#i don’t even have 5k to begin with. it doesn’t make sense to me

[earthtooz]

x : NO FEAR :*+ﾟ i wanna love you with no fear !

in which: itoshi rin rejected you, so why isn't he handling your avoidance well?

warnings: 5k wc, fluff with minor angst, jealous!rin, food cw, swearing, reo is reader's best friend, COLLEGE!AU, gn!reader, non-canon complaint

a/n: happy valentine's day !!! shoutout to @ryekoo for finally giving me inspo on what to do for the rin fic of my event - u rly saved my life <3

↳ 5K EVENT MASTERLIST ༉‧₊

you:i’m going to end you. <reo3: i’m too pretty to die ._. you: and you told me i was too pretty for itoshi rin to reject!?!?!?! <reo3: oh... <reo3: i’m sorry. <reo3: condolences fr.

with a disappointed sigh, you pocket your phone, decidedly ignoring the next few messages that reo sends as you wait for your bus. he owes you a million yen for the amount of grief and distress he’s currently putting you through, especially with the way he shattered all hopes you had with your love life.

well, hopes that you were stupid enough to feed into because this was itoshi rin you’re talking about; possibly the most standoffish, calculated, and devastatingly gorgeous man you’ve ever met in your life. yet, despite his detestable personality, you still found yourself falling hook, line, and sinker for the man, despite his insults, cold comments, and dismissive attitude.

maybe it’s masochism. 

now that you look back on it, rin’s rejection seemed almost inevitable. even if you lead yourself to hope with all the times you caught him staring at you, the prompt replies to your messages, and willingness to somewhat tolerate you during group projects, it was rather obvious that this would be the outcome to your heartfelt confession. 

‘i don’t see you like that’.

it’s cringeworthy simply thinking about it. now you’re going to have another memory that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.

recalling the expression he made after your confession; eyebrows scrunched and lips tugged into a slight frown, was traumatising enough for you to wish for the ground to swallow you whole. his face will plague you for an uncertain amount of time because today truly, was so very humbling.

the sight of your bus approaching your stop rouses you from the crevices of your thoughts and after you jump on and settle yourself into a seat in the relatively empty carriage, you bring your phone out to text reo again. he’d sent four messages since.

&lt;reo3: this doesn’t make any sense we all thought rin was into you &lt;reo3: like DOWN BAD into you<reo3: everyone on the team has literally made bets on you two <reo3: i’m sorry :c r u okay?  you: yeah. just gotta take the L and move on you: hey at least i’m free for valentines <reo3: LET’S GOOO we’re definitely doing something <reo3: i’ll be a better valentines than r*n you: you’re sexier too babes xoxo <reo3: duh!

maybe you’ll let reo see another day. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your university schedule was never the same after the ‘itoshi rin’ fiasco.

it was never an amazing schedule to begin with since a few classes were quite inconvenient, and there’s only so much to enjoy out of your seminars. the fun part about them was being able to sit beside rin and talk to him whenever you could without getting waved off, but since his heartless decline of your feelings, acting ‘buddy-buddy’ wouldn’t be acceptable. so you resorted to sit by yourself in a section of the space you’ve never really occupied before, busying yourself on your phone as students walked in to class.

despite the temptation to look at the door to see when rin would come in, you do not budge one bit, eyes glued to your phone screen (which had nothing entertaining on it). this meant that you couldn’t see the confusion on his face when he didn’t see you in your normal spot and how it merged further into a look of offence when he instead spots you across the room.

reluctantly taking his usual seat, rin’s gaze lingers on you, hoping to meet your eyes at least once. but upon your insistence to pretend your phone was more important than him, he sits down, practically flopping onto his chair with his backpack cushioning his fall. 

sitting here feels a little empty. rin can’t help but think how it used to be much better when you insisted on being next to him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 

&lt;;reo3: you can come now rin isn’t here yet

you: kk b there soon

the trek across campus towards the university’s soccer field, although long, is harmless enough, especially since you were doing a favour for your best friend by bringing the soccer guards and water bottle that he left at your dorm. the harmful part was the looming threat of itoshi rin’s presence and your fear that you would encounter him on your way. 

all you needed to do was drop in quickly and leave. 

when you get to the field, nagi’s the one who sees you first from where he was lounging on the bleaches, changed in his soccer gear. 

“oh, y/n,” he mumbles, sitting up. “hello.”

“hey nagi. are you trying to nap before practice or something?” you ask.

“yeah.” 

“won’t that drain you though before practice starts? you’ve got like… five minutes.”

“still classified as a power nap. wanna collect a power up before startin’.”

amusing as ever, he is. “sure. hey, you know where reo is?”

“he’s changed, probably warming up with isagi and bachira and whoever else.”

“shouldn’t you be doing that too?”

“not until reo forces me to.”

as if on cue, a friendly and very familiar voice calls out nagi’s name and you’re delighted to see the purple-haired in question. you can finally give him his stupid stuff back; the ones you’ve been holding in your hands this entire time like an idiot.

“come on nagi!” reo exclaims, jogging over. a smile appears on his face when he sees you. “yo! y/n! thanks for bringing my things.”

“‘s not a problem. next time i’ll burn them so don’t leave them again,” you counter as the purple-haired takes his things from you with an eye roll. “i filled up your water bottle for you.” 

he places his things down before sitting beside nagi to put his guards on. “so considerate even whilst terrorising me.”

“of course.”

“seriously though, thank you for bringing my things.”

“not a problem. i’m gonna head back to my dorm to study so i’ll see you later. bye reo, bye nagi,” you wave at the two, fixing your backpack strap before turning around to leave the field, only to bump face-first into someone.

the apology that surfaces on your tongue quickly withers away when you lock eyes with a pair of steely, teal ones, partially hidden by strands of dark hair. he looks at you like he has something to say.

but you’re not ready to hear it. 

“uh, hi rin! gotta go!” you squeak before stepping to the side and running away, leaving rin to stare in bewilderment after you.

part of him has the urge to run after you. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

<reo3: isagi’s invited a bunch of us to the on campus screening of spirited away

<reo3: wanna come?

you: ykw why not

you: not like i have essays to write

<reo3: FUCK THEM ESSAYS! 

you: YOU’RE RIGHT SPIRITED AWAY IS BETTER !

if you knew that this would lead you to be seated (uncomfortably) between reo and isagi, who acted as the only barrier between you and an-unnamed-man (rin), then perhaps you would’ve dedicated yourself to your essay rather than a fun opportunity to hang out with your friends. 

1500 words sounds better than having to pretend like there wasn’t an icy cold stare penetrating the back of your head every time you turned to talk to reo, or isagi trying to keep his interactions up with rin so the latter wouldn’t try to talk to you.

you owe isagi a vending machine drink after this because a ‘thank you’ will never suffice. 

it’s easy enough to forget about rin when the movie plays and isagi begins whispering little pieces of commentary to you from time to time, eliciting giggles from you that you try to suppress to not annoy those around you. however, each sound that slipped past your lips was enough to make the dark-haired boy scrunch his face in disgust, an ugly, green monster climbing up his throat when he catches a glimpse of how happy you seemed with someone that wasn’t him. it kills him to see how easily it is for you to just ignore him like your friendship never existed.

since the campus movie was scheduled during a cool but bearable, autumn dusk, you severely underestimated how cold the night would get. heating wasn’t the best in the gymnasium so the committee had instructed everyone to bring their own blankets and warm covers, yet in your haste, you couldn’t bring adequate layers.

so after a while of trying to warm yourself up and convincing yourself that you were warm enough with a measly sweatshirt, rin notices from the corner of his eye how you kept rubbing your arms. 

he doesn’t hesitate to take off the fleece jacket that he was wearing over his university jumper. sure, it will be significantly colder without his outer layer, but rin’s willing to suffer as long as you were okay (when has he ever been this considerate?), except he stops when he sees nagi handing you his very oversized jumper. you accept it with a gracious smile and the white-haired boy merely shrugs before going back to watching the film. rin, on the other hand, feels a cauldron of rage brewing within him.

the sight makes his chest twist, wringing him dry as he stares dejectedly at how snug you seem in someone else’s clothes. the green monster inside of rin bubbles in contempt, a being that makes him want to rip the hoodie off you and replace it with his own for you to wrap yourself up in. he wants you to be content with him- happy because of him, not because of another.

you confessed to him only two weeks ago- barely even two weeks ago, so how could you so easily forget about him and move on? pretend like his rejection didn’t shatter you and him when he saw a devastation like no other on your pretty face?

rin doesn’t know how much longer he can live like this. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the following tuesday, you’re already seated in your new spot for your seminar, busy setting up your laptop in preparation when rin walks in. you see him from the corner of your eye, backpack slung around his shoulder, hands tucked unassumingly in his pockets as all 185cm of him saunters towards the seats. however, when you notice that he bypasses his normal spot and walks even further out of your peripheral vision, alarms blare deafeningly in your head.

you freeze when you hear someone take the seat behind you.

there’s a hard gaze on the back of your head, one that roots you to your spot and wills you not to turn around.

sneaking out your phone from your bag, you hide it so that rin can’t see it from his angle. 

you: RIN IS SITTING BEHIND ME OH NO

you: terrible start to valentines day smh

<reo3: WHAT!??!!???!???! fr.

you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY I’M GOING TO DISINTEGRATE RIGHT NOW

<reo3: maybe *don’t* do that???? 

<reo3: WHY’S HE SITTING BEHIND YOU?????

you: FUCK IF I KNOW IT FEELS LIKE HE’S THROWING DAGGERS AT MY HEAD

<reo3: WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?

you: CRY???????????? IDFK???????????

you: oh fuck class is about to start

you: i’ll let you know if anything happens

<reo3: STAY SAFE 

you tuck your phone away with fear and dread looming over you, personified through the form of itoshi rin, who sits so indifferently behind you, head propped on his hand. you hear his pen click behind you and you don’t even need to see him to know that he’s taking out that stupid notebook of his since he preferred to take notes by hand. you want to turn around and rip said book into shreds.

as the professor starts the class, you try your best to shake rin out of your thoughts, wanting to leave him behind in the depths of your mind so you can concentrate on this damn elective. none of the notes you were typing onto your document made sense and it felt like everything the professor was saying went in one ear then out the other. curse rin for having this effect on you. 

at least you get to gossip with reo after this.

though your seminar was only 60 minutes, it might as well have been 60 years because of how significantly older you feel at the end of it. the weight of rin’s stare was heavy on your shoulders when you hurriedly grab your things and make a dash for the exit.

well. you try to make a dash for the exit because somehow, rin gained the ability to teleport and beat you there, grabbing your wrist unceremoniously before pulling you into the hallways. you fumble with your phone, hurriedly texting reo.

you: UHH MAYDAY I MGHT NEEE TO SKIP OUR PLANS

<reo3: WHAT’S HAPPENING?????

you: RIN IS DRSGGING ME SIMEWHERE IDK WHERE

you: MY LOCARION IS ON LIFE360

you: I LUV YOU STUPID WHORE

<reo3: WHDJFWIJAIDJFAWHAT THE FUCK????

“hey!” you exclaim, helplessly being pulled by rin’s long strides, shutting your phone off as you try to match his eagerness. he could at least be a little more considerate and lighten up that grip of his on your wrist. “rin- what? where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” he responds gruffly.

your mind blanks despite the hurricane of questions that circulate your mind. how did you get here? is the delirium finally hitting you after countless sleepless nights? you stayed up until 2am last night to make valentine’s chocolates for your friends so maybe it’s the sugar and the sleep deprivation. 

as rin pulls you through the hallways, you think about how weird it is to allow him this close to you again- well, you didn’t exactly allow him, he kind of just… invaded your personal space. but after a whole week of not talking to him, responding dryly to his texts, avoiding your regular hangout spots, and overall pretending like he doesn’t exist, being exposed to his intimidating presence once more is… exhilarating? unreal? 

“wait, can we stop for a second?” you demand, breaking out of your funk when you step outside as if the harshness of the sun’s rays woke you up. “i’m so confused right now. where are we going?”

“we’re going to have lunch together at that café you’ve been wanting to try out,” he tells you with a serious expression, not breaking his usual aloof and stern personality. 

rin doesn’t give mixed messages: no, he gives messages that have completely been lost, fallen astray somewhere along the path of communication.

shifting your weight between your feet awkwardly, you tell him: “well, i kinda had valentine’s plans.”

his mask of coolness and uninterest cracks, exposing all the emotions he’s been withholding from surfacing for the past weeks; jealousy, envy, greed, they all manifest through the helpless scrunch of his face. “with who?” asks rin, tone a lot harsher than he had intended, matching the crease of his eyebrows and the frown he was wearing.

it’s the green monster in him talking.

if you were going out with someone else, someone new, rin’s not too sure what he’d do. determination and pettiness can only take a man so far before his resolve cracks and you have the power to crush his heart with a single stomp, extinguishing his flames in one, swift sweep. 

“with reo,” you confess. the dark-haired relaxes again, his face returning to a neutral expression.

“okay. ditch him then.” his audacity is baffling.

“i can’t just do that!” 

“why not?”

“cause that’s a shitty thing to do!” you say, before murmuring under your breath, “not that you’d know the first thing about being polite.” 

“i don’t care, it’s reo, you two hang out everyday. tell him to give me a turn.”

“you’re a horrible person, rin,” you murmur, ignoring the butterflies that erupt in your stomach.

he doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely eyeing you expectantly, waiting for your next step. huffing, you reluctantly take out your phone as a sign of surrender under his suffocating pressure, muttering complaints under your breath as you find reo’s contact - literally your most recent one, to send him a quick message. almost instantly, your best friend responds with a thumbs up paired with a smirk and you almost want to block him then and there. 

“done.”

“perfect,” rin goes to grab your hand again but you retract from him just in time. when you look up to meet his gaze once more, you see his unimpressed expression whilst he keeps his palm extended towards you expectantly.

“i don’t need your help walking places,” you grumble, not liking how fast your heart was racing.

he gestures to his open palm once more. “i know.”

after a moment of silence, you give in, hesitantly placing your hand in his. with a small grin, rin intertwines your fingers before pulling you to his side. without another word, he begins walking, leaving you to merely follow the brutally fast pace he’s set.

you must’ve looked ridiculous to other people. being dragged around by an 185 cm man, how humbling.

the place rin led you to was not too far from campus; a totally manageable distance for the two of you to remain in silence during the walk. you try to bypass the awkwardness of it all by focusing on other things, like how warm rin’s hand is and how you hope he doesn’t mind your sweaty hands. he seems to be content from what you’ve observed, happily walking beside you whilst sparing a few occasional glances over; ones that you pretend you don’t see whilst admiring the cityscape around you.

there are various valentine’s decorations hung up around the insides of the cafe that made you cringe slightly. although they were very cute, you feel humiliation climbing up your throat, serving as a reminder that you were currently spending a day of love and romance, or whatever, standing beside the very man who rejected you. 

this is the cruellest version of a sick joke.

“welcome!” a cheery voice greets, breaking you out of your thoughts. “table for two?” rin nods. “perfect! are you here for valentine’s day because couples get access to a special menu on top of our regular one.” 

when you open your mouth to reject her offer, rin beats you to it. “we’ll take the valentine’s menu.”

“okay, right this way,” the waitress guides you to an empty table for two that was right by the corner. the atmosphere of the place was cozy with various candles and statement pieces to really bring it together, but you have no time or brain space to appreciate the aesthetic of the café. 

it’s not until the waitress leaves that you speak up, utterly confused. “why’d you get the valentine’s menu, we-”

realisation hits you like a truck. 

“-are we on a date right now?”

rin’s unmoving, save for the purse of his lips as he stares at you. you feel a little foolish right now.

“yeah, we are,” he answers, curtly and concisely.

alarms are blaring in your head, the earth is tremoring below you, there are distant screams somewhere in the back of your mind and all you can manage out is a simple ‘oh’. 

“get what you want, i’ll-” rin begins before you abruptly cut him off.

“-no, hold on, i’m so confused right now,” you rub your temples, staring at the stupid valentine’s day menu decorated with pink and hearts and chocolates. “why?”

“why what?”

“why are we on a date?”

“because it’s valentine’s day?”

“well- i know that part,” you murmur under your breath. “it’s just, y’know, people celebrate this day when they like each other.” and not when one party is miserable because the other rejected them. 

“we do like each other though.”

there are no words to describe the shock you feel. really. not even an anvil dropping on your head could wake you up from whatever dream you are conjuring right now. 

“no, we don’t! i like you, you don’t like me.”

he looks away, the tips of his ears turning red. “that’s not true,” he murmurs, no louder than a whisper, yet your jaw drops all the same at his confession. “i do like you.”

“a week ago you didn’t!” 

“a week ago i wasn’t ready to get into a… relationship… or whatever.”

“oh,” you fix the strap of your bag, feeling slightly awkward. “and you’re ready now all of a sudden?”

“yeah.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“the fuck? why?” 

“you don’t really seem like the type of guy to turn around on yourself like this. what changed?”

rin won’t ever tell you about how much he missed you during these two weeks and how it was his jealousy and greediness that spurred him to act on his feelings. instead, he simply slides the menu to you, pointing to a milkshake-‘lover’s brew’, and since the menu was decorated with pictures on the side, you could see what the concoction consisted of. whipped cream, heart sprinkles, topped with a caramel heart and fairy floss. 

“the milkshake?” you ask, trailing off towards the end. “you hate sweet things and this especially looks like it could give you diabetes.”

the dark-haired shrugs. “so? i thought you’d like it.” 

“sure, but it is kinda pricey for a milkshake.”

he shrugs again, putting his elbows on the table which causes his sleeves of his turtleneck to roll down a little, exposing the shiny silver of his, no doubt expensive, watch. “i’ll pay for us, it’s fine.”

“hold on-”

“i’m paying. end of argument.” 

it’s an offer you can’t really reject. being a university student and all, funds are limited, so wherever you can, you want to avoid withdrawing money out of your account. that said, it doesn’t mean that you don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about draining rin’s, but with how long you’ve been friends, you know that once he’s set his mind to something, it’s hard to change it.

“if you insist,” you grumble, straightening up your spine as you awkwardly fiddle with your shirt. you feel so scrutinised under his gaze, even as you reach for the jug of water and pour two cups of water. “what else should we get?”

the waitress then comes around to take your orders and when she’s gone, conversation flows easily, reverting back to how things were between the two of you (to rin’s relief). he listens as you talk animatedly about the unfortunate series of events you had with your professor the other day, how cute your encounter with the campus dogs were, and the really unfortunate run-in you had with a guy from your shared tutorial classes.

(the dark-haired boy makes a face when you mention another man’s name before his usual face of indifference melts back in.)

“here’s your milkshake,” the waitress says, placing the drink in the middle of the table before walking away, “you guys are really cute by the way.”

“thanks,” rin says calmly, a stark contrast to your flustered reaction.

two straws stick out from the milkshake and when you put one in your mouth, you almost choke when rin takes the other one, causing your noses to bump in the middle. the look he gives you is nothing short of mischievous before pulling away, a knowing smirk playing along his lips. 

“ew. that is really sweet,” he mutters before leaning back, crossing his arms. 

“yeah,” you cough. “it is really sweet.”

recovering from your embarrassment, the rest of lunch goes by quite seamlessly. he goes to pay for everything with a confident tap of his card, causing you to stand awkwardly behind him, keeping all complaints to yourself as it goes through. thanking the waitress, you leave the café hand-in-hand once more. 

“thanks again for paying,” you repeat and rin gives a hum of acknowledgement whilst you two walk aimlessly on the path. “what do you want to do now?”

“i don’t know. do you have anything you want to do?”

“i might have an idea.”

leading him in the direction of a nearby store that just opened recently, you come to a stop in front of a shop that had neon-lights illuminating its inside and claw machines filled with adorable plushies lining along the walls. 

glancing at him, there’s a glimmer of amusement in rin’s eyes as his lips turn upwards into a small smirk. “really?” he asks, looking over at you.

“really. this’ll be fun!” you promise before walking in, the dark-haired following suit as you stop in front of a token-purchasing machine. 

from the corner of your eye, you can see him taking out his wallet already and you immediately put your hand on your wrist, ceasing his movement.

with just one glance, a whole conversation passes between you two. “if you pay for me i will sock you.”

“i’d like to see you try,” he deadpans, quirking a brow before pressing the ‘20 tokens = $19’ button on the machine, “but i’m paying.”

then the sound of his card meeting the reader and the transaction being approved rings through the air, followed by the deafening noise of coins clashing against metal. the look he gives you is nothing short of proud. 

“come on babe, bet you won’t be able to get any prizes,” challenges rin as he brushes past you, the pet name causing your stomach to churn as insults rest on your tongue, offended by his declaration.

he’s gracious enough to give you half of the coins, allowing you to play four games each. you only manage to win on one of them and even then, you were astonished at your own achievements, excitedly grabbing the plushie and hugging the stuffed toy to your chest protectively. rin, on the other hand, comes back to you with two in both hands and the gawk you let out was completely against your will.

“how did you do that?” you ask, a little stupified at the sight (it was kinda hot though). although at this point, you shouldn’t really question how itoshi rin works since he takes the meaning of ‘march to the beat of your own drum’ to a whole other level. 

instead of answering, he hands them over to you and you have no choice but to take them, your arms now overloaded with three stuffed toys. 

before you can even open your mouth to ask if he broke into the machines, your phone buzzes with a notification and the second you open it, you’re met with a familiar ‘⚠️bereal’ banner, one that makes you excited over the impeccable timing. rin raises an eyebrow at your sudden surprise.

“bereal! quick, pose!” you demand and rin obeys, raising a peace sign with a slight smile before the camera turns around to you and the many stuffed toys you’re cuddling. 

how adorable you are might just kill him. 

the dark-haired shakes the thought away before taking out his phone, instructing you to smile. you pose for the photo, hugging all the plushies closely to your chest whilst rin gives his usual deadpan stare into the camera. he then gives you his phone to check if it was okay to post and when you approve, you press the ‘post >’ button for him.

shutting off his phone for him, it’s at the same time that the bereal notification pops up again, this time detailing how one of his friends had posted but that’s not what caught your attention.

it’s a certain photo that made your heart thump loudly in its ribcage.

“am i your lockscreen?” you ask, pride and flattery swelling in your stomach, manifesting through the warmth of your cheeks. 

the slight widening of his eyes give you all the answers you need. “you weren’t supposed to see that.” 

nothing could stop the slow grin from erupting on your expression. it’s ridiculous to say so, but it almost feels like a weight is being lifted from your chest, the pains of the last few weeks erasing themselves completely with this one detail. 

that’s how you know rin was meant for you.

“out of all pictures of me, you chose this one?” you question, gesturing to the selfie that you once sent him during your study sessions. your hair was messy, there was a semi-crazed look in your eyes, but at least the moisturising lip gloss you had reapplied then made you look somewhat put together. 

looking at his phone once more, you feel a little warm.

“i like it,” he mutters shyly, unable to look you in the eye. despite his embarrassment, his statement fills you with endless relief, providing gratification for your relationship with rin that you didn’t know you needed. 

though you’ve been friends with him for quite some time now, you feel as though you don’t really recognise the man in front of you. past perceptions you’ve had of him has now been shattered by his flustered gaze, the relentless blush coating his cheeks, and the uncharacteristic way he slumps, as if defending himself from any judgement you might throw at him. 

luckily for him, that’s not what you’re interested in doing.

unlocking your phone, you hand it to him. “take a matching selfie so i can make it my lock screen too.”

at least you have all the time in the world to get to know him all over again.

(rin will never tell you that he only has been active on bereal so he could see what you were up to. except it backfired every time because instead of satisfying how desperately he was longing for you during your two weeks of no contact, it only made him want you more. he wanted to be there with you through your intense study sessions, he wanted to be going on walks with you, he wanted to be there with you when you were watching one more episode of your favourite tv show before going to bed, he just wanted to be there with you.

now he has all the time to make sure he is.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[@y/n’s BeReal]

@ karasu69: @fruityninjaotoya YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS 　　→ @fruitninjaotoya: Shut your micropenis up

@ yocchan: Y/N WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS 　　→ @ nagixxxxxxxxxxxxx: ratio 　　→ @ yocchan: DON’T RATIO ME RN

@monsterbachira: omg are y’all 😍❤️😍 rn 　　→ @y/n: wut. 　　→ @itshrin: Yes 　　→ @monsterbachira: y/n rin is actually a good kisser 　　→ @y/n: thanks for letting me know meguru! 　　→ @itshrin: i’m going to end you. 

@bbgreo: i’m glad y’all had fun but no itoshi rin on our platonic date pls! 　　→ @y/n: would never dream of it luv <3 　　→ @itshrin: Sleep with one eye open, Reo 　　→ @y/n: that’s my best friend :( 　　→ @itshrin: You don’t need him 　　→ @y/n: reo and i are one you can’t separate us 　　→ @itshrin: Ok fine 😒 　　→ @bbgreo: yay! 　　→ @y/n: yay!

<reo3: told you you were too pretty to reject xx

[guiltyasdave]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

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[hwa-whiskers]

A Dirty Little Secret Pt. 2

Summary: Having a crush on your roommate who was the fuckboy of your university was bad enough, but what gets worse is when he brings other women home and you secretly masturbated upon hearing them that night, wishing it were you instead. But how will it unfold when Seonghwa finds out?

Warnings/Genre: smut. Fuckboy!seonghwa. Dom!seonghwa. Submissive reader. Dirty talk. Inexperienced reader. Masturbation. Fingering. Angst. Praising.

Word Count: 5K

Pt.1

PLEASE STOP READING IF YOU DON’T LIKE THESE TYPE OF FAN-FICTIONS! (SMUT AHEAD! MINORS DNI)

She then starts crawling towards Seonghwa as the group grows silent. 

Your chest grew heavier because what she said was indeed the truth. You weren’t experienced, you literally laid back there while Seonghwa barely touched you and you were already wanting more from him. 

Not even knowing if he actually enjoyed it at all. Your face turns gloomy as the thumping in your chest doesn’t go away. 

“Why don’t we have Seonghwa rate Sola’s kiss vs. her?” 

One of the other girls spoke out and you felt so called out, you hated how you couldn’t say anything back, but deep down you knew you weren’t good enough

You wanted to get out of here, and that’s what you did. 

“I have to go.” You quickly stood up, not sparing anyone a glance and grabbed your bag. You ran as fast as you could, not looking back at all.

“Y/n!” You hear Jongho’s voice call out to you, but you were too embarrassed to turn back now. 

The group starts getting chaotic as the other boys were confused and the girls start talking over one another. 

“Kiss! Kiss!” It is all that can be heard as you slam the door shut, running away as quick as you can.

*10 minutes later*

You took a deep breath once you were away from Jongho’s house, already reaching your shared apartment.

“Y/N!” Jongho catches up to you and your tears begin falling from your eyes again. “I want to be alone for now…” You tell him, slowly walking away and he lets you go, knowing he can’t stop you.

It was probably around 2am when you woke up, feeling thirsty after crying your eyes out. You squint your eyes, trying to make sense of the dark room and slowly made your way to open the door.

Your bedroom is directly faced to the livingroom and the moment you opened it, you made eye contact with the devil himself.

Seonghwa was silently flipping through the channels while he laid on the sofa looking tirelessly.

Fuck! You can’t just shut the door anymore and so you acted like nothing happened, you had to be quick.

You played off the small eye contact and walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and looking for a bottle of water.

You bent over to look inside the refrigerator to really confirm that there was no more water. You then sighed in frustration as Seonghwa mumbled something. 

“Huh?” You looked up to see him waving a waterbottle. “Last one.” 

You gulped and almost choked on your barely existent saliva. “Give it to me.” You shut the refrigerator door and was on a mission to get that water. 

You tried snatching it away from his hands, but he moved it towards a different direction. “I drank it already.” He explains, but your throat didn’t give a shit about that.

“Okay and?” You swiftly got a hold of the waterbottle and succeeded in retrieving it. You downed that bottle like it was your last and finally exhaled after the last drop. 

You wiped your lips and looked down at Seonghwa who seems to be very quiet now.

You looked down and then realized that you were only wearing a t-shirt and panties, not even knowing how long Seonghwa must’ve stared at you.

Your eyes widened as your cheeks started to get warmer from blushing so hard. “Are you trying to tease me?” Seonghwa’s fingers run through his messy hair as he keeps strict eye contact with your lower body, sending chills down your spine.

The memories of what you guys did in that room starts coming back to you, unfortunately also bringing back the humiliation you felt after the girls asked Seonghwa to rate your kiss with that girl. You dropped the waterbottle down to your side as an obvious pout forms on your lips.

You then looked up at him and notice a hickey on his collarbone, further confirming that they made out once you were gone from Jongho’s house. You glared at the bruise on his neck and Seonghwa could sense your withdrawal.

“Did you guys make out?” Your mouth is saying shit before you can even let it process in your brain first. You internally slap yourself, feeling stupid for asking in the first place.

“What are you talking about?” Seonghwa seems to be taking an interest in your question and looks like he’s even enjoying it? 

“Seonghwa, you know who.” Your words slurred a little as you started playing with your fingers to distract yourself from his intense gaze. 

“Are you talking about when we were at Jongho’s house?” Seonghwa tilts his head and makes sure to do it in a way so that he would catch your attention. His whole existence makes you nervous goddamnit.

Silence prevailed as he waited for a response, pressuring you to nod at him helplessly.

Seonghwa lays back on the couch casually as he started chuckling and you were beginning to get impatient.

“What?” You responded with a little bit of attitude, because you don’t appreciate the way he’s handling this conversation.

“Kitten…” It’s that nickname again. You clearly know that he’s just saying that to lure you in, but the way it slips off his tongue so easily makes your body freeze in submission.

“If you stayed long enough you would’ve known that...” Seonghwa stands up from the couch and starts walking towards you, leaning downward so he could whisper in your ears, “...we didn’t kiss.” He leans away and you’re only a few inches away from kissing those lips once again.

You gulped at the sight of him, licking your lips discreetly, but Seonghwa’s watching you like a hawk so that scene makes him chuckle. However, you weren’t done with the conversation just yet. 

“Then what’s that.” You point to the hickey and Seonghwa looks down to see the mark on his collarbone.

Like okay, Seonghwa is a fuckboy, but you never saw him with any marks from any of the girls he had slept with. You have heard others say that he doesn’t allow hickeys because he didn’t belong to anyone. He wanted that message to be out and clear, but why would he suddenly have marks on his body? It didn’t make sense. 

Seonghwa gracefully touched the mark with his fingertips before grabbing onto your hand that was still pointing towards him.

“This?” He makes you touch the mark while locking eyes with you, never looking away once and you felt this urge of jealousy that was burning in your body. 

How could he make you touch a mark that was made by another woman’s lips? You felt so disgusted and grossed out so you immediately broke away from him. “I don’t want to touch something so dirty.”

“Oh…dirty?” Seonghwa cocked an eyebrow, staring at you in disbelief. He then breaks into a dry and dark chuckle that made your heart drop.

“These hands…” He once again grabbed onto your fingers, ever so gently, however you knew it was far from that.

“They should be considered dirty too then.” Seonghwa had a mischievous smile on his lips that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“Why are you bringing my fingers into this? It has nothing to do with you.” You frowned and made sure to look at him confidently, not knowing where he was getting at.

“Really?” He asks once again and you’re starting to feel nervous, blinking multiple times so you can avoid his eye contact.

“You played with yourself with these little fingers of yours, no?” The smile on his face completely disappears as his eyes narrowed down on you, making you feel so vulnerable under his threatening stares as he put you on the spot.

You gasped, eye widening as sweat came dripping down your face. He’s not talking about THAT night, right? You breathed heavily as your eyes started shaking in fear. How would he know that? You remember correctly that you had left for your room already. 

“I see you recalled your actions.” Seonghwa licked his lips as he stared at your fingers intently, and it made your body burn in embarrassment. You hated how easily he could read you. 

However, your panties were getting soaked to every words that came out of this man’s lips every second. The control and power he had over your body was immense.

“Don’t turn this on me.” You defended with a wavering voice, but you knew he had already won.

“Oh kitten, you should’ve seen the huge mess you made in the bathroom that night.” Seonghwa runs his fingertips against your thighs, biting his lips sensually as he stared down on you.

“...how your cum was all over the toilet seat…” He then plays with the strands of your hair so gently, but you knew he could destroy you if he wanted to and the curiosity of it was slowly killing you.

“It was just inviting me to come….” Seonghwa’s fingers grabbed onto your chin as he stared down at your shaking eyes. “..and fuck you dumb.”

The only thing you can sense from him was lust and sexual desires as you tried to steady your breathing.

You only stayed silent under his gaze, not able to speak at all because it was the truth. You desperately needed him, you couldn't deny it. 

“You must’ve slept with your cunt dripping wet…” Seonghwa’s harsh words only turned you on even more as he began to pat your head nicely. 

“Lay down, kitten.” Seonghwa tucks your hair behind your ears as you obeyed his orders obediently, wanting him to destroy you already.

“Good girl.” He combs your hair with his fingers and swiftly takes off your underwear altogether as you hiss at the cold air hitting your heated core, shyly closing your legs. 

Seonghwa massages your thighs before slowly spreading them apart while keeping eye contact with you, “Don’t hide from me….”  He leaves a trail of kisses against your thighs while capturing the faces you make when you’re under his touch, it was driving him crazy and you didn’t even know it.

“Beautiful…” Seonghwa’s tongue gracefully landed on your inner thighs, sucking and biting the area…just abusing the skin as it turned into dark hickeys. 

“Hmm..” Your brows knitted together as you opened your mouth with a light gasp. It felt amazing, but it clearly wasn’t the spot you needed him and he knows that too. He deviously continues to suck your inner thighs before placing wet kisses to finish off the fresh marks.

“Seonghwa, I can’t anymore…please.” Your hips squirmed as he lifts his head up, making you whine at the loss of contact. “Here?”

He teases as his thumb makes direct contact on your clit, sending an amazing shock of pleasure through your body. 

You nodded at the feeling and Seonghwa continued to tease your throbbing entrance with light taps of his fingers only. “Hmmm!” Your thighs clenched, but he keeps his grip on you strong so you can’t close it entirely and it was driving you crazy.

“You’re coating my fingers so well, kitten.” Seonghwa whispered into your ears, further teasing you as you whined in response.

“Hwa…” Your hands flew to your throbbing cunt, trying to relieve yourself, making Seonghwa glare at your fingers. He quickly pins them over your head before pushing two fingers into your cunt unannounced. 

You gasped with pleasure as you started moving your own hips to match his pace. “So dirty…”

Seonghwa licks his lips and continues to watch you wither in a state of euphoria. “Couldn’t even wait patiently.” His voice was so deep as it echoed into your ears, but the problem was that he didn’t move at all. His fingers were now inside you, where you needed him most, but you were not satisfied. 

You whined at the lack of movement from his fingers and he loved how you squirmed so much for him.

“Hwa…I want you.” Your chest heaved up as a sigh of frustration and droplets of sweat fell down from your face.

“Yeah?” Out of nowhere, Seonghwa suddenly thrusts his fingers inside of you, making you moan but he doesn’t let that go on for too long because he quickly takes out his fingers from your entrance entirely within seconds, leaving you completely helpless…and empty once again.

“Hwa!” You're a hot mess, sweating and breathing harshly, at the mercy of Seonghwa’s godly fingers, but fuck! You want him so bad. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” Seonghwa whispered slowly, sending chills down your thighs as your body shook at the sound of his voice.

His fingers then rub against your folds in a circular motion that’s driving you over the edge, you could hear the sound of your own slick that were dripping out of yourself.

You whined at the lack of touch despite you being so ready for him.

Watching you shudder in obedience was a sight Seonghwa could only dream of, but now here you were….at the mercy of his fingers.

“Can’t cum yet, kitten.” Seonghwa sucks his fingers one more time, making sure you watch him coat his slender fingers with his own saliva and inserting them inside you ever so gently. 

“Ahh…” you moaned, hands grabbing onto the sheets of your bed as your head shook from side to side, trying your best to stop yourself from climaxing because you wanted to prove to Seonghwa that you could last longer. 

His hands moved in a vibrated motion that made you tightened around his fingers, not able to hold on any longer.

“I-I’m going to cum!” You warned him before staring into his flaring eyes, full of passion and he gave you a nod.

“Cum for me.” He commanded and that was the last thing you remembered before letting yourself go and falling into your own state of bliss.

You breathed heavily, sweating all over your body as Seonghwa takes his fingers out of you, licking every drop of it, not wasting anything. 

“Fuck…” You whimpered at the scene of him cleaning his fingers from the mess you made and now you couldn’t wait to be filled up properly by him.

If he could make you feel this good with his fingers, how would it be if you two went through the whole process? You crave for more and become needier every passing second. 

“What’s with that look?” Seonghwa grabs one of your thighs and you couldn’t help but moan a little at the slight friction. You were determined to take him as you stared at him desperately, giving him the wide kitten eyes so he’d give in to you. 

“Ready for me?” Hwa teases while rubbing his sticky fingers against your folds, causing you to roll your head back in pleasure. 

Your hips start grinding towards his touch and it made him chuckle. “You want me to fuck you now?” You bit your lips and nodded at his dirty question, but of course Seong fucking Hwa was not satisfied.

He shakes his head as one of his fingers comes up to trace your lips. “I wanna hear you say it, kitten.”

Seonghwa cocked an eyebrow as your cunt continued to throb for him.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you pouted at him. “I…I want you Seonghwa…”

You barely managed those words when he grabs your jaw in one palm, pulling your face towards his as he tilted his head slowly.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” The only look he had on his face right now was stoic and expressionless. You wanted to satisfy him and so you could only gulp before making eye contact with him again. “I’m ready for you to fuck me now.” 

“Good kitten.” Seonghwa’s once cold features relaxes into a sly smile as he praises you and it felt encouraging to be acknowledged by him.

He takes you by your hand and you tilt your head in confusion, as to where he was taking you. 

“You want me to fuck you here?” Seonghwa says so casually that it brings a blush to your cheeks, making you look around the area to see that y’all were only on the couch. 

Not wanting to have your first time on a beat up couch, you nodded and followed him innocently.

He guides you to his room as he gently intertwined his fingers with yours before laying you down completely on the bed. “Seonghwa…”

“Hmm?” He hovers over your body and leans close to you so he can listen to what you have to say, sending butterflies to your tummy,

“I really want you…” You couldn’t look him in the eye and he wanted to assure you so he placed kisses on your face gently.

“Ready?” Hwa makes sure to ask one more time before proceeding and you wrap your arms around his neck, nodding for confirmation.

You could feel his tip at your entrance as he was rubbing it against your folds,  gathering your juices as your toes curled in anticipation.

Seonghwa pushes himself inside as your smaller hands grasped onto his, “Hmmm…” You moaned at the strange feeling, but it felt so right to finally be with him. 

Hwa slowly pushed himself inside even further, catching you off guard as you thought he was fully inside already.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he waited for you to give him the signal.

Seonghwa was so used to doing it however he wanted, but with you, he made you his first priority.

“Seonghwa…it feels good…” You barely let out as his full length was fully inside, giving your throbbing walls something to clench on.

“Fuck!” Seonghwa’s cock twitches inside you, causing you to slide yourself closer towards him and wanting more.

“Kitten, you’re squeezing me so perfectly.” He praises and you melted at those pretty words of his.

“This is mine.” Hwa demanded as he brought your legs over his shoulders and thrusts inside you sensually, sending you over the edge.

“Hwa! I-I’m coming!” You mumbled and were surprised to know that Seonghwa understood you.

He continued to thrust inside you at a fast pace, bringing the two of you to your climaxes. 

Your body shook in pleasure as the feeling of euphoria took over. Seonghwa grunts beside you, moaning in your ears as he spills his hot cum all over your stomach.

“Shit.” Hwa finally says after he realizes what he did. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask-“

You dipped your fingers in his cum and took a taste of it, out of curiosity. 

You licked it and upon tasting it, you make eye contact with him. Your innocent eyes and pure curiosity was killing him inside. He wanted to ruin your innocence if you’d let him.

It was then that you see the switch in Hwa’s eyes as he starts crawling over to you, hovering over your naked body.

“Only I can fuck you like this, got that?” Seonghwa cups your jaw with one hand and you start hiccuping, intimidated but also aroused by his presence.

“Hwa…you know I only want you-“ Seonghwa doesn’t waste any time kissing your lips and turning it into a small make out sesh.

Fuck. You’re scared that you might regret this decision later, but right now…all of that doesn’t matter because Park Seonghwa was holding you in his arms.

His hold on you was warm and cozy as you slowly drifted off to sleep, feeling nothing but warmth and love.

*A Few Weeks Later*

You were at a cafe chilling with some friends you made after getting paired up on a past assignment. 

“I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been able to check up on y’all!” Ari says after taking a seat beside you as the waiter came to take your orders.

“It’s fine! We’ve all been busy!” Runa responded, waving her hand in front of her chest as you nodded. 

“The usual?” The waiter asked, making eye contact with Runa as he smiled charmingly. 

Ari and you elbowed one another like little girls who were having fun teasing their friend who was talking to her crush,  snickering quietly.

“Yes…t-the usual.” Runa plays with her hair and you knew she was highly interested in this guy by the way she fluttered her eyes shyly.

“I’ll get a mocha latte.” Ari says, making the two of them break eye contact. You smirked and cocked an eyebrow towards Runa and you can see her face turning into the color of a tomato.

“And I’ll get a _____. Thank you.” You finished your sentence as he grabbed the menu from you and walked away.

The three of you immediately start giggling as Ari starts pressing for Runa to spill the tea!

“Excuse me? The usual?! Miss girl, how long have you been coming  here to the point where he can recognize you?” Ari shook her hands excitedly as you anticipated for Runa’s answer. 

“I just came by a few times because it’s right next to where I work.” Runa looks away as the both of you start chuckling in disbelief

. “A few times…” You sarcastically repeated after her and Ari shook her head with a smile. 

“We saw how y’all looked at each other.” You whispered to them both as the guy passed by to deliver the drinks for other customers sitting nearby.

“There’s literally nothing to explain guys. I just come here pretty often and he just…somehow remembers me.” Runa explains once more, shifting in her seat as Ari pats her head.

“And here we thought she was gonna be single forever.” You giggled at Ari’s comment as Runa starts to playfully act like she was gonna fight y’all.

“Here are your drinks.” The guy comes back as the three of y’all quiet down and thanked him.

You could see the lingering eyes he had for her. It made you wonder if Seonghwa could ever look at you like that too. Wishing how’d it be if Seonghwa only had eyes for you…..

“So what about you?” Ari takes a sip of her drink as the two of them shift their focus onto you, catching you off guard.

“H-huh?” You snapped out of it and looked at them confusingly.

“Do you have anyone you’re interested in?” Ari pressed on further as you can only blink blankly at her.

“Or anyone that you’re seeing?” Runa decides to join in on the fun now since it wasn’t focused on her anymore. Shit. How you wished you didn’t tease Runa about her and the guy.

You didn’t have the guts to say anything because you knew the relationship status of you and Seonghwa. You didn’t have the right to mention him because he isn’t yours….

“No one.” You shook your head quickly and took a sip of your drink, trying to look away to avoid any further questions.

“Y/n, you can’t lie to save your own life.” Ari jokes, leaning her body towards you.

“No, it’s just that you look much happier. Your eyes are glowing with a spark I’ve never seen before and you’re smiling a lot!” Runa adds, making you feel much more anxious because it made you realize that this relationship you have with Seonghwa would just be a phase.

You and Seonghwa never made it official. He never said anything and you didn’t want to press further because you were scared. You were scared that he’d drop you the moment you asked for confirmation. 

Without this solid relationship, you didn’t have the confidence to say that Seonghwa was yours. You couldn’t….

“Seriously guys, there is no one.” You lied once again, knowing that if you told them the truth they’d tell you to get away from Seonghwa and that was the last thing you wanted to do.

A few hours went by and the two of them were about to go home, waving goodbye to the both of them as they got into Runa’s car.

“Are you sure you don’t want a lift?” Runa asked one last time, worried that you’d be alone at night but you nodded, making sure that you’re fine.

“Yeah! I’m actually heading somewhere with another friend. See ya next time.” You waved at them and Ari waved back as Runa started driving away.

You lowered your hand that was waving towards them down to your side, feeling guilty and the pressure slowly seep in. 

After that night with Seonghwa, nothing has changed much…except that now it seems like the two of you were fuck buddies. 

He’d come home and y’all would talk and cuddle, then fuck. It was like a cycle. Neverending. 

After meeting with Ari and Runa, it really brought you back to reality. 

In the end of the day, you didn’t want to be used by Seonghwa. Even thought you liked him very much, you couldn’t continue to lie to yourself anymore.

You stumbled upon a bar and your feet just took you right in as you sat by the bar, ordering whatever was on the special menu.

You don’t remember how much you’ve drank anymore, you just kept downing cups after cups. 

“Y/n?” You hear someone say your name, but you didn’t give two shits at this point.

“Bottoms up!” You down the last cup on your hand and finished it all in one gulp. 

 “Yah! You’re gonna get drunk again!” The man takes away the alcohol from you, stopping you from drinking more.

“Who are you?” You looked at him and closely examined him, although the background looked hazy and blurry, you could make out who it was. 

“YUNHO!” You clapped happily and hugged him, dragging his tall body towards you from the neck as Yunho started choking.

He somehow unwrapped himself from your grabby hands and cuffed them together with his own. “Why are you drinking alone? What if someone just took advantage of you?” He scolded and you shrugged, trying your best to squirm away from his grasp.

“But you’re here now right? Just take me home like last time.” You pretended to gasp, making Yunho look over his shoulders and you took the opportunity to down another drink, wanting to just drown yourself in alcohol as you stress over the thoughts of you and Seonghwa.

“Yah! You sneaky little!” Yunho shook his head as you stuck out your tongue at him, making him have to step away and calm himself down.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed you and you didn’t really have the power to fight back. Even your body gave up on you, you knew you were tired and needed sleep.

Yunho opened the passenger’s seat and you climbed in, resting your head on the window as you hear Yunho get in.

“What is she yapping about. I didn’t take her home last time.” Yunho states confusingly before starting the engine. 

“Yes you did, stupid. During you party…”

“Why would I leave my own party to take you home, idiot.”

 “Huh!? But that doesn’t add up to what Jongho told me…”

“Well, I was going to take you home but Seonghwa just took you away stating that you both were roommates anyways so I figured that’d be fine.”

“So….you’re telling me I wasn’t dreaming?” 

*Flashback* Cue

“WHAT THE FUCK!” You were so shocked you almost became sober.

You literally confessed to Seonghwa, kissed him and….No wonder he was saying it wasn’t your first kiss at Jongho’s house. Everything was adding up.

You shook your head, covering your face out of embarrassment while Yunho tries to calm you down, but this only makes you think deeper. If you confessed to Seonghwa then how come he hasn’t made it official with you? Or said anything about it?

You mouth dropped as you tried to take your seatbelt off. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going back in-”

Yunho was tired of your shit so he sped up and didn’t let your ass leave till he reached your shared apartment.

The vision of the hazy road became blurry until it all faded to black and you were out.

A little while later, you felt a soft warm towel, gently scrubbing your neck as you slightly opened your eyes to see Seonghwa washing you off.

You gasp and immediately sat up, covering yourself as Seonghwa held onto your hand.

“Why didn’t you let me know that you’d be out so late?” His voice was so gentle, if you didn’t know him, you’d think he was the sweetest thing for asking this.

“I don’t have to.” You words were sharp and cold, emotionless because of your broken heart.

“Y/n, you had me so worried and you didn’t even answer your phone too.” Hwa holds onto your shoulders, making you face him but you could only look away.

“Don’t.” Your tears were threatening to all from your eyes as your breath became unsteady.

“Don’t say stuff like that when we both know that you don’t want me.” You pushed his hands away from you body and turned away from his gaze.

“What are you talking about? I do want you.” Seonghwa kisses your hands, giving you his big pouty eyes. However, you knew in your heart that he doesn’t mean it like the same way you do.

“I don’t want to only be used by you.” You break away from him, folding your arms in your chest.

“I want to call you mine and be yours only. I don’t want to have to share you or compete with others to get your attention.” You finally turned towards him, feeling the confidence to look up at him as you were stating what you needed.

“I want a relationship where I can confidently tell others about. I want us to be a conversation where we can see a future within. Not something that’s just in the moment.”

Seonghwa’s brows furrowed sadly as he gave you the most sorrowful look you could imagine. That breaks the wall to your heart as tears start falling down from your eyes.

Fuck. You knew it. He didn’t want to commit to this relationship. You covered your eyes as silence prevailed, nothing but only an embrace?

You looked up to see Seonghwa wrapping you in his arms, tightly holding you so close. “I’m sorry if I ever made you think that way.”

Seonghwa grabs you by your cheeks, kissing your tears away as he whispered sweet nothings into your ears. “It’s my fault you’re thinking that way. I should’ve told you I love you.”

You looked at him taken aback and unsure of it all. Seonghwa kisses your forehead before settling on holding your hands. “I thought you were already mine from that night.” 

Seonghwa picks you up by wrapping his hands around legs, right under you butt cheeks, laying you back on the bed.

“I was already in love with you, Y/n…”

“The way you’d get up in the morning with only a shirt and panties. It always drove me so crazy….” Seonghwa kisses you, placing your hands beside you.

“The way you’d giggle over the stupidest thing I’d say…It was the cutest thing.” He plants kisses on your cheeks once more and you felt so showered in love and attention.

“But why didn’t you say anything….” You asked, a little bit bothered on why he kept your drunk confession a secret.

“It was cute seeing you get frustrated over a hickey you made.” Seonghwa laughed and your eyes widened. 

So he’s telling you that YOU were the one to made that hickey on his neck? AND he let you?!

You squealed a little as the confirmation from the hickey made you realize that he had let you in his heart from that night you confessed to him already. 

You finally took the initiative to peck his lips shyly, making him smile mischievously. 

“That was barely a kiss….” Seonghwa teases and you knew that from now on you could rightfully call him yours.

“Mine.” You touched his luscious lips before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him more properly this time..knowing you had all the time in the world.

“Love you. Kitten.” Seonghwa places a kiss to your forehead, making you smile like it was the best day of your life. You’re so fucking glad Seonghwa found out what you did that night.

Although, it started out as an embarrassing secret…it led you two to be where y’all are right now. You couldn’t be more grateful.

“Now go to sleep. I’m taking you somewhere tomorrow!” Seonghwa puts you to sleep, but you got too excited upon hearing that.

“Where are we going!?” You sat up, eyes widening as you waited for his answer.

Seonghwa chuckled before patting your head gently, “It’s a secret, my love…..”

The End!!!!

A/N: Please re-blog or heart it for my motivation, they really help! I also appreciate reading your thoughts and reactions as well, so don’t be shy and message me or comment them down here! Love you lots!

Sorry if I forgot to tag you. >_<

taglist: @hwalysm @spiderrenjunfics @eastleighsblog @jenotation@yunhofingers @s3onghwaswifey @justineasian @woosmaid @heycozy @luvly-wy @han8ul @singabeat1 @s10an @heycozy @luvly-wy @han8ul @ethicalz @mayosgrises @seonghwasstar @kyeos4ng @hwaseongstar @normal-girl1 @knisterlicht @lilactiny @ateezourstars@seonghwarizon @miaaa127 @skz-jisoo @seung-hwa @jhmylove @dandyboyseungminnie @hwadngseok @mahsora @chonsayeosang @kpopnightingale @sookacc @wannabekris @eastleighsblog @sup-dallyboy  @legohwa  @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @hiimdorylol @becauseiloveyunho @horizonmoonfics @hongjoongslut @be-ll7​

[letteredlettered]

I'm having a really hard time finishing writing anything. I always have an idea and tell myself that it will be complete in a manageable number of words, but then the idea always grows legs and balloons into something too long (and by that, I mean anything over 5k). And then I never get around to finishing it. But outlining doesn't seem to work either, because the joy out of writing goes when I already know what's going to happen. Any advice?

You and me both. I’m the exact same way. I can’t tell you how many WIPs I have that I can’t finish. I also can’t tell you how long I spend trying to make fics NOT LONG so that they will remain interesting and I can actually finish them. Also I almost never outline because I agree; everything gets boring after that.

I have very little advice because they only things I can ever finish are the ones that seem to spill out of me fully formed, or the ones where I have a deadline or someone counting on me to finish because they donated money to a charity on my behalf so they could get a finished fic. It’s a real problem!

Some people’s advice is set aside a little time each day and make yourself do it. For me this is bad advice. It makes me nauseated to write something I’m no longer interested in. Like actually physically feeling that I will throw up. It doesn’t seem like something that’s okay for my body and I never am happy with what I finish when I finish it that way. What’s the point of writing if you’re not happy?

I think my best advice is to REALLY LISTEN to what you want to write and ONLY do that. I really mean it. Once a story really balloons you begin to realize that to make X work you need to do a lot of backstory and to make Y work you really need to slowly evolve Character A’s motivations and just--don’t. Don’t do it. Even if it would make the story better. Don’t do it if it doesn’t interest you. When you start to lose interest in a story think about what made you so excited to write it and then write that, and only that. And then, once you’re doing that, usually the other stuff that will make it work will come out, or you realize you don’t need that other stuff, or you realize that this is not a story you will ever post because it’s not coherent and makes no sense, but you were doing it for you and that’s okay.

It’s the only way I’ve ever found to write and be happy, and to me being happy is the point.

[eveningstruggle]

my writing year in review: 2023

thank you @oknowkiss for tagging me!!

I really thought I posted a lot more to ao3 in 2023 than I did, lol.

MARCH

hypothetically, yes / dramione / 11.8k / rated E

“Malfoy.” She pushed her frames up higher on her face. “I’ve objectively analyzed the situation—“ “What situation?” “Our situation, and—“ “What is our situation?” “The state of our relationship.” “Which is what, exactly?” “—and I’ve determined that you and I should date.” OR: Hermione uses science to convince Draco Malfoy to date her. He's not interested.

JUNE

Good Kisser / dramione / 843 words (lol) / rated T

Hermione kisses Draco to prove a point.

Then I posted 3 short little fics I shared last year on twitter for friends' birthdays. Even though I didn't write them this year, I'm including them because otherwise this list is really short lmao.

AUGUST

Practicum / 1.2k / rated M

"Why did you ask him to obliviate you?” “I…don’t remember. But the point is, he did it, and he mis-fired. And now I’ve lost a large body of valuable knowledge I spent years acquiring through countless hours of intensive study.” Hermione is intrigued. “What did you lose?” Malfoy hesitates, a faint flush staining his cheeks. “Sex.” She raises her eyebrows. “You forgot—sex?” OR: Draco needs a teacher.

SEPTEMBER

Romancing the Receptionist / 1.7k / rated T

Only after she escaped into the conference room and felt her shoulders drop did she realize her entire body was bracing for a confrontation. The next week, it was the same: sad eyes, a nod, tense shoulders, a flock of mischievous memos. Malfoy wasn’t gearing up for a fight. He was just trying to get through his days without a paper cut. OR: Draco has an in with Hermione’s favorite novelist.

Returning the Favor / 1.4k / rated T

“Malfoy. Will you please do me the very great honor of taking my slapginity?” “If I do, will you stop saying slapginity?” “I solemnly swear I’ll never say it again.” He heaved a sigh. “Fine. Stand up.” He stretched his arms in front of him and cracked his knuckles. “Where do you want it?” “My face.” She pointed at her cheek. His eyes widened briefly. “Fuck. Are you sure?” “Give it to me, Malfoy. And don’t be gentle,” she said, full of drunken bravado. He smirked. “I’m never gentle.” He raised his hand. OR: Hermione asks Malfoy to try something new.

Wild Sings the Bird / 27.5k (WIP) / rated M

Birding is for • Weirdos • Septuagenarians • Hermione Granger (not anymore) • … • Draco Malfoy?? Hermione is fine. Really. She’s very busy these days, cancelling her wedding and avoiding her well-meaning but overbearing friends. Unfortunately, her friends have given her an ultimatum of sorts: teach her hobby-hopping yet accident-prone enemy, Draco Malfoy, about birdwatching, or suffer the wrath of constant friend support and supervision. What does it say about her life that birding with Malfoy is the better option?

(This is my personal pride and joy, my beloved. I posted 4 chapters this year and have 18-20ish to go.)

DECEMBER

Not What It Looks Like / 5k / rated M / for dhr advent 2023

A hot, panicky hurt begins to throb inside her chest. This doesn’t make sense. Is it some type of horribly misguided practical joke? Revenge for shutting him down a few months ago? Or—is it a parting gift? A “so long and thanks for the memories, now I’m off to fuck someone else?” ”What—” Her voice croaks. She clears her throat and tries again. “What the fuck is this, Malfoy?” Confusion creases his forehead. “They’re photos of you.” She’s five seconds from bolting back through the Floo. “I can see that. Why have you given me two dozen terrible photos of myself for Christmas?” Or: Draco gives Hermione a Christmas gift.

[themculibrary]

Archery Masterlist

Aim True (ao3) - Snow_Siren T, 2k

Summary: Clint is overjoyed when his daughter wants to learn archery. In his eagerness, he may gloss over a few key safety points.

assume a defensive stance (ao3) - hoosierbitch bruce/clint T, 4k

Summary: No one can understand why Bruce and Clint are together. Clint's loud, brash, irritating--exactly what Bruce doesn't need in his life. (Also, there are sandwiches. Of LOVE.)

A Very Barton Christmas (ao3) - angelshotgun T, 5k

Summary: It’s nearly Christmas when Kate breaks her leg and Clint totes her back to the Barton Family Farm to heal. Hijinks ensue.

Everybody Asks Me How I Know (ao3) - Nonymos bruce/clint M, 19k

Summary: Bruce has never been very good at having a home, feeling safe, or being loved. But Clint makes everything so damn easy.

Eyes wide...shut (ao3) - Webtrinsic G, 3k

Summary: The team gets curious as to what Peter's senses can really do, needless to say, the result wasn't one they'd been expecting. At least Uncle Clint is there to help!

It's All in the Form (ao3) - sapphiremoonlight_witch yelena/kate T, 1k

Summary: Kate ‘teaches’ Yelena to shoot a bow but Yelena may know more than she lets on

Kate's return to College (ao3) - KurosakiIchigoat yelena/kate E, 29k

Summary: Kate returns to College and enters a spring archery tournament. With more than just a medal waiting for her at the end.

Kidnapped! (ao3) - Sartapaw92 kate/yelena T, 11k

Summary: Kate Bishop takes a break from her superhero duties for a while as she relaxes in her Apartment. Yelena Belova remains active in working for the ill-repute as she likes to be paid. At times, Yelena likes to mess with Kate, mainly over the phone. And at times Yelena likes to bring Kate to assist her with whatever task that Yelena has been given by her Mob Boss. The next job will be no exception.

Second Time Around (ao3) - BeneficialAddiction clint/phil T, 74k

Summary: Upon learning that Phil Coulson is still alive, something breaks in Clint, maybe permanently. Leaving behind his team, his home, and his identity as Hawkeye, he falls back on an old name, living separately from the Avengers until SHIELD demands they begin looking for someone to take the missing archer's place and their sights turn to the rogue assassin Ronin.

What are the chances of being recruited by a shady government division of superheroes twice?

Sequestered (ao3) - ElloPoppet bucky/clint M, 37k

Summary: Clint struggles after Tony and Natasha's deaths. To grieve and begin healing, he takes Maria up on her offer to use a secluded family vacation home in Maine. Clint finds himself hidden away from the rest of the world...until Bucky Barnes knocks on the door.

Shooting Range (ao3) - aimmyarrowshigh yelena/kate T, 100

Summary; Shooting range. The arrow flies wild.

Stop Practicing (ao3) - KittyViolet kate/america E, 3k

Summary: Kate wants her favorite bow back. But America knows what she needs.

Talk to Me (ao3) - laceymcbain clint/phil E, 11k

Summary: The first words Clint ever remembers Coulson saying to him are "talk to me."

Trick Shots (ao3) - subjunctive clint/kate T, 2k

Summary: Clint can't back down from a dare. And Kate's tone is very daring.

We'll Haunt This Place (The Two of Us) (ao3) - ElloPoppet clint/steve, bucky/sam E, 25k

Summary: Huh. Captain America showing up at his farm unannounced in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon with a suitcase. Somehow, not the strangest thing to ever happen to Clint. Not even the strangest way he had been woken from a nap, honestly.

Where Home is Tonight (ao3) - samalander clint/kate T, 4k

Summary: "Look, when I say I'm not from around here, I don't mean I'm from Jersey. I'm not supposed to be here. And I won't stay long. But-- but I wanted to meet you. See if you lived up to the hype." "Girl," Clint says, his arrogance somehow more pronounced by his youth, "I am the hype."

Or, Kate falls off a building, and lands in a place where time moves differently.

[larryficwriter]

one line, any fic

Hiiiii, I was tagged by @kingonafiftymetreroad and @thebreadvansstuff to do the one line, any fic challenge. Sooo, here we go.

Pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people

Never Understood What Love Was Really Like (But I Felt it for the First Time Looking in Your Eyes)  E, 37k

“Louis,” he looks to him, almost frantic with pleasure, and Louis sees his entire world.

“I know,” Louis says, literally feeling every emotion of Harry’s running through his veins. Their eyes lock as they both share this moment. “Me too.”

The connection he feels with Harry goes beyond what any words could describe. Laying there, locking eyes with Harry, who is all wide-eyed and beautiful, while they’re bound together - Louis has never felt anything like it. It’s like they’re no longer two separate people, like he doesn’t know where Harry ends and he begins.

Unwrap My Heart E, 15k

Harry started calling him Sweet after he discovered that Louis listened to Sweet Creature on repeat so much that it’s his top song of the year. It makes Louis’ heart do backflips every time. He has to press the side of his face into the pillows to hide his giddy smile.

Cure the Loneliness E, 14k

Harry rolls over and checks the time, 3:46 am. He should be sleeping. But all he can think about is how awry his life has gone. Yeah, sure, there are parts of his life that he knows he’s been blessed with. The fact that he made it, truly made it, in a career that rarely anyone does - it’s a miracle. He looks around at his empty, dark room. What good are miracles if you have no one to share it with?

You are the Lyrics E, 5k

Harry holds Louis’ wrist still. Even from his obstructed view of Louis, half of Harry’s face still smashed into their bed, he can see the look of confusion on Louis’ face. He gives Louis the best smirk that he can in the situation, and then he literally starts riding Louis’ hand.

Like Snowflakes G, 4k

Silence. Louis can’t quite place the look on his face. He’s momentarily distracted by the fact that snow has started to fall and he watches as tiny flakes start to waft peacefully around them. Some land on his hair, the white creating a stark contrast with the chocolate brown of Harry’s hair. When a single flake makes its home on Harry’s cheek, Louis’ first reaction is to swipe it off with his thumb and right when their eyes meet, words are spilling out of Louis’ mouth.

Til My Voice Breaks, Baby I Love You E, 23k

Louis looks at Harry, feeling emotional and vulnerable and he wants to say it. He wants to tell Harry. He opens his mouth and the tiniest “I” comes out. Harry didn’t even hear it.

Only You, Always E, 5k

“Babe,” Harry whispers, biting on Louis’ earlobe to regain Louis’ attention. “Hope you’re ready for round two.”

All My Senses Come To Life (Cause You’re The Only One) E, 20k

“I’m fine. The room’s stopped spinning. C’mon, don’t stall. Did you not like the kiss? Because it’s okay if you didn’t.”

“I liked it. You got weird.” Louis says, scratching at the 28 on his knuckles.

“You got weird!” Harry insists. “Oh my god. Are we freaking out over nothing?”

Dear Blue E, 9k

‘Blue,

Why? There’s so much I want to write to describe what I feel for you. Valentine’s Day is supposed to be special. I’m beginning to think it’s cursed. You’ve made me cry for a lot of reasons: from laughter mostly, but never like this. I don’t even know what to say to you anymore or even if we’ll be okay anymore. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.

p.s. The first card contained a poem that I wasted my time writing about you. Fuck off.

Green’

A Beautiful Start to a Lifelong Love Letter E, 3k

There’s this peaceful sort of quiet. Somewhere down the hallway, someone is already experiencing their first college party judging by the quieted bass thumping. Simon stares at Bram’s bookshelf and smiles to himself. He should have known that the guy who calls him cute and grammatical would decide to be an English major. The streetlight casts just a small amount of light into their room, illuminating Bram’s sleek, toned calves. 

As with my last writing related post, I don’t have many writer friends and the ones I do have already tagged me. If you want to participate, please do! 

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 7: Notes on (Cause This Can't Be) The Way the Story Ends

Am I bitter about being cut from Troped? Uh, yeah, I am, because I’m very competitive and bad at losing. But, oh well! That’s how it goes, I guess. Now that I’m not anon anymore, here are some notes on my R1 fic, (Cause This Can’t Be) The Way the Story Ends. They came out to be quite a lot of notes so I’ll save the trivia and BTS of The Fairy Ring for another time.

The idea of having it be non-chronological came very early because I wanted the story to have a little extra zest and verve, and I felt that, told chronologically, it would be too similar to a type of story I’ve told too many times before. So the concept of this unusual structure, this little puzzle within the story, was integral from the beginning. Originally it was actually going to be even more out of order, and I really didn’t want to tone it down because I felt like then it would be too similar to The Taste of Hope, another Murven story I wrote for Madness 2020, which is also essentially two chronological stories interspliced. The stories are really different in other ways, though, and unlike Taste, this one has a circular structure: it ends where it began, an infinite loop, which I’m pretty proud of. More importantly, though, I just didn’t think it would be readable any more mixed up. I wanted the reader to have this sense of not understanding a detail, and then later getting a lightbulb moment when chronologically-previous information is revealed, and I think I got some of that to happen anyway. But stories obviously are generally told chronologically for a reason: events build up on each other, increase tension, show satisfying cause and effect, etc. I’m not saying super-out-of-order stories can’t be written, but this particular narrative in this particular time frame and within this particular word count… no.

One regret I do have is that I didn’t go very far with the Disaster theme. I wanted to. ‘Disaster’ has strong connotations for me, a strong mood or vibe or aesthetic, speaking in terms of genre. I wanted that panic and hard-nosed-survival feeling, that narrowing down of the world to the disaster itself. There’s a fantasy in Disaster narratives—a naïve one, but it’s there, the fantasy that you will rise to the challenge of adversity, that you will gain real insight into the Meaning of Life when faced with the possibility of death, and that you will finally have the opportunity to throw away all the stupid everyday bs that doesn’t really matter anyway, to get to some kind of Core Value in your humanity or existence that’s obscured by the everyday mundane problems of your usual life. I don’t think I captured that at all but, in truth, I’m just not familiar enough with the genre. I kept thinking of disaster movie titles that I’d never seen. A lot of my Thematic Thoughts here come from having, you know, lived through a disaster myself, and while I do have a forum where I’m trying to work out some feelings about that through fiction, this was not it. I just didn’t feel like I had the vocabulary to do, like, The Day After Tomorrow but in 5k fanfic form.

I didn’t have the word count to make this clear but the ‘gunshot sound’ Murphy hears at the beginning is the falling tree branch that is mentioned later as blocking part of their street.

Another thing that may or may not be clear is the Miller mini-story line, which was also cut down partly due to word count restraints. The idea was he was supposed to be kind of threatening and mysterious—hard to do in fanfic where the audience very much knows who this man is—a potential thief who’s taken advantage of the storm to rob the bakery. Hence the knife, the lockpicking ability, etc. But of course, he’s also injured, so how much can he do. Also, the scene where he and Octavia get into the closet through his lock-picking skills was going to be a whole big to-do, but I cut it in part because I didn’t have the space but also because it wouldn’t have been Murphy POV and I wasn’t sure how to incorporate that into such a steadfastly Murphy-viewpoint story. At any rate, it was supposed to be a big Solved Mystery to find out he was Jackson’s boyfriend, but I doubt that came through.

Another thing on the cutting room floor: the outline included a scene between Clarke and Murphy, talking about his feelings for Raven. But I felt like their relationship was clear enough without it—they were already sort of inching toward each other again—and also, I simply did not have space for another conversation.

I chose an ice storm because that’s the disaster-type I’m most familiar with and, like I said above, I’m just not adept at this genre. I needed to go an easy route. I grew up in an area with very heavy winters, and I really did live through a pretty major ice storm, the January 1998 North American Ice Storm (look it up), which hit when I was in the third grade. I have very strong memories of one particular night without power, during the ice storm, staying up and listening to the radio, just like the characters do in the story.

Originally, very early, I was going to have Harper as the grad student and Miller as an EMT, while Octavia was always Murphy’s co-worker. Those were just my initial instincts, which shifted as I continued planning.

Octavia is my personal favorite in this fic.

I came up with the dancing scene on the bus.

Reading the description of Bakery Au actually helped a lot because before that, my idea was feeling very Coffee Shop AU. I mean, it still does imo, but I also have a centerpiece scene where the two main characters decorate a tart so…. In my defense, that’s pretty bakery-like.

And I think that’s it! I have several pages of notes but they’re largely scene lists repeated with small variations as I tried to get the order of events, and the order of events as presented in the fic, just right.

[wkemeup]

Ok, I have a question for you, and with how you write, I think you are a good person to ask!

I am a pretty new writer (I've written six fics between 1,500 to just under 4,000 words each). I'm getting an outline ready for my next fic, and I think it's going to be long. I know you write longer pieces on a regular basis, which is why I'm asking you: how do you determine what is a one-shot vs. what has multiple chapters?

Thank you for any input, and most importantly - thank you for sharing your writing with us! 🙂

Hi!! So sorry for the long delay! It comes down to word count for me. Sometimes I will post a 10k one shot and sometimes I break it into two parts. But I like to have each part be a fully rounded story with a clear beginning, climax, and end (even if the end leaves questions unanswered because that’s what part 2 is for). Personally I prefer my chapters to be a minimum of 4k, ideally 5k words. Mostly because anything less can feel like it’s rushed or doesn’t keep the reader captivated enough with the details and intricacies of the story. So if I’m writing a lot and I’m finding I’m nearing 10k, that’s when I start asking myself if I can split it into 5k chunks. Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t lol. I know 10k can be a lot for people to read at one time and maybe it’s a deterrent, but I won’t cut a fic in two for the sake of making it shorter. Only if it makes sense in the story.

I hope that’s helpful!!

[earthtooz]

x : POISON :*+ﾟ

in which: kaiser is undeniably in love with you. tonight, he makes it known. you accept.

warnings: 1.4k words, making out, reader is injured, gn!reader, SPY!AU, 16+ content!! sexual tension lol

context: this was originally a snippet of my 5k celebration where i planned a spy!au for kaiser. however, that idea ended up being scrapped so now i just have this makeout scene that i wrote one night and i don't want it to go to waste. there's more to this scene than just the making out, but, reader gets hurt on a mission gone awry and kaiser kinda lost his shit and went feral on the enemy and that's where we are now ! enjoy whatever this is !

“don’t overdo yourself. no intense training for a week. remember to do your breathwork and stretches everyday, five times a day,” the monotone voice of the nurse fills your ears as you try your best to stumble through the hallways to remain in pace with her. “come back in three days for a checkup. recover quickly, agent.”

“thank you,” you grit, dawdling out of the hospital wing with your bed at the forefront of your mind. goodness, you just needed to lie down and think about how you’re going to train back into top shape again.

because despite only being out of commission for five days, your senses are already failing you, unable to detect the looming figure behind you. hands abruptly grab you by your arms, pressing tightly into you as you both stumble into the darkness of your now unlocked room. 

you would fight back, but the assailant’s scent is nothing but familiar, and instead of fear, your heart begins to race in anticipation.

especially as kaiser smoothly spins you around in his grasp, forcing you to continue walking until you hit the edge of your bed, causing you to sit down. the door closes behind the two of you and the only light source were the lamps coming from outside your window, allowing you to see the outline of kaiser’s face.

“what’s your problem?” you ask, irritation brewing from how abrupt his entrance was. “seriously? do you know how reckless that was to just grab me and force me into a dark room? i’m recovering too, what if you pulled one of my stitches? jackass.”

he doesn’t reply. in fact, kaiser is uncharacteristically silent and you wonder if the man in front of you was kaiser at all.

it has to be, no other agent in this facility has blue hair like his, or such a recognisable tattoo, or an addictive aura like his. 

“kaiser?” you say, this time breathy, quiet, and cautious. “is everything okay?”

the sigh that escapes him causes his whole body to shudder and you’re caught off guard when two hands come to hold your face, followed by the press of lips against your forehead. your breath lodges itself in your throat, unused to this kind of intimacy and closeness from kaiser. 

he doesn’t speak but neither do you because you’ve never heard a more sadder, disappointed sigh from anyone… ever, not from noel when you failed an assessment, not when you were unable to shoot the dummy in the heart, not even from yourself when you failed to clear a skill stage for the umpteenth time. so you’re willing to wait for kaiser to come around, for the silence to naturally melt itself away, for his closeness to stop overwhelming you, for your heart to stop racing as fast as it is. 

his hands then move to begin playing with your hair.

“i hate that i can’t protect you,” he finally confesses; a breath of rushed words rather than an actual sentence that is easily decipherable. 

“i don’t need it-”

“-i know; you don’t need help, especially from me, but fuck, i can’t help it.” you bite back the urge to say ‘i know’, suddenly remembering the crazed look in his eyes from that night. the memory sends shivers down your spine. “i can’t help but want to hide you from the world, to be beside you all the time where you’ll be safe- where i’d kill to keep you safe.” 

his words are no louder than a breath. the weight of his words fall upon your shoulders with undeniable force, causing you to sink against him, surrendering to the pressure of his admission.

“kaiser-”

“-i know. i know you don’t need anyone’s protection, i fucking know. because you’re stupid and reckless but so brave and admirable in everything you do that i need to be selfish when it comes to you. if i’m not then you’ll go flying off to somewhere i can’t reach and my love-” 

he pauses, faltering a little as he leans away from you, tilting your head carefully to make you look up at him. “-i can’t let that happen.”

something within you crumbles. with your own ears, you hear your ruination come alive with his words. “kaiser, we can’t be doing this. you know that. we’re bad for each other.”

“why can’t you be selfish with me too?” 

stunned into silence, you can’t look him in the eye, fearful of what would become of you if you did. you’re already overflowing, the walls that you once made unbreakable finally beginning to reveal their first crack. kaiser is maddening; truly maddening.

“why can’t you be careful with me?” you ask, voice cracking against your will. “you say these things but you spin me around like a headless horse. one second you’re at my throat, ready to push me off a cliff then-”

“-my love.” 

“don’t call me that!” you plead. “don’t call me that when you don’t mean it. i’d rather bleed from a stab wound than from love, don’t you know? i can’t keep fighting against you and your cruel games.”

you quiver at the feeling of him kissing the side of your face. the crack widens. 

“you win. you’re the emperor, you’re the mastermind, whatever, i surrender.”

he breathes in, exhaling roughly too as he speaks against your skin: “you’re not understanding me. i’ll be anything you want me to be. tell me to leave and i will. i’ll never speak of this moment again and i’ll never speak of my love for you again, but accept my heart and it’ll be at your mercy.”

as if matching his promise, kaiser sinks to his knees between your legs so that you were now eye-level. his eyes gleam with heart wrenching genuinity, his expression serious like you’ve never seen him before. you’ve witnessed kaiser gone manic, gone crazed, gone rogue even, but you’ve never seen him like this. 

he’s terrifying but deliciously tempting. 

the first step is terrifying, your hands trembling when they go to cradle his jaw. he falters.

the second step is even more horrifying, as you lean closer to him, you try to unlearn the security protocols you’ve needed to put up to protect yourself. 

the third is nothing but liberating because you’re now falling, so utterly helpless as you meet your demise, landing in kaiser’s embrace.

“you’re insane,” you mutter, stopping just briefly before his lips. 

he keens, desire dripping off of him like honey as he wills himself to not close the gap. “so you’ve told me. countless times before, actually.”

“your insanity must be rubbing off on me,” you joke, “be my lover, kaiser. for the night or for eternity, i’ve picked my poison.”

“then i’ll so happily drink it for you.”

with that, you seal your lips against his and his touch shatters you from the inside, walls fully collapsing at his will when his hands go to hold your waist, grabbing your shirt as if anchoring himself into this reality. 

“shit,” he breathes against your lips. “i can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

“what if i was?”

“then never wake me up, my love,” he grumbles before standing up, never going too far from you as he slowly pushes you down. using your elbow to support you before you could fully give in and kaiser uses his arm to hold his weight as the other goes to your hip. “i’m yours, i’m all yours.”

he sighs heavily. “i can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you.”

this time, his kiss consumes you, intent on committing all of you to memory as his hands roam, too antsy to be able to remain in one place. your hands tangle in his hair, a subtle way of telling him to not go too far; not that he wants to. how could he when he has everything he’s wanted for the past decade in his hands? 

rendered so helpless in your grasp, the only thing kaiser can think about is pleasing you.

pain shoots up your body, causing you to fall back onto your mattress, breaking away from kaiser who gazes at you with shining eyes. 

“you-” you cough. “you have to be nice. i can’t breathe very easily. everything hurts.”

kaiser laughs, the sound reverberating through the darkness. “i can make an exception for you,” he promises, hands caressing against you like glass as he connects your lips with his again, intent on fully becoming yours.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[7-ratsinatrenchcoat]

Flying Lessons

here's a one-shot I intended to be like 1.5k words and it ended up being just over 5k. Oopsie.

The day started as it usually did- Zeldris was up before the sun, running on just a few hours of sleep, exhausted but just alert enough to train. Cusack was waiting for him in the west courtyard, but Zeldris took his time this morning, taking the long way past the gardens to see the Stella Amantis bloom for the day. The flowers cast a soft blue glow over the garden, contrasting the usual harsh red tones in the rest of the castle. 

He caught up with Cusack in the courtyard where they usually trained, and was promptly instructed to run laps until he was told to stop. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes- laps? Really?- Zeldris did as he was told. He almost didn’t see his brother walk in from the opposite end. Didn’t he start training even earlier than Zeldris did? What was he doing here?

(not that he would pass up an opportunity to see his brother- they could barely speak to each other without being carefully watched. Any stray word could make it back to their father and spell doom for both of them, reducing their conversations to passing glances and meaningful stares. Luckily, the pair had it down to an art form, and could have entire arguments without saying a word. It was honestly a little impressive.)

Meliodas exchanged a few words with Cusack, somehow managing to look imposing over the taller demon, and nodded once. Cusack turned to face him and waved Zeldris over, and the younger demon happily abandoned his laps. Cusack answered his question before he could speak. “Your brother is taking you for the day. Don’t cause him trouble.” 

That… didn’t make sense.

Why would Meliodas not only get a day off from his training, but somehow manage to get him a day off as well? It had been pounded into his head from the very beginning, the early stages of training were the most important. Neither of them had left those early stages, so why? How? 

His brother grabbed his hand and almost dragged him out of the courtyard, breaking into a run once Cusack was out of sight. “Mel- slow down, where are we doing?” Zel demanded, struggling to keep pace with him. “Hurry up, we don’t have much time,” Meliodas said shortly, explaining absolutely nothing. Typical of him, honestly. 

They made it to the south wall before Meliodas finally stopped, allowing Zel to catch his breath for just a moment before holding out his arms. “Come on, we gotta go,” he urged. Zel frowned and crossed his arms. “You don’t have to carry me, I’m not a baby. I’m a hundred and fifty already,” he announced, and his brother rolled his eyes. “Sure, Zel. Because 137 totally means 150. Those numbers are definitely the same,” he teased sarcastically. 

Zel pointed a finger in his face indignantly. “Well, you’re only 166 and you tell everyone you’re 175! Don’t be a hypocrite,” he announced, feeling very smug with himself. His brother just huffed a sigh and scooped him up anyway, earning a very undignified squawk from the younger demon. “Doesn’t matter. 166 is closer to 175 than 137 is to 150,” Meliodas tried to rationalize. Zeldris clung tighter to his neck, trying to get a better grip. “Is not.”

“It definitely is, Zel.”

“It’s not. The point isn’t the numbers, the point is that I’m right and you’re wrong.”

“Whatever you say.”

He took a moment to appreciate how easily his brother summoned his inky black wings. The faint scent of ozone, the way he could just make out the swirling pattern if he squinted hard enough, the jagged edges that Meliodas carefully kept away from Zel’s body. He leaped into the air, struggling for just a moment under their combined weight before getting his bearings and surging forward.

“So, where are we actually going?” Zel called through the rushing wind. Meliodas smiled how he did when he was planning something, a sure sign that today was going to be interesting. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier, I didn’t want the old man to hear. Cusack was going to teach you to fly today.”

Zel’s mouth dropped open, and indignant rage filled his small body. “He- what?! Mel, that’s the fun lesson! Why would you-”

“I didn’t let him because I wanted to teach you,” his brother interrupted calmly. “Mom taught me even after I started training, so I wanted to continue the tradition.”

… Oh. That explained it. 

After the pair started training, they weren’t supposed to have any contact with their mother. It was jarring at first, going from spending almost every minute with her to not seeing her at all, so if she’d risked breaking all their rules for one lesson, it had to be really important.

(not that Zel would ever get that from her. Her funeral was just over thirty years ago now. Meliodas still refused to tell him what happened to her, always deflecting and promising to tell him when he was older.)

A sudden realization dawned over him. “You didn’t ask Chandler to do this, did you?” 

Meliodas grinned again, and Zel groaned. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble,” he complained, but his brother just laughed. “He’ll get over it. This is more important.”

They were quiet for a while after that, Meliodas focusing on flying and Zeldris taking in the towns barely visible from the air. He wondered if any of them were awake yet. Probably not, he decided. Not when the stars were still visible. 

Zeldris drifted off for a while, closing his eyes and burrowing into the hollow of his brother’s neck to hide from the cold night air. He took a moment to press his ear to the older’s chest and listen to his hearts beat for a while, a sure and steady rhythm. He wasn’t sure exactly when he fell asleep, but cracked open his eyes when his brother whispered in his ear. “Zel, look. We’re almost there.”

Blearily turning his head to where his brother was facing, Zel inhaled sharply at what he saw in front of them. They were a long way from the castle- the mountains usually only visible in the distance loomed in front of them, overlooking a massive lake that reflected their mass in the calm dawn. Sunlight spilled from behind, reducing the mountains to silhouettes and casting the water and surrounding tree cover orange and pink. 

Zel thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

Meliodas finally touched down on a pebbled beach across from the mountains, setting him down ever so gently on the rocks. Zel stumbled a little, adjusting to having his feet under him again, and the boys took a moment to stretch their aching muscles. Meliodas picked up a rock and skipped it across the water, laughing a little when he got to seven jumps before it sank. 

He turned to face Zeldris, a wide smile spreading across his face. Zel was shocked a little- instead of their usual reddish-black, wide emerald eyes stared back at him. Were they really far enough away from the castle for that? “It’s okay,” Meliodas promised, “We’re safe here.” 

Zeldris wanted to believe him, so badly. So he did.

It almost felt strange to let go of the cool darkness he’d worked tirelessly to maintain 24/7, but a wave of relief rushed through him as it receded. Just existing as he was felt like a nostalgic luxury. Memories of stories told under moonlight, days spent learning all about his country, his family history, the world around him. If he reached far enough into his memory, Meliodas was there too. 

It hadn’t struck him until now how badly he’d missed his brother. Not as a comrade or ally- just him and Meliodas, against the world.

He didn’t notice he was crying until Meliodas laughed wetly and hugged him. Gods, how long had it been since they were allowed just this? Something as simple as a familiar touch. The last time he could recall was a reassuring squeeze the last time they’d been called to the throne room, a gesture Zel knew his brother would be punished for later but appreciated anyway.

He closed his eyes again and returned the embrace, never intending to let Meliodas go again.

+++

If he had to make a list of the stupidest things he’d ever done, Meliodas thought this one might top that list. He’d broken almost every rule he could think of, spoken and otherwise, in the span of a few hours. He was going to get his ass handed to him in training the next day. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

There were too many rules between him and Zeldris. Don’t look at him, don’t speak to him, don’t touch him, don’t interact with him unless you’re going to hurt him. (Meliodas would rather die than hurt his brother. They made it work anyway.)

The last time he’d been able to give him anything more than a reassuring hand squeeze or friendly glance was thirty four years ago, when he’d broken Chandler’s careful instructions and refused to let Zeldris look into their mother’s open grave. (he’d grabbed Zel’s shoulders and pressed his face into his jacket. “Don’t look,” he choked. That was two rules in one go. No turning back now.)

But today, they had work to do. Meliodas had learned to fly much sooner than Zel, when his mother gestured for him to follow when Chandler had his back turned one summer day. She’d taken him to the same lake they were at now, and spent all day teaching him everything she knew about flying. It was one of his favorite memories of her.

He pulled back, keeping his hands on Zel’s shoulders, and wiped his eyes with one hand. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

Step one: Obtain a pair of wings. This was the hardest step- unlike Goddesses, who had the luxury of naturally-proportioned wings, Demons had to create the shape and size themselves, experimenting until they found a version they liked. Meliodas’ wings were carefully crafted for speed and precision, but he’d had to alter the shape a little when flying with his brother in tow. He didn’t mind in the slightest. 

But the fact remained that this was the longest, hardest step of the process. He thought privately that his mother explained it better, but Zel got the hang of it quicker than he had. The key was not to try and make the whole wing at once; it had to come in stages. First, create a line to form the shape around, and work your way out from there. 

He carefully studied Zel’s 7th pair of wings that morning. “Make the left a little bigger- okay, hold them up so they’re parallel. Yeah, like that. Can I touch them?” After a quick nod, Meliodas carefully molded the wings so that they were symmetrical, and grinned. “That looks good. Now, start over and make this exact shape from scratch.” Zel groaned several complaints at once, but Meliodas never dropped his smile, remembering his own reaction was almost exactly the same. “Come on, at least you know what to do this time. Don’t get all pissy on me.”

It didn’t take many more tries before Zel had the same consistent wing shape each attempt. The pride that bloomed in his chest made any of his own accomplishments pale in comparison. “Okay. I think we’re ready for step two,” he announced, and raced Zel to the boulders at the far end of the beach. “First of all, I let you win,” he clarified, shaking his head to Zel’s cries of disagreement. (It was true, he had let his brother win. However, if it was by a larger margin than he intended- well, Zel just didn’t need to know.)

“But second of all, jump off this rock.” From the look of disbelief Zeldris gave him, you would’ve thought Meliodas had asked him to scream a curse word in front of the throne room. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ll catch you,” Mel clarified, “but the goal is to glide as far as you can. If you’re good at it, this can be landing practice too.” Apparently, Zel found this a much better arrangement, and agreed to give it a shot.

(Maybe it wasn’t the exercise itself, but the fact that Meliodas had bothered to explain what he was doing and why it mattered. If Chandler never bothered, he could be sure Cusack didn’t either- they wanted to establish early on that the boys would blindly follow any order given to them. While it was something Meliodas could play along with, he didn’t want Zeldris to genuinely fall for it, especially when they were old enough to be given commandments.)

The first jump was always the hardest. Meliodas offered to jump with him the first time- it wasn’t far, only six feet or so, but it was far enough to be intimidating- but Zel insisted that he could do it by himself. He tried jumping without wings a few times to get used to falling, then with wings, and finally he tried gliding.

The first attempt, Zel successfully traveled a few feet forwards, and his expression lit up like it was his birthday. “Mel, did you see that?! I did it! I went forward!” he cheered, and Meliodas couldn’t help but celebrate with him. “I saw the whole thing, Zel, that was awesome,” he affirmed, barely getting the words out before the young demon was scrambling back up to try again. 

After he was confident gliding from the smaller rock, they moved on to the bigger boulder, where Meliodas really did have to catch Zel if he messed up a glide. The drop was almost 12 feet, and would definitely break bones if he was caught off guard. He only had to do so once, when his brother forgot to watch his feet by the edge. All the warning the older demon got was a panicked gasp before he was blindly reaching out, catching Zel a little closer to the ground than he would have liked. It took some convincing to get him to try again after that, but when Meliodas suggested taking a break Zeldris flat-out refused.

(I’ll always catch you, Meliodas had promised. That’s what I’m here for. But if you want to work on something else for a while, that’s okay too. Zeldris had shook his head, wiping away the tears that dotted his cheeks before responding. “I want to try again.”)

By now the dawn chill had vanished from the air, the sun beating down on them but the breeze from off the lake kept the pair cool. Occasionally a cold wind would sweep from down the mountain, and Meliodas took a moment to tell Zeldris about how their mother told him that wind was the ghosts of dead stars coming to see what was happening on Earth. It probably wasn’t true, but who knows? Magic works in strange ways.

After Zel was successfully gliding halfway across the beach, Meliodas called him back over, once again impressed by the young demon’s speed. “Let’s start on step three,” he announced, relishing the look of excitement on Zel’s face. “This is the easy part. Just do exactly what you’ve been doing so far, and the rest is pretty much intuitive.”

He carefully positioned his brother so that his back was to Meliodas’ chest and hefted both of them into the air, putting both of them parallel to the ground. “Okay, summon your wings,” he called through the rushing wind, careful not to hiss in pain when one of them clipped his arm. He got them both up to a good speed, flying over the water, and loosened his grip. 

Ever so slowly, he moved his arms out from under his brother, until he was flying on his own just a few inches below him. Meliodas kept his hands carefully positioned, ready to grab him at a moment’s notice, until he noticed Zel flapping. He grinned- this was the best part. While most demons didn’t need to fly, their ancients were all born with wings. Even as they lost them over time, the instinct remained. 

Silently, Meliodas moved to the side, flying side by side with his brother, waiting for him to notice. He spared a glance at him, internally celebrating at the wonder on his face. “Zel, you’re doing it,” he laughed, and the bright, wide grin that spread across his brother’s face made the sun and stars pale in comparison. “I’m doing it,” he gasped, “I’m flying.”

Meliodas understood now why his mother refused to let Chandler teach him this particular skill. Swinging a sword, throwing a punch- combat skills were for just that. Combat. Violence. Destruction. 

This… Flying was special. It wasn’t a weapon, or just a tool or transportation. It was personal, from learning what shape suited you best to taking that first jump on your own. Someday, Meliodas promised himself, when he and Zel got out of here, they’d fly like this again. Just the two of them, for no reason at all, flying for the sake of flying. This would not be the last time.

He never wanted to forget this moment. The contrast of Zel’s dark hair and outstretched hands against the crystal clear sky, the sun shining on his face, the pure delight in his eyes- Meliodas had given him this. He made this happen for them. 

He was caught off guard when Zel flapped once, twice, shooting himself forward as fast as he could. The older demon laughed breathlessly, and let his own wings fall back into their familiar shape, built for speed. They chased each other back and forth across the sky, laughing and reaching and twisting out of the way at the last second. “How do I turn?” Zel yelled, and Meliodas graciously demonstrated. “Just look at where you’re going and lean that way,” he yelled back, and was rewarded with the image of Zeldris pulling an almost 90-degree angle and nearly sending himself headfirst into the water below. 

“Okay, maybe we should practice turning and changing directions,” Meliodas wheezed, struggling to keep from laughing at Zel’s disgruntled expression. They worked on it for a while- how this was harder for him than forming the wings themselves, Meliodas didn’t understand- until Zel could weave himself through trees and under waterfalls without issue. 

Around noon, Meliodas was struck with an idea. “Want to see something cool?” he offered, reaching out a hand for Zeldris to take. The younger demon nodded, clasping the outstretched hand in his own, and Meliodas guided them higher, through the mountains and over the dense forests below. “Mel, we’re going to hit the border soon,” Zeldris warned. “Where are we going?” Meliodas turned his head to look at his brother.

“It’s a little further than the border,” he admitted, “but it’s technically neutral territory! I double checked last night.” He watched with satisfaction as the apprehension in Zel’s eyes melted away, replaced by the open curiosity Meliodas loved most about him.

It really wasn’t far, only about fifteen minutes from the edge of the border. The floating stone arena had been abandoned for some time now- Meliodas wasn’t sure how long, but it was long enough for the structure to be covered in ivy and wildflowers. He let Zel take the lead from here, only suggesting that they land on the benches on the far end rather than the unstable-looking floor of the close part. 

It was, in a word, gorgeous. The stone staircase overlooked the endless green forest, stretching up above the mountains, and the lake he and Zel were just at was barely visible behind the snowy peaks. 

“Mom took me here a few times,” Meliodas said quietly. “She called it Heaven’s Arena. I don’t know if that’s the real name, but that’s what I call it in my head. She said when she was little, she’d meet with her Goddess friends here so their parents wouldn’t find out and get mad.” Zel was quiet for a second. “I thought Mom had bad parents?” he questioned carefully, and Meliodas nodded. “Yeah, she did. But they still would have been mad, and her friends’ parents would have been mad too, so they had to keep it a secret. And I didn’t tell you this,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “but she kept writing to them after she married our father.” 

Zeldris gasped, giggling a little. “No way,” he accused, “That can’t be true. He would’ve found out!” Meliodas shook his head with mock solemnity. “Not if she was sneaky enough. She let me in her lab once, and I saw them.” Zel laughed again, and Meliodas ached at the thought that after today, he didn’t know the next time he’d hear it. His smile faded into something more wistful. “Tell me more about her.”

So he did. He spent hours telling Zeldris everything he could remember about their mother, from her smile to her voice to how in one of the portraits, if you knew where to look, she was flipping off the viewer. He got a kick out of that one. “She sounds like a badass,” Zel cracked, and Meliodas couldn’t help but agree. 

He didn’t think he’d ever tell Zel what happened to her. How when his father introduced the draft, she was the first in line, unwilling to put any of her people’s lives before her own. How she was targeted by the Archangels almost immediately, and held them off for hours before all the civilians nearby had evacuated and backup could arrive. 

How that by then, it was too late, and while she was surrounded by bodies and blood it wasn’t enough. He’d never tell him that she died a few hours later, having made it back to the castle for just minutes before slipping away, clutching his hand and making him swear- You have to protect your brother as well as yourself, now. You can’t win this war without each other.

That was the last thing she’d ever said. 

Zeldris could never know. 

Meliodas was already ruined, poisoned by sharp, rolling hatred. He could never forgive the Goddesses, could never make peace with them, for taking away his mother. Zel’s mother. She should be here on his other side, talking about how it wasn’t always like this, about how they could be peaceful and happy and together. 

(Decades ago, she told him about the war his father was creating. She told him it was unfair, that there was no real reason, and as the Queen she knew he was doing this for profit and nothing more. The borderlands weren’t more important than people’s lives, she’d seethed. If the Goddesses wanted the barren wastes, they could have them.)

He would never forgive them, but maybe Zel could. Maybe his brother could be the one to create peace in their world. 

Zel had grown bored of sitting still after Meliodas ran out of stories to tell, and was climbing his way up the tall pillars to glide off them, pulling tight circles as he glided through the stone structure. He was a natural, Meliodas thought proudly. He totally wasn't the reason there was a chip in that statue. No way, not him. 

The day had passed too quickly, painting Heaven's Arena in gold and red under the setting sun. The moon was visible in the distance, and the familiar buzz of magic under his skin hailed the beginning of night. Zel was visibly slowing down, exhausted from the day’s work. He’d earned it, Meliodas reasoned, while trying to figure out how he’d keep himself awake during the flight back to the castle. It wasn’t like he wasn’t tired either- he’d had to stay up later and wake up earlier than he would, cutting his already pathetic sleep schedule into a two-hour nap. He’d stayed awake longer, it wasn’t a huge deal, but the tiredness settling into his bones was inconvenient. 

“We should head back before we get too tired to fly,” Meliodas explained, careful to imply that he was tired too. His brother only took a few moments to consider before agreeing and taking off towards the mountains. So confident, Meliodas cracked internally before following him into the air. He wasn’t phased by the height at all now, when he’d been too scared to look down on the way here. 

The setting sun was blocked by the mountains, but there was still enough light to see the beach and clear water below. Meliodas had a sudden realization watching the fish skitter away from the pair. “Did you eat anything this morning?” he asked, and Zel’s blank look was all the answer he needed. “Shit. Of course not. Okay, we’ll catch something before we start heading back,” he decided out loud. Gods only knew he was in for it, but he could only hope he could convince both of the older Demons that it was his and only his fault. That didn’t guarantee that Zel would get to eat today. 

Might as well take it into their own hands while they had the chance. 

Zel elected to stay behind and start the fire, so Meliodas headed out into the woods behind them. It was a self-taught skill he’d picked up on overnight training missions and kidnapping drills, but he was far from bad at hunting. Sure, maybe it took him a few tries to finally catch the wild boar he’d had his eyes on, but Zel didn’t need to know that.

When he finally slung the carcass over his shoulder, there was smoke coming from the beach, an indicator of Zel’s success. He could hear the crackling fire before he saw it, and was greeted by the sight of Zeldris poking the small blaze with what Meliodas was sure was the longest stick he could find. “Found something,” he said casually, politely ignoring the astonishment on Zel’s face. To be fair, the boar was bigger than he was. 

He grabbed a small knife hidden in the sole of his shoe and got to work carving it up while Zel watched over his shoulder. “I thought we weren’t allowed weapons outside of training,” he said casually, the question evident in his voice. Meliodas shrugged. “I swiped it off one of the guards once. Figured I’d need it at some point. It’s helpful, you should keep an eye out for one. They usually keep it in an outside thigh pocket.” Zeldris nodded seriously and went back to studying Meliodas’ hands. 

Finally, after the sun had fully set behind the mountains, it was ready. “Took long enough,” Zel grumbled with no real bite. Meliodas just hummed in response and let him eat first- if this was all he’d eat today, Zel could have as much as he wanted. Of course, his brother caught on almost immediately. “Aren’t you going to have any?” he questioned, and Meliodas shrugged again. “I’m not that hungry,” he lied, “you go first.” Zel squinted, clearly not believing him, but obliged anyway.

As night settled into the clearing, the temperature dropped steadily, and the cool breeze that had kept the pair comfortable all day now seemed unbearably cold. Zeldris denied feeling it until Meliodas caught him shivering, and moved to sit next to the younger demon and wrap him in his own jacket. “But now you’re going to be cold,” he complained. “I don’t mind,” Meliodas answered honestly, wrapping one arm around the younger demon and resting his cheek on his head. “You run pretty hot, so you can be my heater.”

“I’m not a heater, Mel.”

“But the point is you can be. Pursue your little heater dreams.”

“You’re so stupid.”

Despite the teasing jabs, Meliodas could tell his brother was smiling. At this rate, he was going to pass out soon, but at least he could do so warm, safe and full. “It’s okay,” he reassured quietly, “You can sleep here.” Zel nodded blearily against his arm. “‘Kay,” he yawned, not even bothering to argue that he wasn’t tired. 

“Thank you, aniki,” he murmured, almost too quietly to hear. Meliodas just squeezed him tighter and fought the urge to cry. “Yeah,” he responded quietly. “No problem.” 

He hadn’t thought Zel remembered Demjin. It was what they spoke with their mom and the first language they learned, but neither had been allowed to speak anything but Common during training. It was something that was purely theirs, untainted by any weapon or act of violence, like this place. This would be a good memory. 

Meliodas fought the urge to close his eyes too, instead gently laying Zel on the ground and getting to work concealing any evidence of their campsite. Throwing the firewood into the lake, munching on what meat was left of the boar and burying the bones, scattering the ash and charcoal left from the fire. Once he was satisfied there was no way to tell where they were other than by tracing their magic, which he couldn’t really do anything about, Meliodas hefted Zel into his arms and started the long journey back to the castle.

It really was beautiful up here, he noted absently. The firelight from the towns below them looked like constellations if he looked hard enough. The infinite expanse of stars above them was almost intimidating. His mother used to tell him that every star was a soul either waiting to come down or who had recently died, and the brightest ones were the ones closest to them. He’d never seen a soul before, but she’d said it with such conviction he couldn’t help but believe her. 

The harsh silhouette of the castle marred the horizon, and in his opinion was an ugly scar on the otherwise beautiful land. It was etched into the ground, stretching as far downwards as it did up, and if Meliodas could meet the people who built it he’d compliment their work and then punch their teeth in. 

Landing on the smooth, hard blackstone felt like a death sentence in the silence of the night. Ignoring the eyes and presence he could feel behind him, he took his time walking to Zel’s room and placing him on top of the covers. The younger demon stirred, and Meliodas paused. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?” he whispered, and Zel shook his head. “No, s’okay. G’night, aniki,” he murmured. “Love you.” Meliodas bit back tears. This might be the last time he heard those words from Zeldris. “Love you too, Zel,” he responded. He could only hope the young demon heard him.

Not wanting to tempt fate any longer, he locked Zel’s door behind him and faced Chandler head on. Meliodas kept his eyes solidly on the floor, refusing to look at the elder demon until he was swiftly cracked across the face. Blood splattered on the floor, and he was fairly sure he lost a tooth. “I hope it was worth it, you miserable little brat,” Chandler hissed.

Meliodas didn’t respond. 

It was. Every second of it.

-epilogue-

The morning started as it usually did- Zeldris was up before the sun, running on just a few hours of sleep, exhausted but just alert enough to train. For a moment, he was sure the previous day had been a dream- all the time spent with his brother, free to speak his mind and ask questions he wouldn’t dare voice in the castle, learning to fly-

But that was until he saw the thick, gruesome path of blood leading away from his room. 

Zeldris’ breath caught in his throat, and he furiously blinked back tears. Meliodas had been ready for this- He’ll get over it, his brother had laughed. The dripping splatters on the wall disagreed. 

Zeldris could only think of the glowing pride on his brother’s face when Zeldris flew on his own for the first time. He hoped his brother agreed that it was worth it.

When he smudged the blood with one finger and it came away wet, he didn’t know if it was.

---

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[helaintoloki]

Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

[jikookpancakes]

JIKOOK FIC RECS that no one asked for (2021)

but im giving anyway because THE TALENT IN THIS FANDOM IS INSANE

long post incoming!! this is probably just part 1 because i wont stop reading anytime soon so i’m inserting that link just in case i do make another one in the future

What’s a Soul Really Worth, Anyway? by thisneedsmorefilth - 130k words, fantasy, demon!jm, witch!jk, listen, this and the next one are my top 2 jikook fics of all time, so well-written, plot so exciting legit reads like a book, better than a lot of books tbh, the world-building is INSANE, jungkook and the gang accidentally summon demon!jimin and chaos ensue, especially for jungkook...and you know why!!!, so funny, angsty, cried so much, happy ending but listen to me: you gotta read the sequel too, YOU GOTTA.

Militat Omnis Amans: The Beginnings by edaen - 92k words, fantasy, werewolf!jk, vampire!jm, forbidden love, super slow burn but super worth it, JIKOOK IN THIS IS MY FAVORITE JIKOOK IN ANY FIC EVER EVER EVER, this is the ultimate all or nothing will freeze hell over for the other kind of love, and the way this is written is just so... how do i describe it. like you can just tell the author wanted to be very realistic with their feelings. you’ve seen the word count, this is SLOW burn. like you will legit feel their struggle to just be able to love each other and while it hurts, it’s also SO GLORIOUS. i love this one so much and if you like reading angst with happy ending but like cranked up to 200% then read this. bonus feels if you read the whole series

Until Dawn (series) by edaen - this is the long series where the previous one above is part of. highly rec if you love fantasy and you wanna read about bts being a rag tag group of supernatural beings fighting evil yay. also it makes the above fic more satisfying because you see more of jikook just being tgt and in love (with bonus angst because of course)

7 Signs by NamHyora - 27k words, secret spies au, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm who is always used as a raven in their operations aka they use jimin and his attractive self to attract people and gather information or acquire targets and all that spy stuff, and his bestie alpha jk is not too happy about it hehe, friends to lovers, iove this one so much i wish it was longer but i think the author is planning to write a sequel!

Drop Like Confetti by annie_vi - 110k words, ceo!jk, age difference, age swap, ahhh i love this fic so much cause jimin smart and mature and has this no bs attitude, and he can keep up with jk despite the age gap and the difference in status/experiences, jk sexy dilf in this one eheh, i love it cause the drama/angst tackles a very real concern for such couples, like there’s no angst just for the sake of having angst, it really makes sense where they’re both coming from, they’re so whipped for eo too so love that for me

Fold it Up Like Origami by annie_vi - 99k words, gamer!jk, model!jm, same author as above and jk is so boyfriend goals in this one and in all this author’s fics in general like wow my standards are so high now i will legit be single forever just reading jikook fics (with no regrets), secret relationship due to their celeb status, well-written as usual, dialogues/banter in this author’s fics are just YES

The Tournament by kinkmins - 34k words, prince!jm, bodyguard!jk, abo, i’ll paste part of the summary here “Prince Jimin gets ready to hold a tournament where 50 alphas compete for a chance to court him, his father the king hires a new bodyguard who is a little too blunt and a little too talkative.“, i really love this oneeeee

Screwed Up and Brilliant by annie_vi - 113k words, escort!jk, jimin needed a date for a work event and in comes jungkook, escort extraordinaire with a no sex rule and jimin is just dasdkjfhasl, a lot of that “is this real or is he just acting” kinda angst, fluff smut angst

Like Everything Glows by annie_vi - 180k words, merman!jm, aquatic vet!jk, ok this is like my 4th rec from this author just read all their fics you’re welcome, this is their first fantasy fic but soso good, i rec’d this to someone who doesn’t really read fics and she really loved it and said “their love is so pure hhh”, she’s right

Track one: I love you by honeydice - 30k words, they’re “just” best friends, lots of pining it hurts, there’s some yoonmin and mentioned past jinmin in this so just noting in case, angst, denial of feelings, siiiiigh

InYou by edaen - 4k words, pwp :), abo, the morning after jikook mating, more sexytimes ensue + fluff

Falling For You Again by Rose_gold715 - 30k words, amnesia au, jk forgets about jimin and idk just something about this hits right in the feels. btw i don’t support the jk hated jm before in real life agenda so i don’t like this fic for that reason but i like this fic because i love me some good painful angst with happy ending.

The President’s Son by AmeliaBedelia - 55k words, bodyguard!jk, president’s son!jm, jk is assigned to shadow jm bc his life is under threat, and things develop :), jm is jk’s gay awakening :) :)

A Touch of Sin by pettey - 102k words, fantasy au, police officer!jk, supernatural!jm, shamanism, LOOK AT THE RANGE OF JIKOOK WRITERS YALL, this is such an interesting concept, so different from every other fic i’ve read, really well-written, sometimes you come across fics and you cant help but go “someone out there rly blessing me with this art for free”

Tears to the Tide by haromame - 65k words, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm, honestly there’s not a lot of abo elements it’s focused more on jungkook having ptsd as he just came from war, established relationship jikook, he comes back home to jimin and things have just... changed. except their love ok THEY LOVE EO SO MUCH this made me cry so f much ugh so good tho.

Zero Hour by edaen - 5k words, canon compliant, a little drabble based around rosebowl jikook, it’s part of a series/collection of canon compliant jikook so if you’re looking for more canon compliant here you go!!, also if you can’t tell already i tend to like several things from a single author, i haven’t read their other fics im legit saving for sad days but i am confident enough to say their other fics are also rec-worthy.

Wonder by wordcouture - 7k words, im sorry in advance, mcd :( pls take care of yourself, i don’t like sad endings ok i don’t, but this is so popular and i was like, ok let’s see what the hype is all about, i get it now, :((((((((((((((((((((, well-written tho, bc the author will manage to crush your heart in just 7k words ha ha

The Omega Revolution by PinkBTS  - 158k words, abo, alpha!jk omega!jm, dystopian au, the hunger games more specifically mockingjay vibes, angst with happy ending but there’s some...things... lost along the way and i think that’s realistic for a dystopian war au, well-written

Blind Switch - 226k words, jockey!jk, rich spoiled brat!jm, jm gets exiled to his grandparents ranch where he meets jk yeehaw, im sorry for the yeehaw, anyway fluff smut angst enemies friends to lovers hurt/comfort slow burn happy ending, all the good stuff, ugh jk so boyfriend goals, also the amount of fluff in the later chapters thank u writer

Finally by Rose_gold715 - 12k words, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm, angst with happy ending, jikook mate out of convenience and jimin runs away from jk and his pack feeling unloved and outcasted, but jungkook goes after him :((

Park Jimin’s Guide to Good Housekeeping by Ashlyn17 - 235k words, fantasy au, when i say jikook has the best fic writers i mean jikook has the best fic writers because THE WORLD-BUILDING in this one?, THE PLOT TWIST?, yesyesyes, jungkook is a powerful fae and jimin is assigned to be his housekeeper hehe, listen my entire fic rec has several that could be great netflix shows and this is definitely one of them

A Spell That Reminds Me of Your Name by Chimneycricket - 42k words, wizards!au, enemies to friends to lovers and the development felt natural, well-written plus the author sometimes makes art of their fics and other jikook fics and posts on twitter, both their fics and art are so good, i’ve heard good stuff about their other fics too :)

that’s it for now!

just a quick one about my preferences: idc about tops/bottoms, i read just about anything but i prefer fantasy and multi-chaptered fics, i love established relationship jikook so hmu with recs anytime, i don’t like reading anything with cheating and mcd, i love fics where jk and jm are just so friggin in love they are just IT for eo, and at the end of the day even if there are elements to the fics i wouldn’t normally read, as long as they’re well-written then i’m all for it

[wwilloww]

the bodyguard | ksj

pairing: bodyguard!jin x reader

genre: smut, fluff

rating: explicit

wc: 5k

summary: As your bodyguard, keeping you safe from the world comes with rules for Kim Seokjin. But you’re used to getting what you want, and you want him. 

warnings: nudity. pining. makeout. YN always gets what they want. no pronouns used to address reader. public sex. exhibitionism.  unprotected sex (pls be smarter than these fictional characters). creampie. fingering. oral sex. multiple orgasms. fluff. oh my god so much fluff.

AN: The first part of this fic was written entirely wined up with the INTENTION OF IT BEING A DRABBLE. The second part of this fic was written with the intention of showing all the love to Jin, but then came the idea of smut and bam here we are. 1 million thank yous to @jin-fizz​, who beta’d this at the very last moment and helped me rearrange some things. SMOOCHES to you, you lovely!

The Bodyguard

“Help! Someone, please, Help!”

The cry rings through the rooms, splitting through walls, through the heavy wooden doors of the almost-empty city manor. 

Jin’s footsteps echo from what sound like too far away, climbing the stairs, sprinting down the creaking wooden boards. He bursts through the door to find you, crouched and hunched over your leg on the floor.

“What! What’s wrong?” he almost yells.

His gaze flicks around the room, taking in every detail possible. The unmade bed, the open perfume bottle on your vanity, the doors open to the balcony, curtains fluttering in the late-night breeze.

“My leg!”

In a split second the man your father has hired to be your bodyguard is on his hands and knees next to you, large hands reaching for your palm, gripping it tight.

She had shown you exactly how to do it. Mixing the expression of pain and beauty so expertly on your face. Your mother, despite all the awards and golden trophies she had won for her Hollywood success, had always been the best kind of actress at home.

His eyes light with the slightest amount of relief as he scans your face.

Alright. She’s alright.

“Where?”

Before you can even say anything, he’s gripping your ankles, pulling you to him, looking for any sign of injury.

“Higher.” You lace the pain so particularly into your voice.

His deft fingers kneed into the flesh of your calf, searching for the cause of your cries.

“I don’t see-”

“Higher,” you insist.

His fingers trace so delicately, so carefully, over your knee, pressing into your thigh, higher, higher, until he’s brushing back the silken fabric of your nightgown.

And then, breath drawn so quickly through his nose, fingers digging into you, holding you tight.

“Oops,” you breath. “I must have completely forgotten.”

“To put panties on?”

“Mhmm. Exactly.”

With a quick movement, he’s wrapped both of his hands around your calves and tugs you forward to him.

“You’re a liar,” he drones, your legs nearly wrapped around his waist.

“I am.”

“And a cheat.”

“Of course.” You grin. “You know more than anyone that I don’t like to play these kinds of games by other people’s rules. And I know that you love it.”

He doesn’t respond. Just closes his eyes, takes a long controlled breath. When he exhales it brushes so teasingly across your face.

“I might be a liar, but I know you’re not.” You reach for his cheek, and you think you see his eyelids flutter at the touch. His hands are still wrapped around your leg, the warmth of his palms seeping through into you. “So tell me you haven’t been thinking about this,” you whisper.  

He growls softly, his eyes flashing bright and conscious towards you.

“You know I can’t.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me?” You draw on your prettiest of pouts.

“I can’t.”

You just blink back at him, letting your eyelashes brush against the warming rise of your cheeks.

“That’s not a no.”

“Your father would kill me.”

“Father’s not home.”

“He’ll be back by morning. And he’ll take pleasure in killing me if he were to know,” Jin asserts, running a hand through the falling wave of his sky-dark hair.  

“You’re avoiding the question. Why do you always avoid my questions?” You push yourself closer to him, coming to wrap your hands around his neck and tug on the fresh pressed angle of his white dress shirt collar. He looks away from you.

“Because you always ask all the wrong questions.”

“I do not. In fact, I’d argue I’m asking all the right ones.” You glance up at him. The look in his eyes is unmistakable. Desire. Mixed with restraint. You know which one he’ll let win out over the other, and within a second he’s proving you right.

“I should go.”

He begins to pull away from you.

“You should stay.” You push yourself forward, wrapping your legs around his torso and slinging your arms around his neck. Impulsively, his hands press against your lower back, supporting you. So when he stands, you’re face to face. He blinks, taking a second to realize your position.

“Stay. Please,” you whisper.

He continues to stare at you, eyes tracing the shadow of your brow, the press of your lips, the mound of your warm cheeks. Your confidence crumbles in his silence.

“At least tell me you want this. Tell me I’m not making it up. Tell me I’m not alone in this.”

Finally, his eyes flick up to yours. It’s there. The answer. But he remains silent, his breath moving through his chest, and then through you. The stillness of the moment — being held by the man you can’t get out of your mind — mixed with the bitter taste of a lingering question. You can’t. You can’t hold it all, not in one body: the tenderness of his being and the acrid promise of his rejection.

And so you release your arms from around his neck. Unhook your legs. When your body drops softly to the floor he lets you go.

“It’s okay,” you say. “If you want to go, you can go.”

Without looking at him, you pad silently to the cracked open french doors. With a light push, they swing open before you and the crisp of the night air ruffles through your hair and the thin fabric of the night gown you’re wearing.

Silly. Silly. Silly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the breeze swirl around you and prickle with ice against your skin. If only you might lose yourself in it. If you could lift yourself up off the stone balcony to fly through the city streets, feeling nothing but the brush of strangers against you.

Had you mistaken it all? The lingering gazes. The tightened grip on your waist when your father introduced you to potential suitors — all of whom you’d quickly turned away in front of Jin, by the way. Did you misread the way that his gaze had begun to latch onto you to trace not just your safety, but your sense of being in a way that surpassed his usual loyalty? And most important to you, the way he’d begun smiling around you for the first time. Letting cracks show in his usually pristine professional behavior.

You wait for the sound of the doors to your bedroom slamming shut and Jin leaving, but you must be so lost in yourself that the sound never comes. It’s just the wind, howling. The beating of your heart in your chest. The bite of something that tastes like regret nibbling at your throat.

“How could you think I didn’t want you?” It’s so soft you can barely hear it. But you do.

Spin back towards the room.

Jin stands between the doors, his broad frame flickering gold in the soft light behind him. His face is shadowed in blue  as he faces out into the night, out towards you, but his eyes shine with a warm light.

“How dare you?” he says softly with a smile playing against his lips. He steps towards you. Before the smile can fully take position on your lips, he’s so close to you you can feel the warmth of his large body radiating out towards you. “How dare you think I don’t want you.” A long pause. And then, as softly as if the words might break him: “You’re all I can think about.” Tentatively, he reaches out towards you.

And then he stops, just as his hand is about to touch your burning cheek.

You do the rest, stepping back into your usual tradition of goading him on. With a soft movement, you reach for him, interlacing your fingers with his and letting his touch fall across your face. You sigh into it. His thumb strokes slowly over your cheek bone.

“How dare I?” you say. “How dare you make me wait this long.”

He just smiles back, his dark eyes reflecting the streetlights back to you.

“Will you let me kiss you, now? Finally?”

“Finally, yes,” he says.

You reach up, pressing your fingers to the back of his neck where his hair has grown long in the past months, tangling your fingers into them before his lips have even reached yours.

None of your other first kisses have been like this. Sure, you’ve kissed other people. Other men. But you’ve never kissed Kim Seokjin before.

Your lips meet like wings brushing against each other: soft and fluttering, finding a path through the air with ten thousand questions etched into each feather. He wraps one of his long arms around your back, spreading his fingers wide and pressing you lightly into his chest, all the while his opposite hand brushes so lightly and tenderly against your cheek, guiding you ever closer, ever deeper into his affections.

“You,” he whispers against your lips, “are an absolute gift.”

“I don’t know how you did it,” you whisper back.

“What?”

“Resisted me for so long.” He snorts against you and you can’t help but giggle. “I swear to god I’ve been trying for so long to let you know how I’ve felt,” you explain, leaning your forehead against his.

“I’m a dumbass, baby.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Please,” you look up at him. “Kiss me again.”

For a split second he hesitates.

“What?” you ask. The silence that opens between you two opens up something else inside of you.

“If…” He wets his lips. “If I kiss you again, I won’t want to let go.”

“Then don’t.”

The smile that spreads across his pretty face is wide and splitting, but it is only a half second before he is recapturing you in his hold, pushing you back against the stone railing of the balcony as his lips meet yours a second time.

Whereas his first kiss was like a ring of petals opening slowly to the dawning sun, this kiss is midday heat. It is searing, pressing through you like a flash, lighting every nerve within you on fire. It is red and pink and all the warm colors on the spectrum of life. It burns you tender with its quickness, but all you want is more.

As if he is feeling exactly as you, his kiss quickens. He bites your lower lip and greedily swallows the moan that slips out of your mouth. When you tangle your fingers in his long hair, he hisses back at you and you can feel the curl of his smile against you.

“You like that,” you note quietly when he moves to nip at the cut of your jaw.

“I like you.”

With a graceful move, Jin twirls you around, slamming your back against the open door, effectively slamming it shut and leaving you in privacy on the balcony. Your breath rushes out of your lungs in a gasp.

“Jin?”

“Darling?”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get as close to you as possible.”

“Then, goddamnit, get closer.”

He grins, takes your begging, and runs with it.

With the kind of grace and speed you were so used to seeing abound in him while he was working, he dives for your neck, intertwining the pillowed press of his lips with sharp nibbles against the sensitive skin.

“Closer.”

He chuckles and does as you bid. With his awkward strength, he lifts you, balancing your weight on his hips as you wrap your hands around his neck for balance. An unfortunate time to remember your current situation: entirely unclothed except the thin slip you donned just at Jin was sprinting up the stairs.

He adjusts you and your bare cunt brushes against the silky smooth fabric of his dress pants. But that’s not what makes you gasp. It’s the bulge that nestles hard and hot against you as he dives back in for your neck.

One hand tangled in his thick locks, you can’t help but grind your hips down on him. The sound that spills from his lips is needy, desperate, and it reverberates straight through you.

“I want you,” you whine as his hand graces up your torso. He pulls back. Cocks his head to the side ever so slightly.

“You want me?”

“As if having me half naked and wrapped around you isn’t enough to convince you of that?”

“Isn’t that a little… fast?”

“Is waiting four years a little too fast for you?”

“Good point.”

And he’s diving back in, nipping at the already blossoming marks on your neck. Throw your head back, relishing in his every touch and the even more divine gift: his entire attention focused on you.

“Please, Jin, I don’t want to wait anymore. I mean it.”

“What do you wan—”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh.”

“Here.”

“Here?”

“Mhmm.”

“On the balcony? Where everyone can see?”

You kiss him then, taking his lower lip between your teeth and relishing in the gasp that you pull from him.

“No one will see. And if they do, then they’ll know.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m yours.”

He grins back at you. “Mine?”

“If you want me.”

“Of course I want you. Don’t you know what you do to me?”

“You could tell me about it.”

“I could, but then I’d miss out all on this.”  

Gently he lets you down, but his lips never leave yours as his hands come to meet your hips and guide you where he wants. You let one of your hands drift down from where you’ve kept them locked around his neck. Kissing him still, you pluck open the first two buttons of his dress shirt and trace your hands down the burning skin.

If you’re known for anything, you’re known for your impatience. So you don’t linger long on the smooth planes of his chest, and instead glide your hand down his torso until you reach his belt buckle. You make as if to dip underneath his pants, but at the last moment you pull away and cup the impressive bulge he’s already sporting.

“Shit,” he hisses as you trace a manicured nail around the shape of his cock. But all sound chokes in his throat as you grip his erection through the fabric of his pants and begin to stroke him. “Need you. Now.”

“Good.”

You begin to turn, to pull your nightgown up over your bottom, but he’s tugging you back towards him and spinning you around so you’re pressed to his chest.

“I want to see your face.”

It’s hasty work, him pulling himself out of his pants, wrapping his veiny hand around his throbbing cock and notching the head of it against your dripping folds. But you’re no more patient, hopping up so you’re seated precariously on the balcony railing and kissing at his neck steadily and reaching down to part your lips just for him.

He only teases you for a moment, stepping between your legs and dragging the head of his cock against your clit. He wraps one hand around your waist, securing you tightly to him.

“Please,” you breathe against his chest and he pushes into you in one swift thrust. The sensation of him filling you is everything. It clouds your vision. It resets your senses till all you can think of, can feel is this man’s existence, beating so close to yours.

“Fuck—” he hisses as his cock settles inside you, as you adjust around his thick girth.

“You’re so—” you pant against him.

“Is it too much?”

“Big. Just give me a moment.”

He does, reaching to cup the back of your neck and press a kiss to your forehead. It’s almost too intimate, the way he holds you so softly, so tenderly, all while his cock throbs within you. It’s in that moment that the discomfort of the stretch shifts to pleasure. Warmth, spreading from your abdomen outwards. You relax in his hold, hands falling from his neck to the strong muscles of his arms.

“Please,” you murmur. “Need you.”

His hips rut against yours as if he’s never had anything as good as you before.

“Want you to feel good,” he tells you. “Tell me—”

“Just need you—closer.”

You weren’t sure that he could get closer but it’s what your body craves and it’s what he serves. He wraps his arms around you, hands spreading wide and pressing you impossibly close. In the moment, you wish you two were bare as your bodies move against each other as if they’d known the shared rhythm all along.

He fucks you like that, like you’re suspended in air. The warmth of his body keeps you grounded as the height that hangs behind you reels through you, adding a giddy, heady feeling to it all. Or maybe the giddiness comes from the way you relish in the quick pants and desperate grunts that fall from his lips and to your shoulder. Or the way he gasps your name like a monk’s chant into your ear, the sound of it like nothing you’ve ever heard before. You don’t want to hear it any other way either.

When he comes, spilling deep inside you, it’s your name on his lips. When you come, it’s his name splitting through the silent sky.

Jin holds you there, pressed still against his chest for a long moment as you both catch your breath. It’s only when he feels the slight shiver of your body that he pulls back.

“You’re cold?” You nod. “Let’s get you inside.”

He helps you down carefully from the balcony banister before tucking himself away and grabbing your hands in one of his large ones.

“Come, I’ll take care of you.”

You can’t help but let the joy show on your face as he leads you forward.

He reaches behind him, opening the balcony doors. The light curtains wash out into the room with the cold air, brushing around Jin like some kind of ethereal welcome.

Welcome back to my world, you think. But the thought of reality, of the conversations, the negotiations, the reality that will await you in the morning slips out of your mind as Jin twirls you into his arms and suddenly your whole world is warm again. Suddenly your world is Jin again.

He peppers your whole face with kisses as he walks you backwards, loud smooching sounds echoing through the large room coupled with your giggles that turn into full blown laughter.

“Hey hey hey!” you chide, grabbing onto the loose collar that now teases the delicious arch of his collar bones and neck. “You can’t do that!”

“What!” he snaps between kisses. “I can’t kiss you!”

“Not if you’re going to be that ridiculous!”

At that moment you feel the soft edge of the bed hit the back of your knees and you are tumbling backwards, eyes widening with shock. At the last second he’s reaching behind you, catching you and lowering you slowly to the soft mattress. You reach for him, but he kneels at the edge of the bed, just far enough that your grabbing hands only find empty air.

“So then tell me, if I can’t drown you in kisses, can I at least do this?” His hand teases the hem of your slip, tracing circles on your upper thigh. The touch is simple, but it raises goosebumps all over your body. He slaps away your reaching hands.

“Or this?” His fingers dip beneath the fabric, tracing up your thigh to dance around your hip. “What about this?” He pulls the fabric all the way up to your waist. With the quickness of a fox, he’s bending down and licking one long line up the slick folds of your cunt.

“Fuck!”

His tongue swirls around your clit, still bathing in soft sensitivity from your most recent orgasm. He seems to sense this as he blows lightly against your lips, forcing your back to arch into the mattress, your hand reaching out instinctively to tangle in his hair.

“Okay, okay, I get it!”

“What, you act like it’s some kind of punishment.”

“It is, when it means you’re not up here, fucking me.” He blinks, still not quite used to your explicit language. “And anyways,” you pant, “doesn’t this kind of foreplay usually come before the mindblowing sex?”

“And who’s rules are you playing by now?”

You grin, giddy at the cleverness of your own words turned back on you.

“No one’s.” You push up to your elbows, taking in the beautiful man above you. “But if I’m making the rules, then I need you inside me, now.”

“Patience, darling,” Jin smiles, sitting up.

“No,” you say, reaching for him. “I will not be patient. Not for you, anyways.”

“No?”

“No.” You’re moving to unbutton his shirt, and he lets you, but doesn’t do much else to help you along. “Off, off, off,” you grumble, tugging on the collar of his now wrinkled shirt, but he stands there like a limp fish. You sigh, sitting back on your heels. “Please?”

Jin throws his head back and laughs that full-belly laugh. “Will I ever be able to say no to you? To this?”

“No,” you smile. “You won’t. And I won’t have it any other way.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your lips, one that lingers long and sweet. Sweet enough that when he pulls back, you miss the taste of him. But he’s doing as you’ve asked and quickly tugs his shirt over his head and drops his pants to the floor.

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen something as beautiful.

Jin had always had the power to command a room with his large but quiet presence, but seeing him like this, bare and breathing hard for you is something entirely different. There is both something soft and sweet about the tenderness of him, and something sharp about the desire he lets swirl through his body. You want it all.

“Your turn?” he asks softly, reaching for the slip that pools around your hips. “I want to see you.”

You nod and he pulls the light fabric up over your head with an unspoken gentleness.

“Look at you,” he breathes, but his gaze doesn’t linger long on your body. Instead, it’s latched onto your gaze, watching for every thought that will flicker across your expression.

“Come here.” You open your arms wide and he is tumbling into your embrace, pushing you back into the bed. You’re both giggling in the sensation of falling, giggling at each other's laughter, giggling because, really, what else is there to do when you’re finally wrapped up in the person you adore?

And then you take a breath. Let the silence of the room, the old, ticking clock in the hallway, the sweeping sounds off the streets filter through both of you. For a moment both of you become everything around you. For a moment, both of you are only the sensation of looking at another and wondering.

It doesn’t last.

It’s too difficult to resist reaching up for him, pressing your fingers lightly against the arc of his neck and drawing his lips back to where they belong: against yours. You’re not sure how, but each time he kisses you it’s a whole new world. This time, it’s spring. Ice melting against the promise of warmth. He melts against your touch and you wrap your legs around his waist.

He pushes into you without resistance. This time, your body welcomes him with ease, wrapping warmly around his throbbing length. He reaches so far into you.

When he begins to move, it’s too much. The spear of pleasure shoots through your abdomen and you arch your back. He stills immediately.

“Look at me,” Jin says. “I want to see your eyes when you come around my cock.”

You smile. Nip at whatever skin is accessible to you. Press yourself as close to him as you possibly can and chase the pleasure of having him, finally, in your bed.

When you grind your hips against his, he grunts and thrusts deeper.

When he lowers his weight down on you, he does it at an angle, one hand near your chest, the other one coming down on your hips. His fingers wrap around your waist and he begins to move you in time to his thrusts. It’s with even more power that he enters you now, but his pace has slowed just enough that your own orgasm dangles in front of you like he’s teasing you with sweetness.

He’s always teasing you, isn’t he.

Pleasure ripples across his face, marking his brow, dancing across his lips like a fleeting ghost. You want to memorize the way his delight radiates out into the world, want to return to it everyday like a favorite book.

He holds you like he has so many times before, but this time there’s a new edge to his gaze. Trust. He knows you’re his. Knows that the blossoming purple on your neck and the breath coming quickly from your lungs are marks of him. That even if the red blessing of dawn tears him from your bed and your arms that this moment is marked, is held, by him.

For now that will be enough.

He has you wrapped up in his arms, your gaze fluttering between pleasure and weariness.

“You’re a gift.”

You don’t know what it is about that phrasing. If it’s the way the words take shape on his pink lips, if it’s the deep sound of his voice flooding through you. If it’s the devotion swimming in his eyes. Either way, your cheeks flood with warmth and you cut back: “You said that already.”

“And I meant it both times.”

He notices your flickering gaze and the heat painting your cheeks and reaches for you, stroking his thumb against the burning flesh.

“You’re so warm.”

“I’m embarrassed,” you say softly.

“What?” He leans in. “The crown jewel of the city embarrassed? By a measly little affection?”

“You’d be surprised at the list of things you do that can bring a blush to my cheeks,” you cut back too quickly — only to realize it’s not as much of a cut as you thought it was.

“Oh?” He rolls closer. So his chest is once more pressed to yours. He lets his hand drift up to tug on a loose strand of hair that falls into your face. “Tell me more.”

“Really?”

“Give me the juicy details.”

“No!”

“Give them to me,” he grins. “I want to know exactly why the hell you’ve fallen for me, me of all people.”

“Fine — that, uh—” Suddenly you are overwhelmed with all of the moments and instances that this dear man inspired you with. Where to begin? “I can’t get you out of my head.”

“I know. You’ve made that quite clear.” He punctuates his meaning by flicking his gaze towards the discarded nightgown at the foot of the bed. “But why?”

Moment after moment flies through your brain and before you can think of censoring yourself, you’re grabbing on to the first one that sparks your attention. “That thing you do when you throw me over your shoulder and run. It’s a little excessive but I promise you it gives me plenty of time to admire your broad shoulders.”

That crinkling scrutiny in his eye glimmers again.

“It’s just my body. Hm.”

“No! No…” You correct him, bringing your hands up to his cheeks and tugging his face closer to you to make sure he is listening.

“Your kindness.”

“Sure. My job is to beat people up for you and you fell for my kindness?” You see the flash of shyness in his expression and suddenly you’re devoted to making him understand. He doesn’t see it.

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Really. You know… when you aren’t out there performing you’re actually quite riddled with kindness and… intricacies.”

He laughs. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Like… that one time you woke me up at 3am because it was our only night at the beach and you weren’t going to pass up the chance to go fishing — and refused to leave me alone just to do something you loved — and how you sat there with your little frown and waited for hours only to realize that we were in the completely wrong spot to be fishing in the first place. You love it. And you’re horrible at it. And in this stupid world where everything either has to be for perfection or for money — that’s so fucking refreshing.”

His laughter echoes through the room, bouncing off of the cold stone and landing warmly in your chest. “That-that’s it? My horrible fishing skills. What about the time-”

“At the gallery?”

“Where I literally-”

“Took a bullet-”

“To my shoulder!”

“Your prized possessions,” you wink.

“Yes, the time I saved your life. That’s not it?”

“Sure, sure,” you flap your hand. “I can find a man to take a bullet for me on any street corner, any day of the week.”

“Sure, sure!” Jin scoffs back at you, but he’s smiling. Watching the way his plump lips stretch towards his cheeks, you realize you could list the reasons you can’t let him go until the sun bridges her gaze over the horizon of city buildings — and still not be finished. And yet, you continue.

“Here’s one: The way you listen. You take things in and notice — but, no, it’s not just noticing. You process them and turn them quietly into something deep and beautiful and meaningful and it never fails to surprise me. And! And the way that sometimes when you laugh it sounds like something horribly squeaky and delightful.”

His jaw drops.

“Something squeaky!”

“Like windshield wipers… Sometimes! Only sometimes! And it’s delightful!”

His brow narrows.

“I’m going to kiss you now to shut you up before you say something even worse than that.” Your eyes widen. “If you’ll have me.”

“Yes-yes, god, I’ll have you.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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Dom!Tony Masterlist

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Summary: When Steve wanted to just relax and let go, he went to Tony with the black.

Broken Down (ao3) - haemodye loki/tony E, 5k

Summary: “Take me to bed and I’ll fuck you so hard your immortality will leak out your ears,” Tony blurts out, which doesn’t make much sense but, well. That’s about on par for how he feels right now.

Still, going by the way Loki’s eyes widen at the words, he clearly doesn’t mind at all.

Calling the Shots (ao3) - AMidnightDreary, Rabentochter loki/tony E, 2k

Summary: Once again, Anthony uses his foot to nudge Loki’s knees apart. Once again, Loki makes a frustrated noise that is only almost a whine and swears that he is going to be pay Anthony back for this.

Go Time! (ao3) - Agent C (arh581958) steve/tony E, 3k

Summary: Tony is the average teenage omega Avenger. He's smart. He's handsome. He's talented. He also happens to be dating the hottest alpha in the whole school. He just received his latest mission: Steve was in rut!

(Or: How to Take Care of an Alpha in Rut - 'cause too many ABO stories have helpless omegas and Tony isn't one of them.)

However Sweetly It May Storm (ao3) - KimchiKitty7 bucky/steve/tony E, 30k

Summary: After Civil War, Tony Stark is trying to pull his life together and deal with the betrayal and abandonment of his team. One night he goes upstairs to find Steve Rogers in his penthouse, and is ready to try his hand at throwing him out the window. But things aren’t always what they seem. Can they get it right this time?

I won’t leave you falling (ao3) - BlossomsintheMist steve/tony E, 14k

Summary: Tony doms for Steve, which involves some specially enhanced red rope, cock rings, two vibrators, and a lot of orgasm control. It works out. Bottom Steve, trembling and desperate to come, loving dom Tony, plenty of aftercare.

Last Stop Before Malibu (ao3) - justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday) steve/tony E, 31k

Summary: Steve stands under the hot sun, hoping that the next trucker to roll in will bring him enough money to eat tonight, enough to save a little, to get out of this place and go somewhere new.

What he doesn't expect, is to meet a man who changes everything.

When Tony leaves, Steve follows and finds a place in his home, his bed, and maybe, his heart.

lead me to a place i'm free (ao3) - firebrands steve/tony E, 1k

Summary: steve gets back from a mission and has needs. tony is happy to provide.

The Watcher Watched (ao3) - EndlessStairway loki/tony M, 35k

Summary: Loki was always masochist, but there is no such concept as BDSM in Asgard and everything percieve “weak” are scorned, so he never got any good experiences. Even the nicest people he found (in disguises mostly) treated him like useless shit. Now Loki repressing his needs as best as he can, pretending to be Odin and checking Midgard from time to time - he have plans for Avengers fighting Thanos. And “Civil War” clusterfuck was entertaining.

One day he sees Tony in BDSM session with some person (since he and Pepper broke up, Tony decided that “just for sex” friends are better than one night stands or something). And at first Loki just looks because Tony is inventive in bedroom as much as in the shop, but after he stunned by tender aftercare and the way Tony is stil polite and friendly to his sub after. Now Loki just HAVE to know more and get some of that for himself.

To See Its Truth (ao3) - BlossomsintheMist steve/tony E, 5k

Summary: “There’ll be time for me after this,” Tony told him. The heavy ache, the drag and fullness and wet, was making his cock hard again, so that he could feel it bobbing under his shirt. The fabric felt sweaty, sticking to his back and chest and nipples. “I’ll probably only come once, after all. Just let me make you feel good, champ.”

Wrecking Balls (ao3) - Bourneblack bucky/tony E, 87k

Summary: Bucky Barnes is trying to make enough money as an escort to take care of his sister after she loses an arm in the war, and Tony just wants to feel a semblance of control after aliens try to attack New York. They happen to find each other and strike up a mutually beneficial arrangement (sugar, sugar), but is their chance meeting really just coincidence?

You Broke it, You Bought it (ao3) - justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday) steve/tony E, 2k

Summary: Steve’s been fighting and failing against Hydra all week and now he’s gone and broken the punching bag Tony had made especially for him. He’s fucked up, and now he’s going to get his punishment.

You’re My Medicine (ao3) - BlossomsintheMist steve/tony E, 11k

Summary: It was just that Steve liked harder kinks, and it seemed like the kind of thing that would appeal to the intense sensation play side of him, always pushing himself and looking for something to send him flying higher. It wasn’t the same as a flogger stinging over his back, but it was more intimate, more invasive, Tony figured—the same intensity, but in a totally different way, and maybe … gentler, softer. Something it would be easier for Tony to give him the way he wanted it, even the way he liked it.

[byunbaekby]

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.