’s yours.” He mentioned as he grabbed the needle. She felt her heart rate go up so she focused on looking at him instead. His blonde curls, his black roots peaking through. The small moles on his cheek. His deep voice brought her back to reality, “Okay Ronnie. Big breath in, big breath out.” She followed and took a deep breath in and then out, “Good. One more time, big breath in. Big breath out.” She took another deep breath in and then out, the sharp pain returned for less than 7 seconds and he threaded the other barbell through her nipple, “All done. I’m gonna use H2Ocean to spray them down okay?” He said softly and she nodded. He stood up and grabbed the bottle and sprayed the last nipple he pierced and wiped it down softly and then sprayed the other nipple and wiped it down, “Did you wear a bra Ronnie?”

“Yeah, I did. Why?” She asked as she propped herself up on the bed.

“I’m gonna tape gauze your nipples for cushion.” He said as he stood up and walked over to the counter and grabbed gauze and the tape. He walked over to her and grabbed a strip of tape and put gauze in the middle and he put it on one breast covering her newly pierced nipple. He grabbed another strip of tape and gauze and put it on her other breast, “I know you did research but get a mild soap. Dove sensitive skin is the best to get and wash them once a day. Do that last if you're in the shower. Be really careful with any scented soap. Don’t use alcohol or peroxide, it will make the healing process take longer. I also suggest getting the H2Ocean Spray and use it 2-3 times a day.”

“Okay, I’ll definitely buy some. Thank you Calum.” She smiled as she sat up on the table and he moved out of the way.

“You’re welcome, It’s my job Ronnie. I’m gonna make sure Luke has everything ready for you. Whenever your ready okay?” He reassured before taking his gloves off.

“Mhmkay. Thanks again.” She smiled as she grabbed her bra and shirt.

“Of course, If you have any questions, concerns, anything just text me.” He smiled as he opened the door quickly and walked out. He closed the door behind him and she put her bra on slowly trying not to hurt herself anymore than she was already. She could feel it burning softly as she put her top on. She grabbed her purse and walked towards the door and opened it and walked towards the front desk where Luke would be waiting for her. She walked up to him as he waved her over to him, she smiled as she got to him. He handed her a bottle of the spray that Calum used and she paid for her new piercings. Luke explained that if she could take pain meds for the pain and reiterated that if she had any more questions to text Calum. She smiled and left the shop and tried not to worry about the possibility of Grayson finding out, she was awful at lying to him no matter how hard she tried.

* * * *

The music blaring louder than normal while the living room and kitchen were more crowded than they normally were. He knew Ashton was friends with 80% of the population in Los Angeles but he didn’t think this party was going to be this big. He deadpanned the room and saw some familiar faces and some he had never seen before. As he walked into the kitchen he was surprised to see her. He hadn’t seen her in almost a year and he hoped Luke knew she was here. Her eyes met Calums as he walked towards alcoholic beverages and she walked over to meet him. He glared at her and ignored her existence as he grabbed a white claw.

“Still drinking White Claw huh? I see some things haven’t changed since I left.” She remarked as she moved closer to him. She wasn’t lying, she even smelled the same.

“Still being a bitch? Some things really don’t change.” He spat at her and rolled his eyes.

She rolled her eyes and stepped closer to him, “Where is Lu?” She asked, her old nickname for Luke rolling off of her tongue as if she hasn’t used it for over 6 months.

He walked away from her and looked in the living room to see if he could find Luke anywhere. He decided to walk outside by the pool to see if Luke was outside instead. He moved the sliding door and stepped outside, the warm heat greeted him as he walked further outside. He almost missed him if it wasn’t for his leather jacket that he always borrowed from him. Luke’s arm was wrapped around a girl he didn’t recognize. She was in silver heels and a floral romper with black hair. He walked around the crowd of people and stood in front of Luke to see that the girl was Veronica. Luke smiled as he turned to face him “Hey Cal! When did you get here?”

“Not too long ago, did you see-” He started to say her name before Luke cut him off.

“Yes, we saw her. That’s why we're outside.” Luke explained as he kept Veronica close to him.

“Smart idea, do you want anything to drink? I’m gonna go look for Grayson.” He suggested as he looked around outside for him.

“Can you get me a beer, do you want something to drink Ronnie?” Luke asked as he looked at her.

“I’m okay for now, thank you!” She smiled at Calum and he smiled before walking away. He went back inside and saw Grayson who looked completely lost in the living room. He walked over to Grayson and Grayson smiled when he saw Calum.

He walked towards him and Grayson met Calum halfway, “Thank god you're here, Veronica is supposedly here but I don’t see her.” Grayson admitted as he ran his fingers through his hair

“She’s out back with Luke, I’m grabbing Luke a beer if you want to come with me!” He added as he opened his White Claw. He walked with Grayson to the kitchen.

“Did V have a drink?” Grayson asked as he grabbed a beer and Calum shook his head no and he grabbed a Mikes Hard Lemonade, “She loves these, she never turns them down.”

He smiled as he led Grayson to the back of the house towards the pool. He put the beer bottle in his other hand and opened the screen door and walked outside and immediately saw Luke’s ex standing by the pool. He looked around to see where Luke and Veronica disappeared to.

“What the fuck?” Grayson yelped as he looked at Calum who narrowed his eyes at him. He looked over where Grayson was standing and he agreed with Grayson.

Luke was sitting on a lawn chair with Veronica on his lap facing him with her hands on his face as she laughed at something he said and then before Calum could even wrap his head around what was going on, Veronica and Luke started making out. He looked at Grayson and then back at them and did a double take to see if he was hallucinating. He was wrong, Luke’s hands were gripping Veronica’s hips as they were attached to Luke’s.

t a g l i s t - @pxrxmoore @lukesflaredpants @sublimehood @talkfastromance4 @lilacsos @ghostoflrh @calumscalm @mellifluoushood @calumthomcs @twilightmomentswithyou @malumsdildo @boytoynamedcalum @ohhmuke @calswildflower @highscal @sanrioluke @softlrh @flowers-on-the-graves @currentlyupcalsass @clemmings @tirednotflirting @highfivecalum @idivedeeperforyou @mellifluoushood @malumsdildo @wastelandcth

#calum hood #luke hemmings #love is fatal

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