#it’s easier to write endlessly about the girl you’re in love with than it is to write about the things you dont want to admit about yourself

[thatone-churro]

“yeah man, i write poetry.” <- has not written a complete poem in months

[doe-writes-stuff]

A/N - My love for the cowboy space dad, Sam Coe, has eclipsed to the point where I am now writing him fanfic...what a time to be alive, y'all. Anyway, enjoy the results of my brain rot, and let me know what you thought of it >.> More may be to come if he continues to plague my every waking thought

WARNINGS: Some angst on poor Cora's part, thanks to Lillian. Some Lillian bashing, thanks to reader. It's not specified if reader and Sam are fully together at this point in the story, but it's implied. Post 'Matters of the Hart' mission.

The bay of the Razorleaf slowly descended with a hydraulic hiss, finally clanking against the tarmac of a landing pad. From the bottom of the ramp, you watched as the dusty, endlessly sun-bleached landscape of Akira came into view. The first unfiltered breath of the atmosphere hit the back of your throat unpleasantly. How anyone tolerated such a low humidity every single day, you couldn’t guess. Akila was kind enough not to be a sweltering wasteland on top of it all, so…small victories there.

You’d not been much impressed with the sight of the planet the first time you’d landed on it, and it still gave no better impression now. Sand-swept walls and buildings rose from an equally monotone environment. It wasn’t hard to picture the planet might one day just swallow the city whole and leave nothing after to show there’d been civilization there. Perhaps through sheer stubbornness and pride, the Akila City citizens kept their place in the galaxy.

A long-suffering sigh and a set of muted footsteps approach from your right. Sam stops beside you and gazes across his home planet with equal apprehension. His arms cross and he levels his hometown’s ‘Welcome to Akila City’ archway a woeful stare.

“Never gets any easier…”

You’re not surprised by his reluctance to return home. A visit to Jacob Coe was never an occasion to celebrate, and this one would be particularly disappointing, given Sam would also be relinquishing his daughter to Lillian for that long-time-promised week vacation Cora mentioned every opportunity she could. You didn’t fault the almost-teen for being excited to see her mother, but it wasn’t hard to miss Sam’s lack of enthusiasm for the whole affair. He loved his daughter above anything else, and letting her go for such a length of time wouldn’t be easy.

This stop was a ‘two birds, one stone’ of all of Sam’s least favorite activities. His less-than-cheery mood was understandable, and you couldn’t help but share this feeling. After months of the inquisitive girl aboard your vessel, you’d gotten so used to the random questions and cringe-inducing jokes that the impending silence was admittedly quite daunting.

Akila just so happened to be the closest planet to where Lillian had finished up a month-long assignment. With the promise that she had time-off to spend, Sam had agreed to have the Ranger pick Cora up here, and it would ultimately be where you and Sam retrieved her after their time together. It ate the cowboy up inside, you could tell. But he kept quiet and put on a facade of support if only for Cora’s sake.

“I don’t see Lillian’s ship.” He added, sweeping his gaze past the entrance to the city and across to the other landing pads. Concern began to overtake the displeasure of being on Akila, and you could instantly follow where his internal thoughts were leading.

“We did get here earlier than planned.” You finally say, laying a calming hand on the man’s jacketed arm and earning his attention. It’s not like you were were defending the woman, but it was a little silly to assume anything when the Razorleaf had just touched down almost 2 hours before you’d agreed to rendezvous with the Ranger. You might dislike Lillian Hart, but you weren’t that petty. “Give it some time.”

“Yeah, yeah…you’re right.” After an affirming deep breath and a weary shake of his head, some of the tension in his shoulders eases. Some, but not all. “I’m just…not too optimistic about this.”

“I know.”

“She’s flaked before, and this one means a whole lot to Cora.” He went on, as if you weren’t already aware of the meaning behind it all. “I can’t help but worry she’s not gonna show.”

“We’ll handle that if it comes to it. For now, just take a breath.” You say, flashing him your best reassuring smile. Even he could tell it was a little forced, but he did return the gesture with a muted one of his own. At the very least, you made sure he didn’t have to face whatever might happen by himself.

Razorleaf’s airlock releases behind you, and Cora’s beaming smile leaves the ship before she does, her small suitcase of belongings in tow behind her. You’re willing to bet there are more books than there are clothes in there, but hey, you wouldn’t judge. She blunders down the ramp with an energy you’d never seen before, curls bouncing atop her head the whole way, finally coming to a breathless stop next to her father.

“Is she here yet?” She questions, eyes already darting around the spaceport before receiving an answer.

“Not just yet, string bean.” Sam gave her hair a good-natured rustle, smile regaining some of its warmth as he addressed his daughter. “I’ve got some business with your grandpa first, so we arrived a bit early. I’m sure she’ll be touching down soon enough.”

You don’t comment on the edge of uncertainty that accompanies that last part. And thankfully, Cora doesn’t ask to go with her father for a family visit. Sam always preferred her to be as far away from Jacob as possible. At some point, you assume Cora understood why, though she’d never directly voiced it.

Sam pats his daughter’s cheek affectionately. “I shouldn’t be too long. Y/N’s gonna keep you company until your mother gets here. Don’t you go anywhere until I get back to say goodbye, alright?”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Cora gives an exaggerated little roll of her eyes, but her smile is ever-present. “I promise, dad."

“That a’girl.” He says, leaning down to place a gentle kiss against the top of her head. Then, his attention turns to you. “You two gonna be alright?”

“We’ll be just fine.” Is your reply, promising through unspoken word to keep Cora safe and sound while he was away. The reassurance is what he needed most, and you were more than happy to provide it. “We’ll make sure to have way more fun than you will.”

“Heh. Yeah, well…that won’t be too hard.” Sam’s head tilted a little, eyes squinting, already picturing the impending encounter with his own father. “I’ll comm you when I’m done.”

You wave your companion goodbye, watching him disappear past the protective walls of Akila City, then turn to the girl practically buzzing with excitement beside you. “We’ve got a bit of time to kill. So…where to first?”

This earns you an amused laugh, and the two of you begin walking towards the entrance of the city. “Do you even need to ask?”

“I figured today might be the day you just surprise me.”

You’re not sure how much time you spend standing around watching Cora browse the many books in Akila City’s���woefully small, in your opinion—selection. Seeing her over the moon at each new title, eyes scanning the summaries and even skimming the inner pages never got old. Her enthusiasm for the first new book she’d laid eyes on was just as exuberant as what was possibly the 18th book that afternoon.

The girl was a talker, chatting up the bookstore owners with the passion of a scholar. You could tell the women weren’t used to having someone so forthcoming with their love of literature in their store, but they quickly joined Cora’s wavelength and discussed their favorite volumes at length.

More than content to stand off to the side and let the girl have her fun, you interjected where appropriate, but for the most part just let the conversation go without you. Cora could talk for two people, anyway.

Eventually, even she had her fill of the bookstore, stomach grumbling with the need for food. You walked out of the store only a few hundred credits poorer—a miracle if there ever was one—and headed off to the chunks establishment just down the way. Akila was a maze at the best of times, but for once you managed to navigate the streets with little trouble.

You stood in line and debated with the young bibliophile what the best flavor of chunks was, but couldn’t come to an agreement. Your own favorite was completely out of stock when you managed to get help from the attendant, so you went with Cora’s favorite instead. 

With sated stomachs and a few new books for Cora in tow, you return to the spaceport to wait on the ship until either Sam or Lillian arrive. One glance around at the other landing pads confirms that Lillian’s ship had still not touched down. Sam still hadn’t comm’d you after an hour and a half, which meant his meeting with Jacob probably wasn’t going well. Regardless, you knew he’d make his way back to the Razorleaf in time to see his daughter off, even if it meant leaving business unfinished with his father.

You hid your worry behind a carefully neutral interest in whatever Cora had been talking about while you walked back to the Razorleaf, but that pit of dread began to dig its way into your stomach. Anger simmered right behind it. Cora didn’t seem to notice your rapidly worsening mood, which was all the better. If your fears turned out to be unwarranted, no need to rub it off on the girl.

When the ship’s communicator finally chimed with an incoming transmission, both yours and Cora’s heads jerked up. Being closer to the cockpit, you slid into the captain’s chair just as Cora ran by your side. Immediately, you knew it wasn’t Sam reaching out, and instead the woman you were meant to be meeting in…28 minutes. Cora’s face lit up with the prospect that it was her mother calling to tell them she was almost there.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be that optimistic.

One touch on your control panel accepted the transmission. Before you could even issue the standard greeting, Cora chimed in with a bubbly, “Hi, Mom!”

Hearing her daughter’s voice had caught the Ranger off guard. There was a pause before she responded. “Cora, angel…how are you?”

Her tone of voice made you stiffen in your seat, mouth pressing into a thin line, but Cora didn’t notice. She leaned forward against your chair’s armrest.

“I’m great! Are you almost here? I’ve got my bag all packed, so as soon as Dad comes back from Grandpa’s we can leave.”

“Ah, I was actually hoping to speak with your dad. Do you know how long he’ll be?” 

Figures she’d try to speak with Sam instead of breaking her daughter’s heart directly, you think bitterly. You wondered if she even realized how selfish it was to put the responsibility on her ex-husband to break this crushing news.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. And I found a few books we can read together while we travel to wherever we are going. I know you’ll like them.”

Your heart broke further with each new word the curly-haired pre-teen spoke, knowing what was about to happen. The taste of your chunks packet earlier was overshadowed by the bitterness of anger as it bubbled hotter under your skin.

“That’s great, sweetie, but…” Lillian’s voice trailed off, guilt or embarrassment or some equally fitting emotion coloring her tone. Perhaps she’d realized that there was no softening the blow she was about to deliver. “…listen. Something came up that I have to take care of. I’m so sorry, Cora. I’m not gonna be able to make it this time.”

A full second, maybe two, of silence passed, Cora processing what her mother had said. Seeing the girl’s face morph from elation at hearing her mother’s voice to something akin to confused betrayal tore at the deepest parts of your heart. If you could have saved her from this, you would have. But Cora being in the ship meant that she’d hear every word spoken no matter where in the craft she was.

“Oh.”

That one word, uttered with such devastating resignation. Cora straightened from leaning across your armrest and stood there with a carefully put together mask. You could see every crack and fracture in the young girl’s facade, but she put up a valiant effort to appear unaffected.

Lillian must have heard the same, and continued again before you could interject anything.

“I know how much you were looking forward to this, and trust me when I say I was too. I’d love nothing more than to take you away to a little paradise together and just spend the days hangin’ out without a care in the world.” Lillian’s attempts at smoothing over the hurt did nothing at all to fix anything about this. “I promise you, we’ll get together and have our week-long vacation, do or die, one of these days.”

Cora didn’t say anything. So unlike the chatty pre-teen. She looked down at her shoes, before quietly taking a hold of her suitcase you now realized she’d dragged with her in her rush to the cockpit.

“It’s alright, mom. We’ll figure it out someday.” Dear God, she barely sounded like Cora…all color was missing from her voice. So little life.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I know.” And with that, she turned and padded her way back to the cot at the back of the ship. Perhaps she didn’t want you to witness her misery, because she went so far as to close the hatch to the cockpit, leaving you by yourself with Lillian still connected. Even with the hatch closed, Cora might still hear the conversation, but given everything that had happened, you no longer gave a damn.

“What is it this time, Lillian?” Your voice is full of barely restrained venom as you lean forward in your chair. You can’t see the woman through the audio transmission, but you were glaring anyway. “What’s so important that you couldn’t keep your promise to your daughter?”

The sweetness present when she’d spoken with Cora was absent, replaced by cold indifference when addressing you. The contrast was so stark, if you hadn’t already known her, you’d say they were two separate women. “You talk like this doesn’t hurt me just as much as it does Cora.”

“Because it doesn’t.” You say, reminding yourself to restrain the worst of your emotions. It wouldn’t do Cora any favors by cursing out her absentee mother from the other room. That wasn’t what the girl needed right now. Your head shakes with a rueful scoff. “If you could only see, Lilian…the way that girl’s face shattered. Then maybe you’d understand just how much more she’s hurting. But no, instead you do this over comms where you don’t have to look her in the eyes. Hell, you were going to put it on Sam to break the news, weren’t you?”

Lillian, perhaps smartly, doesn’t rise to that particular insinuation. “I do what I can, when I can to be there. It’s unfortunately a lot less than I’d like, but my duty is to protect the people of Freestar Space. I have obligations I can’t just ignore.”

“You seem to have forgotten your obligations as a mother in the process.”

“I’d give anything to be there with my little girl. Don’t ever imply I wouldn’t.”

“If that were the case, you’d have found someone else to handle whatever ‘came up.’ When it comes down to it, you don’t give anything, and you need to. Each missed visit convinces her that she’s another step further down on your list of priorities. What do you think happens when she believes she’s at the bottom?” You retort, already exhausted over this whole conversation.

“Cora knows how much she means to me, how important she is.” Funny, you think Lillian almost has herself convinced.

If it kept going at this rate, you were likely to start yelling, and that wouldn’t end well. Besides, Cora needed someone to be with her right now, so things needed to end quickly. 

You let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, voice growing much quieter as you reigned in your fury. “Look, Lillian…Sam already explained this to you. You can’t keep doing this. Cora can’t. She’s already 12. 13 in just a few months. Before you know it, she won’t be a child anymore. At this rate, there will come a point when she decides waiting for you to bother isn’t worth the heartache. There will come a day when you retire, when the need to fulfill a duty is over and done, and she will not be there. Because in the moments when it mattered—really mattered—you weren’t there for her. You realize that, right?”

You hear the woman sigh, and deep down, you know she hates that this conversation ever had to take place as much as you do. You know, really, that Lillian had good intentions with her promises. And that’s what made it all the more frustrating when she failed to deliver. She was well aware of how important this all was. Her damned chronic workaholic personality and inability to set aside the needs of the many just wouldn’t allow her to put anything else above it. Even at the cost of her daughter’s trust and happiness.

“You sound more like her mother than I do sometimes…” The Ranger admits tiredly. “I don’t know whether to be angry or grateful.”

“Honestly, I don’t care how you feel about it.” You say with a shrug. “She needs someone to be there for her. Sam is a wonderful father, and always there when it counts, but that girl needs a mother too. I know I’ll never replace you in her heart, it's not something I'm trying to do anyway. But I’ll fill whatever role she needs me to be, if it keeps her smiling.”

You hear a muffled beeping through the transmission, followed by Lillian’s muttered curse. “Damn it…looks like I’m about to have company.”

“Spacers?” You weren’t really concerned, or even cared, and asked only out of obligation.

“Crimson Fleet, I think.” There’s a pause, and you know that the conversation had come to an end. Nothing had resolved, but you knew Lillian wasn’t likely to change who she was after a short talk. “Listen, tell Cora I love her. I expect I’ll hear from Sam later on about this. He has every right to be angry. I am who I am, and that’s exactly the reason we never would have worked out in the end. I only regret Cora is suffering because of it. But for now, duty calls.”

Always duty with this woman. “Be safe, Lillian.” You bid, already reaching for the console button to end the transmission.

“You too.”

The audio cuts off abruptly, and you lean back in your chair with a slow inhale. Dragging your hands down your face, you release the last of your anger in a harsh exhale. Best to get rid of it now, so it wasn’t obvious when you went to see Cora. Not wasting anymore time, you stand from the chair and open the hatch.

You find Cora sat on your cot, a thousand-yard stare fixed at some point on the floor in front of her. Her smile was long gone, replaced instead by the remains of whatever facade she’d crafted to appear put together and ok. The little suitcase she’d packed with all her belongings sat a few feet away. It was zipped halfway open, as if she’d began to unpack, but then thought better of it.

A sad sigh leaves your lips. For a moment, you just watch her, calculating how best to approach this conversation. Sam was much better equipped to handle something like this, but you weren’t sure how much longer he’d be, and it pained you having to see her in such despair. You couldn’t just sit back and let her stew in whatever thoughts might be dragging her further down.

You slowly approach the still-silent Cora, electing to sit at her side just a few inches apart. Whether she wanted physical comfort, or just someone to be nearby, you weren’t sure. But you were close enough that, should she need you, she didn’t need to go far.

And for awhile, the two of you just…sit there. Words fail you, and try as hard as you might to find the right ones to say that might heal some of the hurt in Cora’s heart, nothing feels good enough. But eventually, you hear the girl sniffle. The first sign that her careful hold on her emotions was beginning to crack.

“Mom is a good Ranger. She’s out there saving lots of lives and making the galaxy less dangerous.” Cora’s wavering voice says, and you nearly want to cry yourself hearing just how hard it was for her not to shed those tears. Perhaps this was something she told herself each day as justification for her mother's constant absence. “I know she’ll make it up to me one day. She always does, eventually.”

You bite your lip. “Cora-“

“But…just once,” another sniffle breaks through, and then the first tear slides down her cheek, “I was hoping that…that it would all go right and we’d be a-able to see each other for a whole week. There’s s-so much I want to show her and talk to…to her about.”

More tears follow the first, and you lift your sleeve to wipe them from her face gently. But they keep coming, now that the floodgates had opened, and Cora openly wept as she sat beside you, her true feelings spilling over in bucketfuls. You did your best to keep up, but it only takes minutes for her to be shaking with the overwhelming sadness.

“I just want my mom…” She sobs, covering her eyes with her hands to try stopping the flow. “That’s all.”

A sharp cry has you reaching for her shoulders and pulling the girl in close, and your heart leaps when she forcefully wraps her arms around your middle and buries her tear-stained face in your shirt. What you wouldn’t give to drag Lillian here by the hair and force her to be here for her daughter…

With soothing ‘shushing’ noises, you gently rock her back and forth, one hand patting her back and the other holding her head close. You don’t know what to say to her, truly. Finding the words to tell Lillian how much you thought she failed her daughter constantly and consistently was easy. Finding the words to tell her child that she deserved so much more than what she was being given? That was much more difficult.

You sat there while Cora poured her heart out. Through the sobs, she mumbled muffled and incoherent sentences into your shirt. You’re not sure what half of them were, but if she just wanted to get it all out and vent, that was fine with you. Your shirt was damp with her tears, but that was alright too. Nothing would pull you away from offering whatever support you could while she worked her way through the many emotions.

Eventually, Cora’s sobbing began to ebb, the shaking becoming less pronounced. Her breathing evens to something less stuttered and shallow, and before too long you realize she’d managed to cry herself to sleep against your side. The poor thing…you continued the gentle rocking motion just in case, not wanting to wake her up.

A dull beeping noise caught your attention, and you look up towards the cockpit where it emanated from. Your communicator, you realized. That was probably Sam, wanting to let you know that he was done with whatever him and Jacob had needed to discuss. Part of you thinks to get up and answer, but the thought of jostling Cora awake was too much. You sat there, figuring that Sam would return to the ship to look for the two of you.

If you had to guess, it was about ten minutes before you heard the footsteps coming up the Razorleaf’s ramp. You didn’t move from your spot, listening as the airlock hissed open. Somehow, the noise didn’t wake the exhausted Cora, who barely moved from her place next to you.

Sam nearly walked past you sitting on the cot, but his peripheral vision caught your presence, and he stopped. He took in the sight of his daughter curled into your side, her posture clearly indicating that she’d been crying. You met his gaze with a stony, cold fury, one he understood wasn’t directed at him personally. That one, silent stare was all he needed to figure out what had occurred while he’d been away. 

The inquisitive expression he’d worn coming in vanished, jaw setting tightly. Clearly agitated, Sam stepped a few paces away, hand rubbing along his jaw in an effort to remain calm in the face of what Lillian had put his daughter through once again. He looked like he wanted to throw something. His breathing was more pronounced, though came through in slow, methodical inhale and exhales through his nose. Truthfully, you don’t think you’d ever seen Sam so angry.

In time, he finds himself again, stowing away the anger for the sake of his daughter. He could vent his feelings to Lillian later, when Cora wouldn’t hear it, but for now the important thing was making sure his daughter was alright. That was something you would never grow tired of seeing; Sam’s absolute dedication to his little girl, no matter what.

He moves to sit on her other side, and leans down to kiss the top of her head. It didn’t matter to him if she was still sleeping. You slowly move to shift Cora’s weight over to Sam, and somehow manage it without waking the sleeping pre-teen. She stirs, but her eyes never open.

Sam takes off his cowboy hat and sets it next to him, leaning back and holding Cora closer to him. He settles in to sit there for awhile, unsure how long she’ll be out for. Then, his eyes glance up to meet your own, holding them with a look so full of…something, that you can’t look away.

“Thank you. You were there for her when she needed it.” He says, his voice raspy and quiet so as not to wake Cora. And while you know he couldn’t have heard your conversation with Lillian before, it’s eerie how similar his words were. “I appreciate that beyond words.”

You give a little shrug, eyes drifting back down to the girl in his arms. “She needs her dad now.”

“And you, Y/N.” He says, drawing your attention back up to him. He offers the smallest of smiles. “She needs you too.”

Unsure of what to say, you simply sit back and make yourself comfortable, waiting for Cora to awaken. Your hand rubs along her back, hoping that the two of you would somehow be able to fix some of what Lillian had broken.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies!

Also, a reminder: since we haven’t watched ch7 yet, I can’t comment on the events or characters related to it in any way deeper than “I love this character’s design”.  Sorry! I’ll keep your asks until we actually watch it.

I’ll also try to write some longer replies tomorrow, so please bear with me.

Anonymous asked:

https://www.tumblr.com/wafflesex/753256745890103296/jade-leech-let-me-rest-i-beg-of-you

Sinful. Sinful. Sinful. Sinful. Sinful. Shame. Shame. Shame. Shame.

We are so excited about his club card, let’s fucking go.

Anonymous asked:

Small question... Did a lot of your older art get deleted from Twitter...? I was scrolling down looking for some of your old Azul/Idia works, and it stops at an illustration of Azul and Jamil?

I don’t think it did (from Katsu’s account everything is still in place on the desktop version), but twitter has been very weird with scrolling in general; sometimes the older posts just don’t load as if you’ve reached the first posts. Sometimes doing an advanced search helps (i.e. searching the posts from this specific account during this specific time period).

Unfortunately, other than that I can only suggest looking through my pixiv, it should be easier to find our older stuff there…

Anonymous asked:

your new twitter header!! i actually gasped when i saw it, absolutely gorgeous and of course, the only fitting true love's kiss for our sleeping beauty <3

You noticed! Thank you, Anon <3 I’m glad you like it.

Unfortunately, we had to let go of our previous header (the last kiss one) because of all the blood (someone finally reported it), but no one is going to stop us from having a Lilisil header hehehe

You’ll see the full image soon! I’m going to post it today. You've guessed the caption as well...

Anonymous asked:

I just saw your female Silver art and it got me curious; would a male Lilia still sleep with a female Silver if there was a chance of pregnancy? Likewise, would he still let a male Sebek sleep with her?

You know, Anon, it’s hard to say. I think I can picture Lilia managing to somehow sit his tiny butt on two chairs at the same time: he would have sex with her, he would train her body well in that regard and teach her all kinds of endurances, but the possibility of her getting pregnant would sound horrible because this is his little girl, that’s just wrong. As if doing all this other stuff isn’t… and you’re still risking it, Lilia…

(But honestly who knows, maybe Lilia is the daughter-breeder)

When it comes to Sebek, I think Lilia would be stricter than usual and mostly because he would really enjoy acting like a tough father of a beautiful young lady with a lot of suitors. This is such a ridiculous spectacle, and such a fun way to tease Sebek who is already super overwhelmed and confused about how he should treat Silver, who would still be his brother in arms even if it is fem!Silver…

In general though, I don’t think Lilia would mind these two having sex and unfortunately would probably tease them endlessly for that. And instead of saying anything about protection, he would sigh and complain about how he isn’t ready to become a grandpa, which would work even better: now they don’t want to have sex at all.

Anonymous asked:

I love Kokichi Ouma too, he and Nagito Komaeda are my favorite DR characters, I even have their figurines. But now Im imagining both working for Azul and driving him insane with Jade and Floyd enjoying/encouraging them.

Oh no, Kokichi and Komaeda working for Azul is an absolute nightmare, please, we don’t want Azul to overblot again..!

Komaeda is going to start ruining every dish because then the customers would be filled with hope that the dish they got isn’t as shitty as the other ones… isn’t hope beautiful?

Anonymous asked:

Okay so, in Vil's Playful Land vignette, i find it so funny how Jade kept making excuses not to ride the rollercoaster and then when they did he was just 🧍 frozen. Given how Jade is, it's interesting how it's implied that he's uncomfortable with heights- in flight lessons, Azul and him are kinda bad at it + Jade in shaking voice says: At least i'm better then Azul, right? HDNSGENS Does Jade Leech have a weakness-??

ANOOOON THIS VIGNETTE! It should be studied under the microscope, this is such a good example of Jade being Jade in such an unusual situation for him…

Jade being invincible is a great concept, but this teeny tiny little sprinkle of fear or uncomfortableness makes him so much better. He really is a fish out of water when it comes to heights…

What I also loved is that one of his voice lines when he basically does the “at least I’m better than Azul, right?” thing AGAIN. I guess this is his reaction to discomfort: to throw Azul under the bus ASAP…

I am so happy Vil got to experience this side of Jade. He deserved it…

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

Since now you've seen Playful Land, I can share some opinions/headcanons:

Fellow Honest for certain did some sexy stuff to get by for him and Gidel. Prostitution, stripping, adult videos, whatever he did it and we don't judge him for it.

In the live action Pinocchio it's implied in a carving on Giddy's mallet he and John are lovers so that's something!

I know you're set on tops and bottoms but I personally see Gidel and Fellow Honest are switches who do some fun play

I am 85% sure none of those rides were safe from sexy times even if you want to excuse any of them as sexy video calls on the farries wheel or Fellow and Gidel having fun before hand.

The first one is pretty much a fact, yes, absolutely agree.

Oh god you are right about Giddy’s malled, I had no idea… they really Richie+Eddie’d him, huh.

Can’t comment much on the third one, but when it comes to fun play, they have a lot of fun…

And the last one is also 100% true. They rode every ride in more ways than one. Even the crazier ones that Fellow wasn’t very sure about, but Gidel was so stubborn that he just couldn’t say no; he spoils him rotten after all…

[thecomfywriter]

Writing Likable Characters

Hey y’all! How is everyone? It’s your girl, @thecomfywriter, back after… a long time. Let’s not talk about it lol I have no excuses and you’re not here for life updates. Anyhow, I’m back! And today’s topic is a doozy, not because it’s complicated, but because for some reason, it’s unnecessarily difficult to actually make a character likeable and worth rooting for. Considering most stories want readers to emotionally invest themselves into their characters and like them— well, we see the issue, don’t we?

In this post, we’ll explore the fundamentals of character development, why it's important to create likeable characters, and how to create characters readers can emotionally invest in. There’s a great benefit to creating characters readers actually care about, whether they’re protagonists, side characters, or even (shh….) the antagonists. So without further ado, let’s get into it. 

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Topic Overview: 

1.0 Why Have Likeable Characters?

2.0 The Common Characteristics

NEXT POST: Is it possible to create an unlikable character worth emotionally investing in? 

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1.0 Why Have Likeable Characters? 

It seems obvious, but once you break down the purpose of a likeable character, it becomes easier to identify the fundamental characteristics and traits that most likeable characters possess. 

Suppose you go to a dinner party with your friends one night. There, you meet a variety of new people. ‘A’ is a tall brunette, with wide eyes and an even wider mouth. ‘B’ is a short and plump woman, with curly blonde hair and the occasional grey streak in between. ‘C’ is a scrawny man with a long face, a crooked nose, and a bow-legged stance. And ‘D’ is a blue eyed man with spiky green hair, tattoos all up his arms, and a silver septum piercing in his nose. Now, I’m going to ask you: ‘Who of these four people do you like ?’ 

Pretty freakin’ hard to answer, huh? 

Now suppose I gave you the same scenario, but I tweaked it just a smidge. You go to a dinner party where you meet a variety of people. ‘A’ is a talkative woman who only stops to take a deep breath and inhale a gulp of her red wine. She is loose and flamboyant while she talks endlessly about the various adventures she’s been on during her time off as a travel nurse. But while her extravagant storytelling is more than entertaining, you find it difficult to get a single word in when talking to her because somehow, the conversation always steers back to herself. 

Meanwhile, ‘B’ is a preppy and bubbly woman who works as an elementary school teacher, but you never really discovered that until the end of the conversation, when your mutual friend asks her how ‘the kids’ are, and the origin behind her soft-spoken tone and expressive eyes clicks in place. Your conversations together mainly center around your mutual love for animals— her with her dogs and you with your cats. Though she overapologizes and tends to be a bit more passive with all other topics of parley, the conversation is otherwise lighthearted. She is the first person to leave, however, cutting your time together short when she realizes the time and suddenly her dark circles seem to get darker. She is the one to redirect you to ‘C’, who is a professor at a prestigious university in a neighboring town. He looks quite formal and acts even moreso when he offers to shake your hand and requests the full length of your name and background. 

As a complete contrast to ‘B’, ‘C’ is entirely reclusive and apathetic— outwardly, that is. There is an aire of stiffness around him, with his tall posture and unintentionally impressive vocabulary. Your conversations deviate from topic to topic, never dwelling too long on one discussion but always exploring it to a level of depth that surprises you. Whatever point you make, ‘C’ presents a counterargument, and what could have started as a regularly subjective opinion transforms into an interesting delve into the nature of peaceful arguments. While the conversation is more than cordial and definitely leaves you feeling a bit more intelligent and curious than before you met him, you can’t help but notice the lack of impression or reaction from ‘C’ whenever you spoke. It is only when ‘D’ swings around and introduces himself to you that you feel more assured, as he informs you that everyone who talks to ‘C’ leaves the conversation feeling a bit judged. 

‘D’, you discover, is a freelance photographer who asks you if you would like a photo of you and your friends. You end up talking about his photography career, looking through his portfolio with awe— he is remarkably skilled and filled with a plethora of experience. Like your conversation with ‘B’, the tone is lighthearted, but this time, a banter is exchanged between yourself and the extremely witty ‘D’. His little quips are sassy, occasionally sarcastic but the follow-up laugh and pat of the shoulder relieves you from taking anything too seriously. While ‘A’ was entertaining, ‘D’ has a sense of humour that wonderfully matches your own. He is touchy, with every joke he makes being paired with some form of physical contact, but you discover he is like that with everyone as he expands the conversation to the entire dinner party circle. Occasionally, when his joke doesn’t land, he’ll do an awkward chuckle and make a self-deprecating comment to release the tension. But the tension never really dissipates when he makes jokes about his ex. Nevertheless, his smile is bright and his body language is always oriented towards the person he is talking to. You can’t help but feel properly heard when talking to him. The eye contact is unwavering and his every response is a testament that he was genuinely listening. 

Now, if I asked you— who of the four do you like? Is it a bit easier to respond?

The difference between the two is a bit obvious (intentionally, to make things a bit clearer). The amount of substance allotted to each character increased with the second scenario. While the descriptions of the characters in the first example were confined to their appearance, the second scenario offered interactive exchanges with each character that allows you as the reader to fully imagine this person, even without the physical descriptors, and visualize the interaction with them beyond a surface level. In short, the first scenario gave you caricatures; the second scenario gave you people. 

Why do I give you this very obvious statement? Because the more you think of your characters as characters to be liked or disliked, as opposed to the actions and interactions they have with their peers (in story) and their audience (the readers), the more shallow they will seem and the harder it will be for readers to connect to them, much less emotionally invest in them. 

If you want to create profound characters, expose your characters to scenarios that showcase their interactions with that environment and the people in that environment. Allow the readers to feel like the character is someone they know in their life, someone they can relate to or envision, whether it be themselves, their mother, or their chatterbox coworker from HR. 

Real characters evoke real emotions. 

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2.0 The Common Characteristics 

Before we get into a general list of likeable characteristics, let's highlight two terms and define them to differentiate them. Introducing… charm and charisma! Similar, but not the same. 

Charm: this is your golden ticket, and also the hardest to nail. Charm is essentially the presence a person carries, and how attractive it is to outsiders. Not attractive in the sense of romantic interest. Attractive in the sense that this person has a draw to them. Their personality is inviting, unique, and confident. They have an ability to put other people in ease in their presence and are welcoming and inviting while also keeping people engaged. Charming people are attractive because their personalities and presence in a room makes you want to stay near them. 

Charisma: the way I define charisma is magnetism. Its one of the components to charm that acts as the hook, line, and sinker. Charisma is a person’s humour, their body language, their tone, the way they look at you when they speak, whereas charm is the agglomeration of charisma, style, confidence, and personality. 

Okay, now for the list. You can pick and choose characteristics from the following list to create your own unique combination for your characters, but its not enough to have characters “have” these characters. Remember part one of this post. How your characters demonstrate these characteristics is fundamental to how charming and charismatic they are. Also, the influence these traits have and relationship they have with other characters. 

Likeable traits: 

Intelligence: people generally respect intelligence in a person. There are different types of intelligence though

Wit: how quick-thinking a person is. Think of someone who is witty— they’re quick with their responses and multifaceted. IMPORTANT: multifaceted. If you’re just quick with your responses, you’re quippy. But to be witty, your responses have to display intelligence through introspection or observance in a humorous tone. It’s a hard thing to master, which is why witty people are usually highly respected and considered inexplicably charming. 

Shrewdness: think of this through the example of schemers. Shrewdness is a meticulous, detailed type of intelligence that is sometimes used in negative connotations to describe people who are cunning and use their intelligence for malevolent intentions. But in general, shrewdness is about being practical, decisive, and considerate of multiple factors before coming to a decision. It displays thoroughness and patience in deliberating one’s thoughts and actions. Personal opinion that is not at all unpopular: shrewd villains >>>> MWAH! 

Cleverness: I like to think of these people as atypical with their intelligence. They find out-of-the-box solutions to problems and are able to apply creativity to problem-solving. 

Knowledgeable: this is what people think of when they think of trying to make an intelligent character. The typical approach to writing a genius is making them know everything. And while many intelligent/smart people are knowledgeable, it's typically because of the underlying traits they have that drive them to pursue knowledge (i.e. curiosity, focus, passion, wonder, skepticism, objectivity). Focusing on those aspects of your character rather than what they know itself is what will sell your character as intelligent rather than a human encyclopedia. 

Introspection//Observation: this is emotional intelligence. Being able to assess people’s intentions, their emotional states, predict their reactions, and also being able to understand and connect to their own emotions. Emotionally intelligent characters are honestly so lovely, so refreshing, and such an underrated type of intelligence. To be able to read and predict human behaviour is so extremely impressive and also allows your character to alter their behaviour depending on their audience, which can add to their charisma and charm 

Kindness: no one likes an asshole. It’s really as simple as that. People enjoy the company of people who are tender, caring, compassionate, empathetic, and not mean. It’s safe company, and company that makes others feel better about themselves. Entirely welcoming, which is why its so charming to be kind and gentle. 

Humour: I could do a whole separate post on different types of humor. But to summarize it lightly, to write a character, it’s more important to try to humor the reader than the other characters. Humor is subjective, but adding genuine comedy rather than ingenuine reactions from other characters and telling the readers that ‘Character A is funny’ doesn’t have the same effect as inciting genuine laughter from the reader. Different types of humor include: 

Witty humor: as I mentioned earlier, it carries an added advantage of intelligence to the mix. These can include light jabs between friends, but if done incorrectly, can make the character seem mean. So good luck lmao 

Dark humour: hard to pull off tastefully. General rule with attempting dark humour though? It's all about boundaries. It's dark humour if you're joking about your own experiences, traumas, or something personal to you/your character. Doing it on the expense of someone else's experience is called being an asshole.

Sass//sarcasm: use this sparingly. Sass is fun with banter, but imagine hanging out with someone who answers everything with sass or sarcasm. Sounds exhausting? That’s because it is. Also, quick differentiation: sass has personality and a bit of zest to it; sarcasm is deadpan and mocking. Compare the following dialogues:

Sass: “Hey Jocelyn! Jeez… Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” “And clearly someone else woke up on the right side.”

Sarcasm: “Hey Jocelyn! Jeez… Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” “You don’t say.”

Trustworthiness: the most inviting thing about a person is knowing they’re not a backstabbing, shit-talking, macking asshole. Someone you can trust your secrets with is someone you can be vulnerable around, which is one of the foundations of creating intimate relationships. Having a character who blabbles off other character’s secrets, or even just petty gossip, is not a demonstration of trustworthiness. Valuing a person and truly listening to them while they speak, and then asking them about how private they want to keep that information— oof that’s a keeper right there. 

Good listener: just to bounce off the last point, being attentive and showing your character cares about the people around them, their interests, and what they have to say is such a likeable quality because it appeals to the part of everyone (including your reader) of wanting to be sincerely heard. Your character doesn’t have to be devotional. But it’s about being respectful. 

Okay, a bit more of a condensed list now so I can wrap things up:

Empathy: understand others’ emotions and being considerate towards other perspectives 

Humility: no one likes an arrogant prick. Don’t make them Mr. Humble either (Mr. Humble in the sense of being humble to the point of being rather pretentious or being a doormat. Like, a person can acknowledge their achievements, be proud of themselves, have confidence, and ALSO be humble by not being braggy and arrogant about it)

Honesty: telling the truth, yes, but also being sincere in how they conduct themselves. 

Reliability: no one likes mr. flakey lol. Being able to depend on someone strengthens relationships, and the moment a character exhibits this quality for the reader to view, the reader is able to attach themselves to this character 

Optimism: optimism is fun! Optimism makes people feel hopeful. Yeah, pessimism used for comedy with sarcastic characters is a whole trope. But it’s only likeable if executed correctly. Otherwise, pessimism can be a drag. Think of pessimism as the risky route vs optimism as the safe route. 

Resilience: showing a person’s willpower and their will to live by enduring hardship is one of the most respectable qualities, because its a quality we all wish to emulate in our real lives and understand takes a great deal of effort to actually be successful in. 

Generosity

Patience

Authenticity

Open-mindedness

Courage

Gratitude

Adaptability

Selflessness

Fairness 

Integrity: what are your character’s values? How true do they stay to their values? How strong is the needle of their moral compass? This one is massive to creating a character who reader’s respect, because efining a person’s value system allows them to become intimately familiar with the character’s perspective of the world, their ethics code, and their morality. Even if they cannot agree with all of the values of the character, a character who stays true to their values and has integrity is commendable, and therefore in most cases, respectable (hint hint, this is a huge transition to my next post lol)

Essentially, creating likeable characters is about trying to charm your readers with your characters' personality and presence, to the point where the reader would genuinely want to be friends with this person in real life. Having their actions match their narrative description and their in-story reputation also adds to your reliability as a writer. If you’re trying so hard to convince me as the reader than Jonathan is a real stand-up, charming guy who is a huge womanizer; smooth-talker all around to the point where he is able to get positions and extort favours from people because he has such a way with words… but then all of Jonathan’s dialogue sounds like a piece of wet cardboard was brought to life, I’m going to start thinking you as the author are rather delusional, think I’m dense, or have no idea how smooth-talkers actually sound. But what I’m not going to believe is that Jonathan is what you say he is. 

—

Okay! That’s all for today, folks! Stay tuned for my next post on writing unlikable characters that readers still want to root for. Also! I’m thinking of short story prompts for you guys to practise your writing with on this account, now that I have the chance to be a bit more active. 

Why do I have more opportunities to be more active? 

I FINISHED MY BOOK, BABYYYY!!! LETS GOOOOOO :D

Yeah, so I might post some excerpts of my own wip here. Currently though, I’m in the editing phases, and then querying!!! 

Okay, anyways, toodles! Have a great rest of your day or evening! <3 

[rxqueenotd]

The Girl Next Door part VII

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: dubious content, affairs, sexual content, alcohol consumption, my improper use of commas, JFK references (a warning within itself)

A/N: I can’t remember who posted that photo up there^ but BLESS! Up until this point, this entire fic has been a slow burn. I hope everyone had fun while it lasted because it’s finally about to kick off. Big thanks to @vivalafae for talking me off the ledge multiple times while writing this chapter and @runningwiththefoxes for being the love of my life. Also, there’s a cutesy little playlist I made for this entire shit show, if anyone is interested in it, lemme know.

WC: 2539

I became more delusional the further we drove. Each mile marker was an omen, a declaration of how removed I was from real life. Our premeditation personified when he insisted I leave my car parked at the university after class on Friday.

“It’ll look weird if we leave together with multiple bags,” He told me. He was right, after all, but the notion still didn’t put me at ease.

The more secretive he became about our destination, the antsier I became.

“I don’t like surprises,” I told him as I gazed out the passenger’s window.

“Lighten up, Olive,” his hand on my inner thigh squeezed reassuringly, bunching my dress up even further under his fingertips, “just trust me.”

Trusting him was also easier said than done, but I did it with the type of ease that made me feel gullible, diminutive. Like I had folded myself up into delicate pieces to fit into the intricate, hollow spaces containing all the lies I had told and would tell in his name.

Nevertheless, he drove on, and so too did my desire for him, stretching endlessly like the highway laid out before us.

By the time we arrived in town, four whole hours later, I was content to continue spinning the web.

A fly does not struggle in a web in which its very wish was to get caught.

“I used to come here every summer with my parents before they divorced,” I told him, my wide eyes reflecting back to me through the window as I realized we were in Cape Cod.

“We’re going to Hyannis,” he said, squeezing my thigh as he continued to drive.

“To live out your Kennedy fantasy?”

“Which one are you referring to?” He glanced over at me with an impish grin, “The one where my brains are blown out of my skull or the one where I veer off this bridge up here and land in the pond?”

He jerked the wheel to the right, his car veering dangerously close to the edge of the road before realigning the wheel, crossing a small bridge as I grabbed onto his forearm, my mouth agape in a silent scream.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” I dug my nails into the tender flesh of his forearm to solidify my point.

“Can you swim, Olive?”

_________________________________________

“It’s beautiful.”

Settled on a bank directly overlooking the sea with unfiltered access to the beach, I stood back and took the house in with all its charm. Snowball hydrangeas teetered in the breeze, accenting the yard and picket fences, adding softness to the gray cedar siding. In typical New England fashion, the house was weather worn, but warm and inviting nonetheless. White adirondack chairs formed around a dining table on the concrete patio, only a few feet away from the entryway of the house.

“I used to think this place was a mansion when I was a kid.” He said as he came over to unlock the door.

He opened it, inviting me inside.

The house was swathed in navy blue linens, neutral shades, and pale pastels throughout, giving it a pop of warmth amongst the white planked walls. The living room and adjoining kitchen was bathed in natural light from the surrounding colonial style windows, spilling onto the natural wood floor, shining blindingly into my eyes as I made a right down a long hallway.

“Last door on the left,” He said from his place behind me, but I kept walking, stopping long enough to run my hands across the markings on the first door frame I passed.

‘JM’ and ‘JA’ had been etched in pencil along the door’s frame ranging from midway up my thigh, spanning to above my eyeline. A simple two digit year was beside every entry.

“Are you JM or JA?” I turned back to look at him as he made his way up to inspect the markings.

“JM.”

“Jeryd Motherfucker,” I joked and he looked at me with a grin.

“It’s French.”

I only nodded in response, running my fingertips along the scattered pieces of driftwood that hung along the hall’s narrow walls as I sought out the bedroom I would be sleeping in.

The bedroom was functional and simple, its shaker furniture characteristic of the quintessential New England style. A four poster bed sat against the far right wall under a bare window, a bookshelf directly across it on the opposing wall, with a dresser nestled into an alcove beside the windows leading out to a stunning view of the coastline.

“What a view,” I mused as my fingertips danced across the windowpane.

“Yeah,” He walked up to join at my side, never taking his eyes off mine, “What a view.”

_________________________________________

The rest of the day was spent in town, perusing the little shops that littered Main Street, fighting through tourist sludge, and a quick trip to a local market to pick up non-perishable necessities. It felt normal and fun doing such casual things with him. For a while I was oblivious to anything but the pleasure of being with him.

He chose Pain D'Avignon for dinner. We drank Belgian beer on the intimate patio, people watching, until my Dutch courage kicked in, willing my curious nature to take the lead.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Here, to the restaurant,” He asked, stopping long enough to take a pull from his pint, “or to Hyannis?”

“Hyannis.”

“Don’t question my motives, Olive,” he lowered his eyes at me, “Can we have dinner without an interrogation?”

“Sure,” I sat back in my seat and nodded, “Whatever you want.”

His eyes sparkled like crystalline snow, more gray than blue at that particular moment, possibly due to the beam of sun that had broken through a small sliver between two buildings across the street. I surmised, though, they reacted to my giving him the reins to do whatever he pleased.

At some point, after a hearty serving of Wellfleet oysters, I lost all interest in questioning his motives.

We both watched curiously as a small boy, no more than three, picked up a glob of cotton candy pink ice cream from its cone, lobbing it directly at his mother as they crossed the street away from us.

“We used to be able to sit and enjoy each other , too.” His mother looked over at Jeryd and I, laughing sarcastically as she combed her fingers through the sticky concoction leaking from her blonde curls. She grabbed the ice cream cone, now covered in fingerprints, and tossed it in the garbage can a few feet from us. All the while her kid screamed bloody murder as he was dragged away by, what I assumed, were his older siblings.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” She offered us a genuine smile and rejoined her clan.

“I don’t know if I’m fit for that type of nightmare,” he laughed, tossing his napkin on the table.

“Kids are gross,” I laughed out and he nodded in agreement.

“And codependent,” He added.

“I guess that’s why I’m an only child.”

“Surely you couldn’t have been that awful of a child, Liv.”

“There was no real reason for them to try for perfection a second time when they got so close the first time around.” I flashed him a big smile, and he reached across the table, dragging the palm of his hand down my forehead, slender fingers down the bridge of my nose, gripping my chin with a delicate squeeze.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a good dad,” I offered, obviously on my way to being drunk because why else would I have said something so out of pocket?

“You don’t know that much about me.” He eyed me over the rim of his glass as he finished his beer.

“I guess I don’t.”

I realized then and there that it would never just be dinner with him. My internal monologue would always fire on all cylinders, leaving me musing to myself about a future with him, his past, and everything between where we sat now and where we would go in the future. His mother’s words fueled my delusions even further, nowhere was safe, every place leading back to what she had said days prior. It was never just dinner. Every place led back to his arms, to his grasp. Him still virtually a stranger throughout, where I stood, open and transparent, ready to be sought out and read, cover to cover. Oftentimes I found myself desiring to be the painter instead of the muse. Thus, it was easy to see a future with him. To imagine things far beyond my scope. But it’s always easier to not see the forest for the trees, isn’t it?

“Where’d you go just then?” He asked, bringing me plummeting back down to earth.

He reached across the table, seeking out my balled up fist.

I hesitated, eventually unfurling my palm to him.

“Why are you so scared to touch me, Olive?”

His fingers danced across my palm, his nails following the trails of the deeply etched lines.

“I’m not scared to touch you.” A lie if I had ever told one. All I did was lie. But it came so easily when I was looking at him. That in itself should’ve scared me away. But it didn’t. It never did. Never would.

“What do you want from me?” I asked him.

He angled his head to the side, an inquisitorial look painting his features as his lips pulled into a smile.

“What do you want to give me?”

“You say that as if I have a choice in the matter,” I laughed dryly, pulling my hand back from him like a scolded child.

_________________________________________

A subdued energy overtook me once we were back in the cottage and I walked on eggshells contemplating what would come next.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth like I normally would that time of night, alone with myself and my thoughts just long enough to realize the gravity of the situation and let it all come crashing back down on me. Nothing like looking in the mirror and seeing the problem staring back at you.

When I exited the bathroom, he trapped me between his body and the wall, looking down at me like prey caught in a trap.

“You have a choice,” He grasped at the halter strap tied intricately at my neck, unwrapping me like a gift from the neck down.

“Do I?” I wriggled to accommodate him as he slid the dress down my stomach and over my hips.

He nodded down at me, grasping my jaw to tilt my head up to him.

“Everyone has a choice.” He worked my mouth open with his, enough for his tongue to find solace as it tangled with mine.

He broke away long enough to speak with his tinged sarcasm, “What’s your excuse going to be tomorrow?” He asked, “‘I was drunk.’” Parroting back the words I had said to him the night I embarrassingly apologized for kissing him in his car.

“I’m not sorry.” I looked up at him, reaching down to grasp onto his collar. “I wasn’t sorry then and I’m not sorry now.”

“Maybe I’ll be sorry tomorrow,” I shook my head and looked down, feeling transparent and small under his gaze, “Maybe I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life, I don’t know.”

He grasped my chin, pulling my face back up to look at him. We were still for a brief second, staring at one another as if we could read each other’s minds.

He was quick to hoist me up by the back of my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist, and we bounced around the hallway, my fingers combing through the hair at the nape of his neck as we did a dance of sorts through the narrow hall and into the bedroom.

When he laid me out on the bed, I leaned up towards him, practically tearing him out of his clothes. He took his time undressing me, exploring every inch of my body as he removed the remnants of my dress. Each time I’d rise off the bed to touch him, to graze my hand across his chest, he would press me back into the mattress with a smirk. He went down and pulled off my panties as he kissed around my navel and teased my inner thighs with his lean fingers. Just when I least expected it, he dipped his head low, licking a stripe through my folds, never taking his eyes off mine.

I took a deep breath and laced my fingers into his while he worked his tongue, exploring places I had never imagined him. My other hand raked through his scalp, pressing him further into my cunt.

He came up for air as I felt myself on the precipice of an orgasm, crawling his way up my body to hover over me. When he kissed me, I tasted myself mixed with a flavor that was unmistakably him.

I wrapped my legs around him, letting my body follow his lead as he pressed himself into me. Usually he was quick and relentless upon entry, but that night, he took his time filling in gaps, touching places he had never been before, places he had never seen.

A sort of unfettered pleasure transpired between us. One born from pure, unbridled lust between two people who knew right from wrong, but chose the latter because burning out simply felt better than fading away.

He moved his hands over my lower back and ass, grasping for purchase, driving himself further and further into me. I laid there, clinging to him for dear life, as I plummeted into an intense orgasm. For a while, it was hard to discern where one began and the other ended. We melted together, and each time his face would end up in the crook of my neck, moaning and groaning into the sensitive skin, I would nod along, pressing chaste kisses to the side of his head and into his hairline.

That night, I would lose all sense of fear in regards to him. I would, instead, get lost in his sea blue eyes, the light freckles that littered his cheeks and chest, the scar on his chin. I would watch closely as his shoulders flexed with each thrust, my hands roaming over his flesh with amazement as his body worked its way into mine. The tiny part of me that longed for normalcy, a foundation in which I could build from, got tucked away when he pulled back to look at me with his icy blues. The intensity was there, it would never fade, but a longing that I finally understood and felt deeply myself, shone through then.

He drug the palm of his hand down my forehead, pointer finger down the bridge of my nose, crescendoing with a tender kiss on my lips.

I fell in love at the tender age of twenty-two, in Hyannis, at a cottage by the sea, under the weight of a married man. It was simultaneously one of the best and worst things that I would ever do in my entire life.

Tag list: @aurorag98

[ithinkimjustaghost]

The sound of crickets and tree frogs ringing in my ears

Is so nostalgic

The lump in my throat expanding

Until it rips me wide open

And I’m weeping

It keeps on coming back to me

Playing on repeat

The regrets are getting louder and louder

And I don’t know what I am doing anymore

At an impasse again and I don’t know what to do

This line…. this damn song… “A little girl who needs her daddy real bad…”

It rings on repeat when I sleep

I just want to fix this broken perception

I don’t want to be in pain anymore

And I don’t know how to stop it

It gets harder and harder

To get out of bed

To not give up

To not feel like

I ruined every possible chance I’ve ever had

And here I am

37

Working a retail job I can’t stand

Preaching beautiful words that I cannot follow myself

It’s so much easier to see for everyone else

But, I’m blind to myself

I try to take care of you

But I don’t know how to

No, not anymore

And what would you do?

If it wasn’t this life

This body

This time

How would you change it??

Can you fix it?

Will I ever feel whole again?

I’ve written endlessly about it

I feel stuck and broken

This mind

It’s killing me

I just want them all around me

To tell me that they love me

That they do no matter what

I want to shake this child inside of me

Stop this…

Just stop this…

Please…stop

I know you feel afraid

I know you feel so alone

And I keep asking you to trust me

And you resist and resist

Push me away

I feel it all in my chest

Cardiac arrest

My heart

Begging for warmth

Receiving

And rejecting

I feel like Ill break at any minute

Get in my car and just start driving

But I don’t like to be alone

And I don’t want to be here with you

I have no money

Raising you to be proper

Getting you better prepared

For the woman who finds you next

It’s just history

This allegory, big ol’  facade

It’s just the way it goes

I don’t want to be your mommy anymore

I don’t want you to act out like my daddy

I see the moments

Where you revert back

When you cry

And stomp your feet

It isn’t fair is it?

You never asked for any of this

You tell me that you’re happy

The empty bottles say otherwise

5 day binge…

tell me something honey

how do you still have legs to stand over and correct me?

From where I’m standing you’re full of words

And very little action

A little boy

Crying out for some attention

A little boy who never felt love properly

And I a little girl who feels abandoned by everyone and everything

And here we sit

Bonded by assault

Thick as thieves in jail cells

How did we get here?

Will we ever get out?

I wan to have faith in you

I want to believe you

But I know better

I know you lie to me

Because I lie to you

I know you don’t trust me

I don’t trust you

I know like me

You’re waiting for the day to come

When we recognize

We hurt more than we fly

That we are holding one another down and back

And I write this and it hurts because it’s a huge fucking lie

I know you’d bleed for me

I know you would do everything in your power to show me

But that also isn’t fully true

What is this, karma?

What did I agree to

Soul contracts?

It’s all beginning to feel like

A joke

The version of me that is just angry

Angry at my decisions

Angry at my complacency

Angry for my lack of trying

Angry…

Year to year…I feel myself soften

Try to give the benefit of the doubt

And if the epitome of unconditional love is

The knowing that I am supported

Then I know I will be forgiven

I know I will be set free

Not supposed to complain

Not supposed to anger

Not supposed to be improper

Fuck

All

Of

That

It can all be sacred

It can all be holy

God is EVERYWHERE

Everywhere.

Everywhere.

And so is the devil…

So why do you run away little boy?

What is going on inside of your mind?

What slight have I made against you this time?

Maybe one day you’ll realize

I see through it all

Those chinks in your armor grow wider and wider

And you’ve all but rusted and fallen apart

Yet you remain a titan in your mind

The mouse yelling at the elephant

I’m convinced I’m just a ghost

Listlessly wandering through these halls

Haunting you until you lose your mind

Ignore my calls

It’s just the wind howling again

It’s just your eyes playing tricks again

When you see my shadow out of the corners of your eyes

[a-menagerie]

hello!! ive been a silent reader (and lover) of your blog since like late 2021, and so i finally decided to pop-in and say something. love your writing!! all you CR content makes me so so happy and we all appreciate you endlessly. but, if you’re still doing those D&D characters submissions…i’d like to submit mine as well :D

my character’s name is Lyon (pronounced Leon) and she’s a 15/16 year old human warlock who’s gotten in way over her head with her “patron.” her patron is a sourceless/bodiless entity who represents the rejection of death and strives for eternal life—aka the enemy of both the Raven Queen and The Wildmother—who is worshiped by a widespread church, however Lyon was lucky (unlucky?) enough to be hand-chosen by this entity to be their sole acolyte. the warlock deal was for Lyon to travel and grow stronger so that she would be able to later ascend and act as a physical representation and leader of this warped and twisted religion.

her stats: 10 STR, 15 DEX, 8 CON, 15 INT, 11 WIS, and 19 CHA

she’s a naive young girl who’s trying to help people and become stronger—but she’s far too trusting of people due to her lack of experience in the world. there’s lots of opportunities where someone could take advantage of her naivety. she’s from a smaller town and this is her first time adventuring ever. Lyon is obviously too young to be romantically involved with anyone from any campaign, but she’s a phenomenal listener and is incredibly kind. i would really like to know how she would fit into Vox Machina, but i personally imagine she’d really look up to Vex and Keyleth as older sisters.

again, as a decently long term fan of your blog (im one of your followers, but you probably won’t figure out who hehe) i wanted to say that i really do appreciate all your writing so very much!! thank you for the endless content and i hope you can find some more motivation soon <33

-shakes fist at sky- who are youuuuuuu ;P

but also hi lovely thank you for the super kind message and the fun character! <3 sorry this has taken so so long but i hope you enjoy!

okay first off though i think most everyone in Vox Machina is in "must protecc" mode for Lyon. she's a capable person sure, but she's still young and naive

Grog, Vex, and Scanlan are the ones most likely to let Lyon do the whole "learn by trying" thing. Yeah she's gonna fall for that con-artist but how will she learn otherwise?

The others are various shades of "wrap her up like a burrito and put her in your pocket"

Lyon sounds a lot like Keyleth - kind, empathic, big-hearted. so it's no wonder she'd look up to Keyleth...which just really flusters Kiki, but in a good way! Keyleth is really not used to people looking to her in that way. She tries to be a good example for Lyon, about how you can be kind and strong

Vex, on the other hand, maybe not so outwardly kind. She definitely cares, just in her own way. but maybe to Lyon, she sees Vex as what she could grow to be - not so naive, whip smart, and independent. Vex is also not used to having someone look up to her like that but she slides into the roll much easier than Keyleth

Scanlan I think would find it hard to not treat Lyon like the kid she nearly is (especially after meeting Kaylie). He doesn't necessarily treat her that way in an obvious manner, but he'll check in on her after a tough fight, offer some jokes if she seems down. Nonchalant dad things.

Pike looked after Grog, traveling with and looking after Lyon is easy peasy. assuming Lyon shares who her patron is, Pike is gonna keep a super close eye on her and offer the opportunities to discuss more spiritual/religious topics.

Grog...just thinks its the best to have a "little kid" following them around that he can mess with. He doesn't really see Lyon as someone who needs to be looked after...so he doesn't. He does make sure no one gets close to her in a fight tho. And he'll order her a beer, go "oops youre not old enough!" and drink it himself

Vax tries so hard to let Lyon learn her own lessons. Very hands-off approach. Until he falls under the Raven Queen's wing (and again assuming they know about Lyon's patron). then he gets really worried. this entity is the enemy of the RQ, and he worries that She will try to make him deal with Lyon

Percy feels like he's got another little sister. In the early days, he'd sometimes get Lyon conflated with Cassandra in his head - maybe treating Lyon too harshly for mistakes she'd made. over time though, he falls naturally into his big brother role; her naivety can make it fun to mess with her, tho he knows not to take it too far

None of Vox Machina would like her position as the Entities acolyte, and I think they'd really try to find a way to relieve her from her pact (if she was agreeing or not, tbh). if Lyon decides that she wants out, great! She's got VM on her team willing to do whatever it takes to free her from that thing. If Lyon decides she wants to continue working with the Entity, and eventually become that group leader, i think VM would try very hard to dissuade her and lead her down a different path. but they'd never abandon or give up on her

[seita]

― they take your virginity.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ, ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ, sʜɪɴsᴏᴜ + sʜɪɴᴅᴏ.

can i request a headcanon of bakugo, todoroki, shindo and shinso taking his s/o virginity... idk if you write about virginity but I’m just soooo  curious and I like your headcanons  ─ anon

⤑ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

»»   ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ──────  ««

i absolutely write about virginity! thank you so much, i hope you like these as well!

― katsuki bakugou.

≻ he’s definitely got some experience. ≻ he’s more of a relationship kinda guy vs a one night stand type. ≻ so when he says that he can wait for you to be ready, he rlly means it. ≻ he’s had to wait before and he’s cool with it. ≻ he doesn’t need to have sex by any means. ≻ tho it’s rlly fun and he finds it much easier to show his love and affection physically rather than verbally ≻ it’s fine. your happiness comes before his dick. ≻ so when you finally tell him you’re ready, he’s excited!! ≻ like he can finally show you what he’s been holding back. ≻ he wishes he could say he was gentle but ≻ gentle truly isn’t in his nature. ≻ he’s a rough kind of guy, it’s who he is to the core. ≻ but he makes sure you’re prepared with extra lube and everything. ≻ it may not be the soft, sweet candlelit first time girls often daydream about ≻ but it’s exhilarating and pleasurable all the same. ≻ he does his best to make sure you feel good every second of it. ≻ your pleasure comes before his and he works extra hard to make you feel good. ≻ afterwards, he makes sure to take care of you. ≻ you can give him some criticism if you’d like but he won’t particularly ask you anything beyond if you enjoyed it, if you’re okay, and if anything hurt.

― shoto todoroki.

≻ honestly it’s probably his first time as well so he’s a bit clueless. ≻ he never really dated in highschool and then when he became a pro, his schedule became so busy, he just never really got to properly date. ≻ plus there were a lot of women who just wanted the bragging rights of fucking Pro Hero Shoto. ≻ and when he rejected them, they typically bailed because they weren’t getting what they wanted. ≻ it hurt his feelings a bit but when he found you, he was amazed. ≻ you had laid it out for him that you didn’t want to have sex with him because you were a virgin. ≻ and he was more than happy to go along with it, revealing he was too. ≻ which was a shock because like ≻ top 5 hero and incredibly good looking? ≻ as a result, your relationship wasn’t built on physical intimacy beyond kissing. ≻ it wasn’t until the two of you were dating for a while that you finally came to him to let him know you were ready when he was. ≻ he was nervous, to say the least. ≻ as a result, the first time is a bit clumsy. ≻ he’ll constantly ask you if you’re okay and what he should do next ≻ you obviously know your body better than he does so he’ll touch you were you indicate you want ≻ or touch where it seems you like it the most. ≻ “right theres” or “that feels good” goes a long way with him. ≻ he’s a fast learner so by the end, he’ll already have picked up on a lot of important things for future use. ≻ he’s more concerned about you so he’ll reject anything where you offer to touch him or suck him off or anything. ≻ save that for a later date. ≻ he truly just wants to focus on you. ≻ afterwards, he’ll just hold you and silently cuddle with you. ≻ he’s a bit embarrassed and shy ≻ so wait a while before talking about it with him hehe. ≻ he’s also a little insecure, scared he didn’t do as good as he thinks he did and you were faking it or something. ≻ reassure him a bit and all will be well. ≻ he’s willing to learn everything necessary.

― hitoshi shinsou.

≻ being your first is not something he takes lightly at all. ≻ he doesn’t let it get to his head nor does he think of it as some ego boost. ≻ for him, it’s important because he knows the first time can mold your entire outlook on sex for the future. ≻ he thinks it’s sweet you’ve been saving your first time for so long. ≻ where most people lost theirs in highschool, you never fell into that trap ≻ instead, you waited for a steady relationship before deciding. ≻ and it just so happened pro hero hitoshi shinsou was The One. ≻ and he was entirely grateful that you trusted him like that. ≻ he’s sweet and slow with you definitely. ≻ he wants to make sure it feels good and intimate for you. ≻ this isn’t him fucking you to get either of you off ≻ he’s doing this to make you feel appreciated, safe, and loved ≻ after the two of you get used to having sex he’ll start bringing his normal rougher dominant side into it ≻ but the first few times are filled with hand holding, slow caresses, and deep thrusts. ≻ he makes you cum but doesn’t overstimulate you. ≻ he doesn’t want this to be a more overwhelming experience than it already is. ≻ afterwards, he’ll talk to you endlessly and provide pretty thorough aftercare ≻ he’ll take a bath with you and massage your body to ease away any aches ≻ he’ll ask what you did and didn’t like and promise not to do anything again if you didn’t like or files it away if you did like it. ≻ he’ll hold you close and give you sweet, chaste kisses while telling you how much he loves you and thanks for you trusting him.

― yo shindo.

≻ he’s had the most pussy out of all of these guys. ≻ he’s a one  night stand type of dude when he’s single. ≻ and he’s pretty hot and charasmatic. ≻ and strong. and a pro. ≻ so he’s got ladies lining up for blocks for one taste of his dick. ≻ aaaand he’s taken his fair share of virginities as well. ≻ but when he gets with you and learns how you’re just not ready at all ≻ can’t lie he’s a bit bummed ≻ and he honestly thought the relationship wouldn’t last bc he didn’t think he couldn’t live without getting his dick wet ≻ and he may be kind of a jerk but he’s not a cheater by any means so no worries there ≻ but then he realizes how much he actually really likes you ≻ to the point he doesn’t even think twice about the fact the two of you can’t have sex. ≻ but once you do let him know you want to go that final step ≻ oh boy, he is hard in his pants so fast. ≻ he’s experienced and calm. ≻ he knows what he’s doing and he’s confident as well. ≻ he’ll finger you and eat you out. ≻ he’ll draw out foreplay until you’ve cum a few times before putting his dick in. ≻ he won’t let it last too long because he knows you won’t have the stamina for it. ≻ so it’ll be over quicker than he usually is ≻ but you’re grateful bc even the foreplay wore you out. ≻ afterwards, he’s pretty lively. ≻ he’ll joke and tease you a bit ≻ but he means no harm, he’s just trying to get rid of the intense tension left behind. ≻ when you’ve fallen asleep, he’ll turn into a big softie and whisper sweet nothings that have been on his mind the entire time while you can’t hear.

»»   ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ──────  «« 

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.  

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Ok so this song has been stuck in my head for months. Ribs by lorde and it always gives me such Laurie x reader vibes 💔

ooooh, i love it nonnie! thank you so much for sharing, it was so much fun to write. hope it’s what you’re looking for. i made it a little happier than the song

send me a song and i’ll write a fic!

ribs

Growing up, you always had Laurie by your side. From playing in the flower fields by his house to hiding underneath the piano when anyone came over.

As you got older, he found the March girls and you both gained new family, beyond Laurie. Not that he was your family. Not really.

Mr. Laurence took you in when you were four. You hadn’t had anywhere else to go, living alone in France. You were a granddaughter of one of his old friends, and he had reached out when he realized you had no one.

And then you had met Laurie. He was young too, a boy with charming red cheeks and unruly hair. He had hidden behind his grandfather’s jacket and refused to speak to you. You, of course, hadn’t been much better. But after some days existing silently in the same house, the childlike curiosity got the better of the both of you.

It’s not like you really remember life before Laurie. He’s been there for your best and your worst. He was there when you got your heart broken, calling the boy insults all night and inexpertly holding you close. He was there again when you found out that someone was actually interested in hearing your stories and poems. He had lifted you up into the air and told you he knew someone would all along.

You had been there for him. When Jo turned down his proposal, something you had predicted, knowing Jo felt him only as a friend. You had held his hand and told him to keep the ring she gave him. You were there when he got permission to go to Europe to travel and party, knowing that you couldn’t go with him. It would be improper.

So you two had gone your separate ways. You stayed home, living among the Marches’, helping Meg, writing with Jo, and missing Laurie.

He had been in Europe, living the life he thought he wanted, away from you. He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to leave you behind. But then he found Amy, and he had a friend to get him through it again.

And then Beth. You had to find a way to deal with the loss on your own. Laurie was hundreds of miles away, and he couldn’t hold you this time. You were surrounded by family, but the one person you needed wasn’t there.

But you got through it. He got through it too, just separately. Amy found a young man interested in sponsoring her art, and most of you believed she would end up marrying him. She deserves someone who would adore her endlessly, and based on her letters he is that person.

You’re happy for her. Just like you were happy for Meg and Jo. But it got harder, being the unmarried and lonely one. It’s pitiful, and you always swore you wouldn’t be that person.

It’s not like you would even accept anyones proposal. The idea of living a separate life away from your home is as terrifying at best and unthinkable at worst.

You’re sitting in your room, getting ready to see Laurie again. Him and Amy have come back after being gone for so long. You imagine he’ll follow Amy to the March’s house before coming to see you. You can’t decide if its better or worse to wait.

You’re wearing a dress that he bought you when he “saw it and thought of you.” It’s a deep green and black, velvet buttons lining the front. The long sleeves end in delicate lace and you’re wearing your hair half-down.

It’s strange, being nervous to see Laurie. Of course, you’ve never been apart for so long. What if he’s changed? What if you’ve changed?

You brush the thoughts out of your head. Thinking about it won’t make it easier.

You hear the sound of a carriage pulling up to the gate. Rushing to the window, you see Laurie getting out. With him is Amy, Jo, Bhaer, and another man that you assume is Amy’s new friend.

You trip down the stairs, going as fast as you can. Laurie’s running through the front door, looking around for you. You race into his arms, wrapping yourself around him. His arms go around your waist, and he lifts you off the around.

You give everyone else their proper greetings, and you all move to a sitting room. You pour tea and coffee, getting to Laurie last. You pour his coffee the way you know he likes it, and take it over to him. On the way over, your trip and spill the coffee right onto Laurie.

Laurie jumps up in his seat and brushes his hands over the growing wet spot on his waistcoat.

“I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you.” You try to help him unbutton his coat. Realizing that you probably shouldn’t be publicly undressing him, you stop suddenly and motion for him to follow you upstairs. “Here, I’ll get you something to change into.” You cringe, knowing that it can’t sound much better, but continue anyway, apologizing the whole way to his room.

“Why are you so worried about this? It’s not a big deal, I can just change. I have a better waistcoat in my wardrobe anyway.”

“Because it is a big deal, Laurie! We aren’t kids anymore.”

A scornful look passed his face. “I’m all to aware of that fact, thanks. You never would have been this worrisome.”

“I grew up. You should too.” You hate fighting like this. With him. Everything about it feels wrong. You want to cry and scream, but most of all you want him to hold you. Maybe like he used to when you were kids, laughing until your ribs hurt under the piano. Maybe it would nice to have him hold you like he did late one night when sons of grief wracked your body. He had been so warm and safe. “What we used to have, as kids, can’t be what we have anymore. Those days were for children.”

“The reason I was, I am, so scared of growing up is because I always assumed it would mean losing you. My best friend. The one who I used to wake up next to and still want to wake up next to. I want to see you every night before I fall asleep and you’re the one I want to wake up next to.”

“Laurie…”

“Just let me finish, okay? Then you can graciously reject me and pretend like we never knew each other. I always knew growing up that at some point you would have to grow up too, and not in the same way. People would want you to act a certain way, wear specific clothes, stop having friends like me. So I was terrified, and now I think I was right to be scared. I had hope though. I had hope you would realize how much I truly care for you. How much I need you to stay here with me in this house that we grew up in. How much I need you to keep spilling drinks on me.” You let out a laugh that sounds a lot like a sob.

“I’ve had dreams about you,” he continues. “Beautiful, terrible, longing dreams. They’re always simple, and always the same. You’re standing in the street. God, you’re stunning. Absolutely breathtaking, so much so that I don’t even notice the swirling colors of stars above us till you point them out. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you so much,” you reply, stepping closer to him. “I don’t want this to be the rest of my life. Our life.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I want to be there, with you, until the end. I want to grow old in this house and I want you to be there beside me, wearing my ring on your finger. If you’ll have me.”

You don’t say anything, but you walk into his arms. Resting your head in his neck, you say, “You’re the only friend I need.”

[fairestwriting]

Sorry for adding onto your (most likely) already busy pile but is it alright if I put in a request?

I was wondering how/what Leona, Azul, Riddle, and the Leech brothers (all separately) would act/do if they have a crush on a hopeless romantic female reader? (Maybe how they’ll try to “woo” them/get them together?) Emphasis on crush, they’re not together yet 😅

In my opinion hopeless romantics are not so much about the perfect dream lover (chivalrous, gentlemanly, etc), but more about finding “the one” that we’re meant to dedicate all our time to. Sure, we do find ourselves more attracted to guys that’ll fit the description of our “perfect”, but generally we’re able to accept just about anyone, so long as they show their sincerity. It doesn’t have to be anything big, it’s the feelings behind them that counts. Small gestures with undeniable feelings behind them are weighed much more heavily than big gestures with little thoughts behind them. Not my words but I feel like this sentence describes it perfectly “Hopeless Romantics are in love with love”. No, they don’t have to sing me poems and proses, gift me flowers at every meeting, or serenade me under the balcony. Though I’ll admit that I had written pages upon pages of love poems on a single crush We are obsessed with the idea of finding someone made just for us, for us to love and be loved in return.

Just me turning to fictional characters to cope with the harsh reality... we really aren’t made for modern society 😔

+ if you like my writing, you can buy me a ko-fi to support me!

Leona Kingscholar

For a while now, Leona really did think he found hopeless romantics stupid. He just doesn’t get why someone would put so much importance in something as vague and fleeting as romantic love.

Then he ends up falling for you.

Needless to say, his crush is something that constantly taunts him. He really feels so confused around you, as if he shouldn’t like you as much as he does. He never thought someone like you would catch his attention, you just seem so... soft, sometimes. Leona is usually straightforward about his interest in people, but when it comes to you, he doesn’t really know how to go about it.

He knows you’re not somebody who would be swayed through his meaningless teasing, that you’re the sort of person who wanted devotion. And it isn’t like he doesn’t want that with you -- Though, he’d rather die than admit this right now -- but he doesn’t know how to express it.

He still wants to show his interest, but for you, he does it differently. He flirts more subtly, teasing you less, and when you’re alone, he almost acts sweet, way easier to fluster. When you’re sweet to him back, he feels so stupidly warm and fuzzy and he loves it hates it.

Falling for a hopeless romantic definitely is the way to break Leona. It might be the only way to catch him off guard romantically, even.

Azul Ashengrotto

Similar to Leona, Azul kind of looks down on the concept of love, but for a slightly different reason. For him, it’s that he doesn’t like being vulnerable, so letting himself have this level of closeness with someone feels just... too troublesome. The chance he’d be hurt is just too much.

So he didn’t do anything about his crush on you, at first, he was trying to just wait it out like he usually does. Then, he hears your opinions and expectations with love, and things change a bit inside his head.

He’ll always be uneasy trying to make moves on people regarding that, but knowing you were so... sincere, it made him feel like trying might be worth it, this time. Ironically, what a dubious guy like him wants is someone genuine, who he didn’t feel the need to play all these games with.

He gets a little bolder with you. Inviting you to Mostro Lounge often, letting you try new recipes that still weren’t in the menu, sometimes taking you out, even buying you small gifts of things you seemed to like. He wants to show you that you’re special to him, while still keeping some subtlelty.

Riddle Rosehearts

Oh, so you’re the same!

Riddle never talks about it, but everytime he thinks about love, it’s in a similar way to you. He wants to find someone who would be his one and only, a girl who would love him just as much as he loved her. He’s endlessly embarrassed by this, sort of convinced that his expectations are just too unrealistic, but he can’t help but dream.

When you two launch into a rare conversation about relationships and he finds out you agree with him... man, if he already had a thing for you before, now he was just smitten.

Sadly Riddle is very awkward when it comes to romance. He feels like you two would make such a good couple together, he’d be the best boyfriend he possibly could be! But he gets shy when it comes to expressing his feelings, and in the end, all he can do is hope you catch on to what it means when he’s trying to spend time with you often...

He shows his affections mostly by... sort of mundane things, like inviting you to the Unbirthday Party and asking you to sit next to him, or offering to help you study, or inviting you over for tea when you have free time, being sure to remember you favorite drink and desserts... if you’re also oblivious, it might be hard to know he likes you. 

He’ll be working hard on a confession plan, though, if you two want the same thing, then he’s more willing than ever to risk it all for a romantic relationship.

Jade Leech

As he starts understanding his own feelings for you, he starts trying to gauge information about your preferences so he could plan how he’d woo you, and that’s how he finds out you’re a hopeless romantic.

He thinks it’s so endearing, honestly. Jade loves to spoil, he wants nothing more than to be the one to give you all this love you crave. He thinks often about how well he’d care for you.

He makes sure to be sort of obvious about his crush, wanting to get his feelings across more than he usually would. Jade is always there for you, happy to help and advise, he’s an acts of service kind of guy so it’s mostly how he’d try to express the fact that he loves you.

It takes a while to get an actual confession out of him though. He knows you have high expectations and has sworn he’d meet all of them. Even if you’ve told him you didn’t put that much weight on grand gestures, he did want to make his confession something impressive, if only subjectively. He wants to make sure everything is meaningful, and shows through how much attention he’d been paying to you for a while now.

“Hopeless romantic” might be part of his type, honestly, Jade is a guy who lives for this mutual devotion you strive for.

Floyd Leech

A hopeless romantic and Floyd would be... a complicated pair. 

Floyd is very casual about love, you see. The second he knows he’s fallen for you is the second he decides you’re his, and he’s yours, and that’s it. He’s casual with his affection and doesn’t mind things like relationship labels at all, he doesn’t even see the need for an actual confession, really.

So he’ll be so affectionate with you, he’s constantly showering you in love. But... he’s so casual about it, his feelings might not get through completely to you. You might not realize he’s crushing on you at all, because of how chummy he acts with everybody else.

It’s a strange situation, because you’ll be talking about how wonderful you think it’d be if you found your one and only, and Floyd will be right there wondering why you’re saying things like that when he’s right here, he’s your one and only, right? Are you telling him you just haven’t noticed that he loves you?

He’s confused when you talk about love, if you were all about sincere gestures why aren’t you catching on to his feelings? He’ll actually blurt that out one time, probably. Floyd isn’t one to keep quiet about his crushes for too long.

Once you understand where he’s coming from with all the affection, he might actually be a good partner for you. He loves you so, so, so much, and it shows! Just in, you know, kinda odd ways sometimes.

[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. 

[makoodlesarchive]

when i was young i fell into a river

pairing: kirishima x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: none, really! a bit of angst, a bit of fluff i guess?

notes: hello, it's me, back again with some writing! it's been a long time and i'm very sorry about that, but i've finally gotten around to writing and posting my spirited away au! i'm v stressed with college so this turned out more vent-y than i had originally intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! thank you all for being so patient with me, i am endlessly grateful for you

The dream is the same as always, comforting in its familiarity.

A salt-scented breeze cools your sweat-soaked brow as you pause behind one of the sliding screen doors, the rice paper windows doing nothing to block out the chatter of the other workers. The bubbling noise of the bathhouse is constant, and the quiet little moments you steal away for yourself in the middle of the working day is the only solitude you’ve gotten since you came here. The work is physically back-breaking, but you know that you’re working towards a goal. It’s just a shame that you can’t remember exactly what that goal is.

One of the other girls calls your name, and you sigh as your unofficial break comes to an end. You slip back into the room, ignoring the way the frog spirits snicker and hold their noses as you pass. They like to complain a lot about your human stench, but it doesn’t stop them from threatening to eat you every time you make a mistake. Fear, you’ve found, is an uncomfortably successful motivator.

The days bleed into one another, full of scrubbing dark wooden floors and the rich earthy scents of the herbal mixes they use in the baths. The spirits that frequent the bathhouse, that once inspired so much awe and fear in your heart, become so commonplace that you hardly spare them a glance anymore. From the cackling masked spirits that always travel in threes to the grinning cat spirits to the sombre, unspeaking river spirits, you only go as far as to offer them a polite bow before scurrying out of their way. They never spare you any attention, anyway -- most of the time, the spirits’ eyes seem to look right through you.

All but one, that is.

He looks to be a boy around your age, but appearances can be deceiving around here. His red eyes are often dull and blank, but even so they have a certain ageless quality about them that no human twelve-year-old could ever possess. His scarlet hair sticks up in gravity-defying spikes, and his skin is as smooth and clear as running water. His face is often stuck in a carefully cultivated blank expression; the only thing about him that doesn’t seem intimidatingly otherworldly are the deep purple shadows under his eyes.

He helped you once, when you first came here. The rare act of kindness had stuck in your head, made even more remarkable in the face of the following weeks and months of harsh work and cruel co-workers. You wonder if he remembers; he doesn’t often look at you, but sometimes when he does you swear you can see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Two of the girls start yelling at each other, arguing heatedly over the way the work is being divided. A foreman appears to break up the fight, but then they both start shouting at him instead. You take the moment of distraction to relax, wincing at the pull of your tired muscles in the back of your neck. All the other girls working at the bath house are older and bigger than you, which means you need to work twice as hard to keep up with them and prove that you’re worth keeping around.

In the brief moment of rest, your eyes are drawn slowly to the corridor, where guests and workers alike bustle past as they travel to the treatment rooms and bathtubs deeper into the bathhouse. As if you’ve conjured him just by thinking about him, the boy stands in the doorway.

You straighten up on instinct, suddenly self-conscious of your sweat-soaked body and dishevelled uniform. He’s not even looking your way, preoccupied with the two girls who are still yelling at the frog foreman. Slowly though, his eyes began to travel the room, and you take a deep breath and hold it as his dull ruby gaze lands on you like a physical weight. You crack a nervous smile, feeling the muscles in your cheeks that have gone unused for weeks ache at the strain, and raise a hand to give him a tiny wave.

For just a moment, that blankness in his face seems to quiver and fall away. He smiles back.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. You’ve had the same dream, or some variation of it, regularly ever since you were twelve years old and while it’s become familiar to you, you still find yourself feeling vaguely panicked when you wake up after it, as though you’ve forgotten something very important.

Once your heartbeat has calmed down a little, you pull yourself out of bed and trudge into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The weak, milky light of dawn filters in through the windows, lighting your apartment up just enough so that you don’t have to turn on a light to make your way around. You take your tea out to the balcony and sit, gazing out at the purplish early morning sky.

Most of the time when you wake up from those dreams you feel blessedly lucky to be living alone with no one to question or bother you, but sometimes you can’t help but be overcome by overwhelming loneliness. The dreams are silly and most of the time they don’t even make any sense, but in the aftermath of them you’re always left with a vague sense of unfulfillment, though you can’t put your finger exactly on what it is you’re missing. You always end up exactly like this; sitting outside on your balcony in the early morning light, drinking tea alone and desperately wishing for something more.

You sigh, and go back inside.

The dream is the same, but different.

The garden is in full bloom, greenery overlaid with bursts of beautiful bright colours. Camellias, rhododendrons, and oleanders wave and shiver gently in the warm breeze, and apple blossoms hang heavily from a nearby tree. The flowering garden is enormous and maze-like, and you have yet to see it in any state other than fully flourishing.

It’s a beautiful place, especially after the hot, cramped working quarters of the bathhouse. You inhale the sweetly fragranced air and feel the knot of tension in your spine unfurl; it feels like the first time that you’ve been able to breathe all week, but that’s not the only reason that you’ve found yourself outside.

At the bottom of the garden, the grass drops off into a sheer drop. The cliff face overlooks a seemingly endless ocean, and you perch a safe distance from the drop before leaning back in the grass. The sky is an almost surreally deep blue and you watch as enormous fluffy clouds float by, looking as though they’ve been painted on a jewel-blue canvas.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream, and you know what you’ll see if you keep patiently watching.

It doesn’t take long — it never does. You time your lunch breaks precisely, all so you get to see this sight.

The clear blue sky makes it so much easier to spot the shiny white scales, flashing jewel-bright in the sunlight. The dragon writhes in the sky, streaking through the air like a great serpent caught in the wind. Even from this distance, you can see the knife-like teeth, the great sharp claws that gleam like pyrite, and the twisting horns that erupt from his head like daggers made from calcified bone. He looks deadly, a living weapon that swims through the air like a salmon in open water, but the sight of him makes something settle in your stomach.

You wonder what it would feel like to fall through the air with nothing but the wind to break your fall. You imagine it must feel like freedom.

The dragon flutters through the air, buoyed by the gentle sea breeze. If you didn’t know better, you might almost think that he was showing off — his movements are hypnotic, dreamlike, more like a dance than anything. His scales glow pearlescent in the midday sun, otherworldly and earthly all at once.

You could happily stay and watch him skim through the sky forever, but already the bell is being rung to call all workers back into the bathhouse. You heave a sigh so deep it feels as though your chest is about to crack with the force of it, before hauling yourself to your feet.

Your break is over, and now it’s back to work.

Sometimes you find it difficult to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. It feels as though everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever. You don’t get to rest when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, because the dreams just keep coming and coming. Sometimes you don’t feel like your life is real when you’re awake.

Riding on the train has always been therapeutic, especially at this time of the early morning. The sun rising lazily over the horizon sends milky threads of purple and pink across the cloudy sky, and you cradle your chin in your hand as you gaze out across the moving landscape. You love these little trips, feeling more at home in the creaky, overfull train carriage than you do in your own bedroom sometimes, though you can’t quite work out where that particular feeling comes from.

You know sometimes that stories end with “And then I woke up — it was only a dream”, but in your experience the story simply doesn’t end. You cannot fully wake up without the tail-ends of your dreams clinging to you for the rest of the day, and you never fully sleep. You just dream, dream, dream.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the seat that you’re slumped in. The train carriage is too full, and you were lucky to get a seat in the first place — from your vantage point, you watch as people sway in tandem with the motion of the train. It’s almost hypnotic, how they undulate back and forth with every turn, brushing against each other only to be pulled apart again by the lurching train.

Through the sea of bodies, you catch a man’s eye. It breaks the monotony of the morning commute and your own spiralling thoughts, and your spine straightens unconsciously. He quirks an eyebrow briefly, slightly, in such a way that no one would be able to safely accuse him of having done it.

You look away, startled for no good reason. Do you know him? He feels familiar in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. The train rattles on, and it takes several long minutes before you work up the nerve to glance the man’s way again. He’s still watching you, but you’re ready for it this time. His attention isn’t such a shock, and you allow your eyes to wander over his face properly.

You must know him, you think. Your eyes track over his features as though they’re winding over a well-worn path, admiring the curve of his nose and the fullness of his lips and the arch of his eyebrows over his intense, watchful eyes.

He smiles at you, and it feels as though you’re sharing a secret from across the crowded train carriage. You smile back — it’s just a small tug of the corners of your mouth, but it’s the most you’ve smiled in months. Longer, maybe.

In the middle of the carriage a woman laughs at something her friend has said and sways backward, blocking your view of the stranger. It feels like a loss.

The train trundles onwards, and the carriage gradually empties out. You watch people step off the train with friends, with their heads ducked low, lost in thought, arguing over the phone, distracted with their book bags. By the time it comes to your stop, the man is gone.

You try not to feel disappointed as you step off the train — it’s silly, after all. You don’t know the man, and whatever you thought you felt as you looked at each other was surely all in your own head. Your head has been awfully full, recently.

As you step off the train you grapple with your bag, side-stepping a businessman who is busy shouting down the phone at some unfortunate coworker. You’re distracted, which is the only reasonable explanation for how long it takes you to realise that the man from the train is standing in front of you.

“Oh.” You blurt, startled. You had already begun to resign yourself to never seeing him again, so you can’t help but feel distinctly caught off guard at the sight of him standing before you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man says. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s waiting for — as it is, you get completely distracted by his eyes. You hadn’t noticed on the train, but now that he’s up close you see that they’re a truly unusual deep burgundy. He tilts his head when you remain silent, and bites his lip. Now that you’re really looking, you notice how sharp his teeth are. “You’ve barely changed at all.”

You blink at him. “Er…” You trail off nervously. You don’t recognise him, but you feel like you know him. Clearly, he thinks that he knows you.

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? Meeting again on a train?” He smiles, and it’s an impossibly knowing expression. You don’t think you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a look that intimate in your life, though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Someone collides hard with your shoulder and you stagger for balance. You only look away from the man for a mere second, but it’s enough; when you look again, he’s gone.

You take to walking. There’s a wooded area behind the town, and you enjoy traipsing idly through the trees. Ancient roots erupt out of the dirt and fan over the ground like hairs, and the moss that covers the trunks of the trees is such a deep green that it almost seems like paint pigment. It’s soothing, being surrounded by nature like this. It reminds you of childhood — the simplicity of being able to jump over tree roots under a canopy of pale green leaves, of being able to leave all your thoughts and stress at the boundary of the forest.

It’s where you come after waking sweat-soaked and disoriented from a dream that clings to you like a burr, where you walk among the ferns and the needle-leaved weeds until you manage to shake the last vestiges of memory from your mind. You need it, especially in the mornings where you wake up with the acrid scent of herbal cleanser stinging in your nose or the bite of hard calluses on your palms from non-existent rough cloths. On mornings like that, you walk and walk until you no longer feel as though you’re more alive in your dreams than you are in reality.

Deep in the forest is a great red facade, painted a flaking, faded red. You wander by it frequently, admiring the overgrown greenery that crawls up the walls like reaching fingers, the mossy stone guardian that stands sentinel amongst the cracked flagstones that lead into the tunnelled entrance. You’ve asked around in the town, curious about what exactly this building was for, but most of the locals either don’t know what building you’re talking about or admit that they’re not sure. One man told you that the facade was built for a theme park in the 90s that had ended up going bust in the recession, and that the building only looked old.

You remain unconvinced on that front. The building has the kind of presence that only very old things have; it feels like it’s watching you.

For the most part, your walks in the forest are peaceful. Recently though, you’ve found yourself plagued by an insistent, irritating sense of deja vu. You don’t know where it’s coming from, and it hits you at the strangest of times — when you’re making tea, or in the bath, or cleaning your apartment, or on the train, or admiring the sky on a cloudless day.

The man from the train is the boy in your dreams. It takes you weeks to come to that realisation. You just wake up in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday, with wide eyes and clammy skin and his name slipping from the forefront of your mind.

It shouldn’t be possible, but once it dawns on you, you’re certain of it.

Even stranger is that once you realise it, it feels as though you see him everywhere. You see flashes of red hair when you’re walking down the street, when you’re grocery shopping, when you’re walking home late at night. It’s only ever the barest glance out of the corner of your eye, just overt enough for you to know it’s him, but subtle enough for you to question yourself immediately after.

One night, you travel to a local city to meet some old school friends. At night, the city seems to pulse. The music from seedy clubs spills out into the neon-lit streets, muffled shouted arguments echoes from alleyways and apartments alike, and the streets are peppered with people either scurrying or stumbling home, with very little variation. Though the perpetually overcast sky hides any trace of the moon or stars, the streetlamps reflect in the ever-present stagnant puddles littering the street, lighting them up in varying shades of sickly yellow.

At night, the city seems alive. Chronically ill and struggling to breathe, maybe, but clinging to life all the same.

The way the neon lights flicker in the gloomy darkness, just barely illuminating the shadows of people hurrying through the streets to get in out of the rain, reminds you of something you can’t quite remember. It sits in the back of your mind like a sour taste, but no matter how much you reach for the memory it remains just out of reach.

You spend most of the night staring out of the steamed up window of the pub, entranced by the sight of the night streets and frustrated by the memories that seem to dangle just out of reach. You know that it doesn’t make for good company, and you feel guilty for that. Your friends don’t seem overly surprised at your detachment. You’ve been drifting away for years, and though tonight was supposed to be all about reconnecting it seems clear that it’s not going to work.

When you eventually stand up to leave, with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes, you can’t help but feel melancholy settle over you like a second skin. As you slip out of the pub and onto the dark streets, the thought crosses your mind that you’re not used to being alone like this. It’s a silly thought, really; you’ve been alone for years. But sometimes, in those liminal moments between waking and sleeping, you swear you can hear the gentle drowsy breaths of dozens of people sleeping all around you, as though you’re surrounded on all sides. On those nights you wake up hot and claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but never feeling lonely.

It is probably your own fault, you reflect as you drift down the sidewalk like a ghost. It’s difficult to make an effort to know people when you feel as though you don’t know yourself. You don’t know how to bridge the distance between yourself and other people. You think sometimes that you’re missing chunks of yourself.

You pass an open shopfront that’s serving street food, and glance briefly in at the kitchen. The cook is illuminated only dimly in the smoky room, standing out as a shadow figure more than anything, and for a split second you could swear that he has six arms. You look away quickly and carry on walking — you don’t want to look again only to be proven wrong. You want to preserve that little second of magic strangeness for as long as you can.

The puddles on the street seem like they’re glowing with the light reflected from the neon streetlamps, and you weave your way carefully around them to avoid getting your feet wet. The night has a strange quality about it, almost as though it’s holding its breath.

Considering the combination of your pensive mood and the expectant air of the evening, you don’t feel surprised at all when you look up from the wet cobblestones to find the man standing only a few feet ahead of you.

He smiles like he’s nervous, his gaze tracking carefully over your face. In his hands, he’s holding flowers. Camellias, you think. It’s the first time since you first saw him on the train that hasn’t been a fleeting glance out of the corner of your eye— he’s here in front of you and he’s real and solid and sturdy. He seems more substantial than the streets around you, than your friends back at the pub had been.

“Do you remember me?” He asks, voice soft as though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Remember you?” You croak. It feels as though the words are catching inside your throat. “No. But I’ve seen you every night in my dreams for years.”

If that’s the answer he’s expecting, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at you, your face, your body. You wonder exactly it is that he’s seeing. “These are for you.” He says eventually, holding out the flowers. “I didn’t- I wanted to bring you something, when I saw you again. And I know that you always liked the garden.”

He’s talking as if the places that you’ve dreamed about are real. It doesn’t come as the earth-shattering surprise you might have expected — rather, it feels like a key turning in an old lock. A click, and then a sense of yes, that’s right.

You take the flowers, and clutch them to your chest. They’re a fleshy pink, with a vibrant yellow centre. The petals are as soft as velvet. Holding them feels like holding a safety blanket. “Thank you.” It’s the only thing that you can manage to say right now. Your thoughts are too full, and nothing else makes it out of your mouth.

It’s rather startling, the feelings that bubble up in your chest. It feels like something has just been unlocked, as though you had stored away all this emotion somewhere deep in your ribcage and then forgotten about it only for it to resurface at this precise moment, for this precise person.

“Eijirou.” You croak. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

His whole face brightens, and his eyes sparkle. “Yes. That’s me. You do remember!”

They’re not quite memories, you don’t think. They come in dreamlike flashes — the garden, an ocean, train tracks, the feral snarling of a dragon with sharp teeth, hard work and hot food, friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Kirishima is saying, his face open and earnest. “But I told you that I’d come and find you again, remember?”

You do remember, sort of. A flash of a warm hand holding yours, pushing you forward over a boundary between one world and another, and a goodbye whispered behind you that sounds like a promise.

“You saved me.”

Kirishima laughs, though his eyes look a little shiny. “It was the other way around, actually. I would have stayed trapped in that bathhouse forever, if it weren’t for you.”

“The bathhouse.” You murmur, wide-eyed. It was real, real, real.

“Things are different now.” He edges closer to you. He’s large and imposing and taller than you, but he’s hunched slightly in an attempt to make himself unthreatening. “That’s why it took so long for me to come for you. Things were changing. Me and Katsuki run the bathhouse now.”

Katsuki. In your mind's eye you see a boy with wild blond hair and a dangerous look in his eyes, a boy who gives you extra rice when he can manage and takes over parts of your chores when you get so tired that you’re fit to pass out.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He says quietly, and the tide of emotion that you had just barely been holding at bay comes crashing over you. Before the first tear has welled over the edge of your eyelids, Kirishima has stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. The flowers are crushed between your chests as you cry.

“I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.” You cry into his silk suikan.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m not going to leave again.”

You don’t release your grip on him. You’re not willing to take the chance.

After a moment, Kirishima speaks again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” You echo, finally pulling away. “Go where?”

“Home.” He says, and he means the bathhouse. He means the spirit world.

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want you to help us run it.” He corrects. The distinction is important for both of you — though the memories are distant, you both know what it feels like to have your names and voices erased so cleanly that it makes you wonder if you ever existed fully at all.

“I don’t know anything about running a bathhouse. Especially not one for spirits.” You say, but Kirishima just laughs.

“You were always a hard worker. You’ll learn as you go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

You want to say yes. The word beats in your head like a drum, and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. The bathhouse. Home. The chance to feel real and awake at the same time.

“Okay.” You say on a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. “Stay with me, this time.”

When Kirishima’s face lights up in a smile, it’s the first time that you think you can accurately describe someone as incandescently happy. “Good luck getting rid of me again.”

You laugh, feeling nearly delirious with relief and joy. It’s real. He’s real. He’s come back for you, and now you’re going back with him. You think you should probably feel nervous or hesitant, but this brief encounter has felt more solid and right than the rest of the night spent with distant school-friends made uncomfortable by your silences.

“So, how do we get there?” You ask, but Kirishima just grins at you like you should already know the answer.

The train station is tucked away down an alley just off a busy main shopping district.

“It’s easy to miss if you don’t know exactly where you're going.” Kirishima tells you with a sharp smile, and it’s easy to believe. The red brick building that housed the train station is unmarked, and the trains couldn’t be seen from the main street. The alley itself is home to many curious sights -- paper lanterns bob overhead (though they don’t seem to be suspended by anything in particular), a yellowed flyer from the 1950s advertising Marlboro cigarettes drifts along on what seems to be a breeze despite the noticeable lack of wind, and three magpies sit on a wall wearing little golden timepieces on chains around their necks and caw in time with the ticking.

“Ready to go home?” Kirishima asks quietly. In his hand, two train tickets flutter in a non-existent breeze.

A family of mice scamper past your feet, pulling a miniature suitcase between them. A tall, thin woman wearing a blank white mask assists them onto the train.

You laugh at the whimsy of it all — it feels as though you’ve stepped into a fairytale, into a dream, into your childhood. “Yes,” You grin, “I’m ready.”

Kirishima beams back at you, and holds out a hand to help you onto the train. Finding a seat was easy — despite all the passengers you had seen boarding, the carriage was oddly empty. As soon as you’re seated, you sigh. It feels as though you’re sinking into an old overstuffed armchair, comfortable and familiar. When the whistle blows and the train starts moving, you turn eagerly to watch as the train begins to pick up speed. Within moments, you find that you can barely recognise the landscape blurring past the window — It seems that you’re zooming passed a beautiful sea-view, despite the fact that the city the train station was located in was conspicuously land-locked. You sigh happily and lean against your seat.

You still don’t remember everything about your experience in the spirit world all those years ago, but you think you remember hearing someone telling you “Once you meet someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."

You make eye contact with Eijirou, who smiles back at you so fondly that it nearly hurts to look at. He’s changed so much from the boy in your dreams, in your memories. His eyes are no longer glassy and distant — now they’re shiny and expressive and so bright. His hair is longer too; still spiked and wild, but longer and curling softly over the curve of his neck and shoulders. He’s the boy your remember from all those years ago, but he’s also a man now. Grown, like you have, but smiling at you gently just like you’re ten years old again.

Through the window behind his head, the sunrise begins to bathe the water in delicate pinks and yellows. You’ll wait for as long as you need to for the memories to return, but even if they don’t that’s alright. You can just make new ones.

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 1/9

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo reflects upon his relationship to you, his only tether to his wife and closest friend.

Slow burn, previous relationships, angst, various mentions of death & mourning. You both lost your spouse. You're a regular civilian person. Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics.

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

I meant to write a one-shot but, as it turns out, I have feelings for this man.

I'll have part two by the end of the day and hope to update steadily.

***

He looks forward to coming face-to-face with Karli, the girl responsible for the birth of a new faction of Super Soldiers. His plan for her was simple really: He would find her, and then he would end her—just as he did Nagel.

Sam and James lack the conviction to do what needs to be done, and it’s that weakness that makes Helmut invaluable (that and he’s the one with the private jet.) So he bides his time and waits.

Helmut would put an end to Karli and her acolytes. He would make sure of it.

But it’s night now, and he’s tired, so instead of plotting, he prepares a meal in the little kitchen near the cockpit.

James relaxes on the couch and Sam sits across from him in the lounge area, discussing something not meant for his ears. So as he does his work and delicious aromas permeate the air, Helmut decides to let their food cook a little longer than he usually would. By the time he decides to turn off the heat, Sam is contacting an associate—someone he hopes can help them locate Karli’s mentor, Donya Madani.

It isn’t a bad plan, enlisting the help of others, but Helmut knows how strenuous locating displaced persons can be; locating the dead was a much easier feat.

Sam’s associate wouldn’t find Donya as long as she’s alive.

“Now what?” James asks, his voice and disposition bitter as Helmut hands him the plate. He eyes the meal with suspicion.

“We wait” Sam can barely withhold his frustration with James, but he accepts the food with a nod.

“For how long?”

“For as long as it takes.”

Helmut has no burning desire to listen to Sam and James argue on and on about symbols and shields. It’s clear whatever they have between them is fraying—ripping at the seams.

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

“I know of a place we can go until then.” He says, settling down into his chair. Helmut doesn’t give them a moment to ask questions, instead, he asks Oeznik to adjust their course towards Spain.

He’d know exactly where to port.

And though the journey would be long and annoying, he would handle it as handled every arduous thing: with patience and a glass of whiskey.

Besides, his impending headache will be well worth it; he’ll get to see you again.

***

Before she was his wife, Heike was his girlfriend, and in those days, she longed to see the world outside the trappings of nobility. So she studied abroad for University and adventured out into the world. But despite her dazzling personality, she never expected to have met a friend so quickly. (She confessed as much to him the day after she arrived.)

So when she ran into you—quite literally—while searching for her class building, she was overjoyed. You were headed to the same lecture (as Heike would recount later,) and decided to share a bench as you looked over a ridiculously simplified map.

Heike couldn’t wait to tell him of the ‘lovely Fine Arts major’ she met that day (and every day afterward.)

You were all but joined at the hip ever since; you were there for all their important dates — their engagement, their wedding, the birth of their baby.

But despite your somewhat frequent presence in his home and in his life, Helmut never thought to consider you a friend, not really.

You were his wife’s friend, someone who came to town, swept her up, spoiled Carl, and left days later.

But when Heike hosted dinner for one of her milestone birthdays, your life became entangled with his further. Because on that day, you caught the eye of his closest friend, Dominik.

Dominik had no title. His family had been nobility once, many years ago, but their words no longer held sway in politics or court.

So society wouldn’t care if Dominik married a Sokovian woman or if his partner came from old money. There would be looks, of course, and there would be whispers, (Sokovia was a fairly homogenous society, after all, and with that came many old-world sensibilities,) but most were content to let him be.

Dominik was free to live his life with impunity.

So he might have married anyone he liked—in fact, he might have had an easier time courting a woman more easily swayed by his charm and vast amounts of money—but you enchanted him from the beginning, he didn’t want anyone else.

“They would make such a cute couple, wouldn’t they?” Heike asked that evening, her large eyes filled with mischievous glee. They both had the misfortune of watching Dominik flounder as he spoke to you and Helmut often wondered if she set you up on purpose if she somehow knew that love would run its course.

*

Helmut remembered one particular day; it was hot and he found his friend tucked away in the stuffy library of his family’s estate. He looked studious, thoughtful, things he rarely expected Dominik to be.

The annotated books were arranged in neat piles, obscuring Dominik’s tired eyes.

“What are these?” Helmut asked him, inspecting the pile with curiosity.

He said your name with a sight, almost dreamily.

“She said she likes to read, so I asked about her favorites,” he told him, gesturing “She told me these were ‘essential reading.’ ”

He was never meant to read them all at once, but he was determined to impress you.

Endlessly curious and amused, Helmut decided to read them too. (He found the one on Pre-Columbian art extremely insightful, as was the one on the political importance of diasporas, and of course the one on Marvin Gaye.)

But it wasn’t until a year later, when EKO Scorpion was deployed, that he realized the true depth of Dominik’s feelings for you.

Because usually, when Dominik received one of your amorous letters, he would grin and gloat and parade himself through camp.

“Look,” he would say, waving the envelope around as if it were your banner, “I have someone waiting for me.”

But then one night, after a back-breaking mission near the border of Lithuania, Helmut watched his friend pull your letter from the pocket of his uniform. The night was damp and cold, but he read the letter quietly, thumbing at the wrinkled page.

And he was happy for him, he was happy for you.

It was nice, Helmut remembered, watching your courtship from afar and offering advice where he could.

He was proud to stand beside Dominik on the day of the wedding, proud to watch see your love take root.

Though it took a great deal of compromise for you to move to Sokovia (you didn’t like the idea of living in a country so bloodied by war, you were worried about exclusion and monotony, and you found the film culture’s lacking,) but once you did, he and Heike entertained you on the holidays.

There had been no children between you and him, but there was plenty of love.

There was so much love, in fact, someone found your letter in the pocket of his uniform the day they pulled him from the rubble of Novi Grad.

“Does anyone know where his wife is?” An officer asked.

“Does anyone know where anyone is?” Another replied.

It was an endless cycle of death and sorrow as people dug soldiers and civilians from the wreckage and debris.

Some were alive, most were dead.

People cried.

Families broke apart.

People begged and fell limp in the streets.

Helmut buried his entire family.

You buried your husband and his father.

You had no one left.

*

You made a beautiful speech at the service, one that spoke volumes of love you both shared.

“I loved him,” you said, “and he loved me.”

But when the service was finally over and you stood at the site of his freshly dug grave, you lingered almost absentmindedly, at a loss for something to say.

Helmut joined you, after a while, standing in silent solidarity. You’d done the same just a few days prior. He waited for you to speak.

You keep your eyes cast down as you do.

“I’m standing here and I... I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe they’re gone.”

All because of the Avengers, he thought. They took everything from you both.

“What will I do without him?” When you looked at him, your eyes filled with tears, Helmut knew better than to say what he was thinking. He couldn’t tell you he longed to watch the world burn, that he wanted those so-called ‘heroes’ to have died in the place of those he held dear, that he wanted revenge.

So he said the next best thing instead:

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised.

“Thank you, Helmut. But… I…” You wanted to tell him you’d be alright, but the lie lodged itself in the back of your throat and a sob pushed forward instead.

“Please…” He beckoned softly, “It’s what they would have wanted. Heike and Carl… they adored you. I can do this much at least.“

You were the only thing he had left of the ones he loved.

He didn’t want to let you go.

***

Thanks for reading! Look out for part two! The reader will have more interaction with Zemo.

Next

[loveylangdon]

Go To Town

Word Count: 4.2k

soft jj x best friend reader 

A/N: I have no idea why but 'Go To Town’ by Doja Cat reminds me of JJ (listen it if you want to), so I came up with this lil scenrio based off the song but not really? but who doesn’t love a good dance sesh to tease a cute boy. Just some cute JJ love tbh, everyone has the angsty, hard ass jj heres a lil content smol jj.  This is my first jj fic so pls be kind. truly a white mans whore so i’ll include my masterlist for my other writings Xx

*not my gif credit to owner*

y/n p.o.v.

“If you're down, boy, really down, baby let me watch you go to town” You and Kie screamed at the top of your lungs dancing on the Pogue. It was your turn to pick the music playlist for the day out on the marsh and you had more of an open love for all music. When it was your turn to pick the playlist it was a bit of everything everyone loved but today you just wanted to let loose and have fun. You vibed heavy with the reggae and soft jazz the boys usually picked or the pop-rock JJ chose, but you wanted to have more fun before the kegger tonight. Your vibe was usually infectious and you wanted the others to be able to let loose. Hence listening to some Doja Cat in the middle of nowhere with also the slight hope of catching JJ’s attention more so than usual.

Your cousin came down from the mainland and showed you some new artists and ‘Go to Town’ by Doja Cat was on her playlist which reminded you of your little blonde hair blue eyed crush. JJ Maybank possibly royalty amongst the pogues and rightfully so with his charm, good looks, and his ability to fix basically anything he was a guy every girl wanted to sleep with. But to you he was an angel in disguise. Glancing over at him you saw him smirking behind his beer bottle and looking at you intently in your swimsuit dancing with Kie. “Go down, go down, go down, go to town” You and Kie kept screaming out “and she shave it all off Charlie Brown with it” dropping down and dancing on each other. John B laughing and throwing his head back, Pope smiling like an idiot, Sarah refusing to dance provocatively with you two trying to hold on to John B’s arm for dear life. Today was gonna be good. You had JJ’s attention from the moment you stepped on the boat and that’s all you wanted even if it was because you were currently grinding with Kie. 

Together but not together, you and JJ were in this endless cycle of teasing and flirting constantly but today you were winning. Watching him while dancing on Kie you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. Making sure your eyes were locked for most of the provocative parts of the song or when you dropped lower than normal. Watching how his eyes get a deeper shade of blue and how he was holding on tighter to the neck of the beer bottle John B handed him before you guys anchored down. Smiling to yourself you turned and gave Kie your full attention again dancing and acting foolish screaming lyrics to the wise words of Doja Cat “If he don’t eat it, he a D-bag, He can use a submarine, I’ll call him seaman” 

You were kind of this untouchable girl in the group, maybe even a better girl version of JJ easier to tame. Young, wild and free. Pretty, smart, fun always up for adventure but you had the spirit of Pope calculating and thinking things through but you knew when to let go. The perfect balance, Smart and quick on your feet, great at getting out of certain situations you became the mediator for Pogues and Kooks. Not being much of either you were what they would call a “Pookie” in the middle, not exactly a full Pogue but not much farther from being a Kook but not good enough either. However the group accepted you far quicker than they accepted Sarah Cameron, pure at heart and no ill intentions just wanting to have fun, Plus it didn’t hurt that you stopped Rafe from attacking them the first time you met them on the island. After they knew you were badass and down to earth how could the 3 boys refuse to let you in their secret club. Kie joined later which you were thankful for, loving your boys endlessly for 4 years but you couldn’t say no to another girl to help keep these boys corralled. 

While being associated with the Pogues it didn’t stop Kook guys trying to get at you. You were invited on figure 8 anytime as well as the cut. Princess of peace some would call you, you could get Kelce and Rafe to back down from a fight more often than not. Rafe not wanting to get on your bad side because you had a fire in your eyes and he wouldn’t want to hurt his chance of possibly getting laid if the “opportunity arises” you would never but it didn’t hurt to make him think so. Being Pookie came with power. Being able to control Rafe meant power over the Kooks. Hurting you could hurt Mr. Cameron’s business in some ways, you didn’t have a big mouth but you never forget what happens, you’re a more credible person to believe than the Pogues if it came to spilling some of Rafe’s secrets. And Rafe never forgot that. So he played nice-ish when you were present. Plus it didn’t hurt that he was attractive. So what if you flirted and hung out with them once in a blue moon. Young, Wild, and free. 

Again though JJ, JJ Maybank was it. You guys were without a doubt each other’s person. You weren’t going to make the first move you were gonna let JJ do it. Watching him mack on Tourons hurt but nothing your friends and some fun couldn’t fix. You and him were endgame anyways so why fret over what’s inevitable. That’s what you told yourself. You were confident and you definitely had that boy wrapped around your finger. Knowing each other’s quirks, body language, food taste, being each other’s other half you guys had mastered for a couple of years now. Up until recently the tides have shifted your guy’s love for each other grew in a way neither of you suspected but it didn’t change anything. Maybe more lingering touches, a couple more conscious forehead kisses or escorts home. Yet the blue-eyed angel still couldn’t make it official so you did what you do best tease him any chance you got. 

“D to the TF, got your bf in my DM, got him all up in my hair” You make your way over to where Popes sitting pointing your finger at him to join you and Kie. 

“No-No” Pope lets out moving to get up, you wink at Kie who is laughing at Popes wide-eyed frantic figure who finally figured out what the songs about while trying to maneuver in the small boat. You and Kie finally get pope stuck between you two “cause I can’t believe my eyes and her man between my thighs” you and Kie keep screaming. Peaking over Pope’s shoulder you see JJ watching you “And it’s clean but messy like a pizza” you sing right at him making eye contact, you see the blue-eyed boy shift uncomfortably in his seat adjusting his swim trunks, eyes locked on you. You wink at him and see pink dust his cheeks as he clears his throat. 

Turning to John B with a smile on your face makes Sarah squeal, “My boyfriend too y/n” she lets out, fake shock evident in her tone 

“Sorry Cameron I don’t have a boyfriend so I need to steal yours” you giggle holding your hand out for John B who has his hand over his heart and an awe look on his face flattered you chose him. He kisses Sarah on the forehead and stands up leading you next to Kie and Pope “If your down boy really down, Baby let me watch you go to town” you’re back is to John B’s chest dancing to the beat yelling out the lyrics, you feel John B place his hands on your waist and see Kie trying to get Sarah to join you guys. 

You feel heat on your waist and it's not John B’s hands, someones staring at you, looking over to JJ you see him glaring at John B’s hands holding onto your hips, guiding you to the beat. Rolling your eyes at JJ you huff, only JJ would get jealous over a guy who has a girlfriend and still not do anything about it. Pope went to go sit next to JJ since Kie left him to drag Sarah to dance before the song ended. You leave John B and dance your way over to Kie and Sarah. 

“No, No, No” Sarah squeals when you grab her wrist and Kie grabs the other you guys get her to stand up and push her to the front of the boat for the last chorus. Squishing Sarah between you and Kie you guys are lazily grinding on each other with the three boys sitting at the front of the boat whooping and hollering at your antics “let me see you go to town, baby, go to town yeah”

Making eye contact with JJ again you notice his tensed features, his jaws clenched and he’s biting his lip, his hairs messed up and you assume from him tugging on it. His eyes snap up to your face knowing he got caught checking you out he smirks opening his legs wider as if daring you to go to him and do your worst. 

“Baby let me watch you go to town,” you say making your way over to the boys, John B’s eyes widen hitting JJ on the shoulder “Oh my god” Pope lets out 

You make grabby hands to JJ, grabbing his hand that was covering his crotch innocently grazing his chest making pope let out a whistle, JJ stands up immediately taking your hand in his smirking while a goofy smile graces his features. You walk him to the middle of the boat turning your back to his chest and wrapping his arms around your waist immediately, you can feel his breath against your ear as he holds onto you tighter. Rocking your guy’s body’s together to the beat, you lean your head back and whisper into his ear “It’s your one chance, baby, never or now yeah” you hear him groan gripping you tighter if possible. Giggling you push your ass against his crotch and hear him gasp “Okay that’s it” He lets out with a clenched jaw and you unravel yourself from him and go back to dancing with Sarah and Kie again “Go down, go down, go down, Yeah let me see you go to town” Screaming when the songs over and the next one starts to play you guys laugh turning around looking at the boys who just sit there or stand in JJ’s case with a shocked expression 

“What the hell is wrong with you guys,” Kie asks crossing her arms, “You’re killing the buzz” she whines while Sarah walks over to John B and climbs in his lap causing you to laugh 

Pope clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out causing you and Kiara to laugh “Look y/n you broke Pope” and Pope looks offended 

“No, she didn’t,” Pope says but his voice cracked causing everyone to laugh 

“I haven’t seen y/n dance like that since the party with Rafe” Sarah comments teasingly and suddenly everyone gets quiet. Kie rolls her eyes at Sarah for even mentioning him 

“Okay, y’all act like you’ve never heard a song like that chill” you chuckle going to the cooler to grab a beer and take a drink

“No we have but like wow that was so-” Pope starts out with hand movements and everything but Kie shoots him a look raising her eyebrow 

“So what Pope?” She asks and you go to say something but JJ cuts you off 

“That was hot, like really hot not gonna lie I liked it, I liked it a lot actually” JJ speaks up from where he’s standing on the boat looking at you. John B hits him upside the head “Bro what the fuck” JJ lets out turning to look at John B

“Stop being gross” John B states matter of factly “They’re having fun they don’t need a perv ruining it”

You give them a confused look “Okay I’m going to swim, coming Kie?” You ask as she nods. Diving into the marsh instantly cools off your body, you hear Kie jump in after you. Swimming to the other side of the boat. The boys and Sarah out of view you hear Kie next to you 

“So JJ is still a dumbass” she huffs out rolling her eyes in the direction of JJ. Giggling at her you shake your head and she goes to speak up about his failed attempt to get down with you to Doja Cat when you guys hear JJ whisper shout trying to be quiet, you shoot a look to Kie and raise a finger to your lips telling her to be quiet while she nods

“Okay I stand corrected that was hot. Pope you should be worried about Kie leaving you for y/n did you see the way Kie went in after her” JJ lets out a whistle and you and Kie giggle quietly moving your arms around to make it seem like y’all are still swimming 

“Shut up” Pope lets out exasperated

“No Pope listen I’m serious that was so hot like y/n dived flawlessly she’s perfect and the way Kie followed right after her like girl on girl action it just-” 

You snorted looking over at Kie who had an eyebrow raised, you made kissy faces at her until she splashed you. You could imagine JJ using his hands to emphasize his point 

“You’re disgusting JJ” you heard Sarah let out which caused you and Kie to start giggling until you heard a splash of water assuming it was Sarah. You and Kie swam a little ways from the boat to not give away that you two were snooping 

“Great, you pissed off Sarah great going JJ” you could faintly hear John B huff 

“What guys I’m being honest, you’re gonna tell me that wasn’t even a little bit hot,” JJ asks and you can see his arms extended out 

“Okay JJ yes but we don’t say that shit out loud” you hear Pope mumble. Your head shot straight to Kie who has a shocked expression on her face at Popes sudden small outburst and then to Sarah 

“You little snakes you heard them” Sarah gasps out 

“Sarah shut up oh my god, it’s so fun to tease them” you flick water at her and head to swim back to the boat seeing John B and Pope join the girls in the water. The water had done its job cooling you off you wanted to tan. 

Climbing back into the boat you hear a whistle coming from JJ “Take a picture it’ll last longer” you let out reaching for your towel to dry off 

“Only if you let me take pictures of the entire view and” he pauses popping the ‘and’ while pointing his finger at you “you stay wet” JJ lets out biting his lip as you shoot him a fake glare. He’s reaching for your waist and you let him pull you to sit down between his legs 

You pout “I wanted to tan” 

“To bad come keep me company” he smiles pulling you down, kissing the crown of your forehead nothing unusual but it didn't stop the butterflies from forming in the pit of your stomach 

“How you feeling,” You ask him as he wraps a towel around your figure before wrapping his arms around you. Knowing he didn’t get in the water because of his recent fight with his dad. His bruises were taking a little longer to heal than normal and he didn’t want anyone worrying about him. You helped apply cream to them but he couldn’t stay out of trouble long enough for it to heal properly. 

“I’m perfect right now” he hums in content and you move to look up at him, his chin is resting in the crook of your shoulder and his eyes are closed, his arms wrapped across your torso holding you close to his chest. The sun is hitting his face perfectly making his blonde locks glow and there’s a sense of calm he holds. He looks content, at peace and all you could ever ask for was this boy to feel all the love in the world and a part of you hoped he felt that with you. Placing a soft kiss on his chin you feel him shift, you turn your body to watch the rest of the Pogues in the water. They’re having a splash war and you can’t help but let out a giggle at the girls trying to take down John B. 

“You missed,” JJ says 

“Missed what?” You ask confused eyes still on your friends in the water

“You missed” He lets out annoyed at the lack of attention you’re paying to him

“JJ what the fuck are you-” His hand grabs your chin turning you to him quickly cutting you off and his lips are on yours. 

Your lips melt into his instantly. His hand goes to hold the side of your face in his hand, tilting your head a bit to deepen the kiss. You feel like your heart is going to fall out of your chest. His other hand goes to pinch your ass as you let out a gasp he uses that as an opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. Attempting to fight for dominance you gladly let him win. He tasted like beer and spearmint with a hint of weed he probably smoked earlier. It was addicting. 

Pulling away for a quick second he groans, his eyes still closed you can see him rolling his eyes like breaking away from him was the end of the world. You place quick pecks onto his lips while moving to straddle his lap, you feel him smirk against you. Pulling you closer to him, he has one hand on your ass holding you to him and the other holding the side of your cheek to keep you close, you pull his bottom lip into your mouth sucking on it as he groans. Pulling away reluctantly both of his hands find their way to the bottom of your ass. 

Opening your eyes looking at him he sits with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face, eyes closed, lips red and swollen. He looks like a kid in a candy store and you can’t help but let out a giggle. Placing your hands on either side of his neck you lean into him and place a couple of kisses on his lips he happily partakes in and you can feel his smile widening if even possible. Pulling away you’re met with blue eyes and a smirk. You lean up to place a kiss on his forehead as soon as you place it there his face nuzzles into your boobs and you can’t help but laugh and he groans “you’re so perfect, fuck” he speaks into your skin playfully biting your chest

Tangling your hand in his hair behind his neck, you gently pull him away from your boobs, he leans in planting another kiss on you quickly “I like this” he places another kiss on your lips “I like this a lot” he whispers to you as you break away for the third time. 

Trying to chase his lips with yours you nod at him “Yeah?” you smirk tugging at the hair gently on the back of his neck, tilting your head a little more back feigning innocent while he groans moving his hands to hold the side of your face to keep you from moving away any further 

Something flashes across his face you haven’t seen before causing you to furrow your eyebrows together and then his eyes go soft and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to melt into a puddle “Yeah I like this a lot actually” he breaths out in a sincere whisper placing a kiss on your nose, you scrunch it up as he places gentle kisses all over your face until you’re pushing his face away to stop him you guys are both left laughing, He plays with a few strands of your hair just looking at you as if he’s trying to remember every little detail as if he didn’t know it by heart already 

“Um what are you guys doing,” Pope asks from the side of the boat with a questionable look only Pope could make

“Pope what the fuck man” JJ lets out pinching the bridge of his nose glaring at him. You move to get up and grab JJ another beer, noticing John b climb into the boat as well. “Can’t you see I’m trying to make magic happen” JJ gestures towards your standing finger and you scoff placing a hand on your hip

“You’re gonna need a lot of magic JJ little Pookie here has a wide range of options” John B teases knowing JJ gets all defensive when your other affiliated party is mentioned the Kooks

“She’s mine and everyone knows it” JJ scoffs crossing his arms making his biceps bulge a little bit 

“My brother doesn’t” Sarah chimes in climbing into the boat next to you and you try to stifle your laugh at JJ fuming. Kie climbs aboard and starts arguing with JJ alongside Sarah about the logistics of a relationship and what that entails. You’re sure you hear something about ownership and women’s rights and you can’t help but smile at your friends being idiots

John B pats the seat next to him for you to sit down, clinking his beer with yours or was suppose to be JJ’s “Salud” he chuckles ruffling your hair “I think Pookie is finally a Poguie, we can talk about custody over him later” he jokes 

“No” you hear JJ say over the music holding his hand to Kie’s face to shush her while pointing a finger over at the two of you “actually, she had full custody the entire time” you hear JJ shout over Kie trying to shove JJ in the water 

“Whose pussy whipped now,” John B asks him raising an eyebrow making everyone burst into laughter and Pope lets out a low whistle

“I don’t know ask Rafe-” JJ started which earned a shocked expression from you that lasted 2 seconds and a knowing look from Sarah before Kie finally pushed him over the edge and into the marsh resulting in a gasp from him and a content smiley Kiara

“I’m sure Rafe would gladly go to town with y/n, he’ll take his one chance” Kie yelled towards him and a bunch of “oohs” come from everyone before she continues “Hmm actually let's put that on the playlist for the kegger tonight see what prince Kook wants to do with princess Pookie” She goes to put her hand on her chin pouting her lips earning a nod from Pope  

“That's it you’re dead” JJ pushes himself up into the boat and immediately grabs onto Kie throwing her back into the marsh, turning around he headed straight for Sarah 

“JJ no, JJ-” Sarah screams out when he nears her “John B I swear if you let him-” but it's too late JJ is holding her bridal style in his arms tossing her over into the marsh 

“Sorry Kook you’re related to the guy can’t have you spying on us revealing intel” He salutes the two girls in the water going to sit in between your legs on the floor of the boat, his back against the seat

“Yeah he’s pussy whipped” Pope states pointing a finger towards you guys, JJ fake glares at him taking off his cut tank that is now soaked due to Kie pushing him in. Hoping it'll dry before the kegger tonight, you wrap a towel around his wet figure playing with his blonde hair and placing a kiss on the top of his head 

“Jokes on you Pope” JJ starts shooting him a look “I’m about to be treated like a king” JJ leans back shaking his wet hair into your lap which causes a groan from John B who was in the splash zone “Beer me women” he shouts holding his arms out earning a smack to his chest from John B, rolling your eyes you hand him the beer that was originally intended for him. He raises the bottle as the girls climb into the boat glaring at him. A shit eating grin on his face “Salud” which earns a chorus of saluds back and a “how does he do it” from Pope causing everyone to burst into laughter while he starts the boat up to head back to the chateau.

The sun, the water, your boy and friends. Pogue style. 

______

A/N: this is my first jj writing and she isn’t edited v much I wanted to get it out bc this idea has been in my head and I think about it every time I listen to the song, and its on my summer playlist rip. This could be a two parter? the ending was kinda meh because I was torn between dragging it out and giving it an ending. Either way I hope you enjoyed it. Any feedback or commentary is welcomed my inbox is always open, I hope yall are staying safe Xx

[nanyoky]

@essayofthoughts asked for:

"Perc'ahlia babe and also Vaxleth and Pikelan"

Mwahahaha...

Perc'ahlia:

Who’s the messiest one: I mean it depends. Cuz Percy has a place for every little thing. But when he's mid project it tends to turn into organized chaos. Vex may occasionally leave things lying around if she's tired or distracted.

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA: definitely Percy, but it's less uncomfortable and more "easily flustered." Like it's just something he's accepted. Vex gunna smooch. Percy gunna blush.

Who’s the funniest drunk: Percy. Cuz he has the same attitude, but he's struggling to take off his socks for bed like "what a- a- idiotic invenshuhh..... Fucking.... Stuplid..... Imma make em better... Make... Sock....better...." While Vex is equally drunk but still doing her four step skincare routine like "yes dear"

Who texts the most: probably Vex. Anything between conversational back and forth, long rambling but deep trains of thought and "LOOK AT THIS DOG I MET"

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music: hmm probably Percy but only in like a "parody of himself" kinda way. Nothing but a mix of chamber orchestra and emo music. Which aren't all that bad on their own, but he is a hashtag Byronic Posh Boi and so of COURSE that's all he listens to. Vex has cool(tm) tastes in music. Even if a song or artist wasn't cool (tm) before, it becomes cool(tm) once she likes it.

Who reads the most: I mean Percy. Not that Vex doesn't read, but he big nerd.

Who’s better with kids: ooo boy that's A QUESTION for some canonical parents, huh? I'm going to say Percy, just because I feel like Vex is a parent who can get overwhelmed sometimes and not know how to handle needy kids when she's running on empty (feel like I should say this does not make a person a bad parent- just that as a kid it's hard to understand that adults get tired). Meanwhile Percy has a natural tone that suggests what he's saying is fact, so if he's too tired for high energy toddlers he's just like "sitting by the fire drinking tea is a very fun game" and the bbs just climb into his lap like "you're right being quiet and snuggly is very fun" while Vex watches like "HOW."

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house: Percy's a good good tinker boi

Who’s got the weirdest hobby: listen one of them invented firearms and the other has a pet bear it's a toss up.

Who cooks and who cleans up: Both are what you might call... Functional cooks. Nothing to write home about, but they get the job done. But Percy excels more at baking (structured, exacting) and Vex is better at more loosely defined things like soups and sauces. Cleaning up is a duo activity and a nice part of their evening wind down.

Vaxleth:

Who’s the messiest one: deffo Keyleth. Houston we have a hoarder. She gets emotionally attached to everything, and saves up little bits and bobs of things for crafting and home diy projects all the time.

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA: probably Keyleth, but it's in like- the most Social Anxiety way possible. It's not so much that she's uncomfortable, it's that she gets worried that being snuggly or kissing will make others uncomfortable.

Who’s the funniest drunk: oh that's a hard one. Cuz we've seen them both be high quality drunks, (ie day drinking queen and "heterosexuality is fake and magic is just the fucking best????????"). I'd say Vax because I feel like he's more likely to insist he's not that drunk and doesn't need anyone to look after him, and therefore will get into more shananigans/flirt more

Who texts the most: another toughie. Probably Vax, in a similar style to Vex.

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music: they both have the same issue as Percy, in that their tastes are just a parody of themselves. Vax has three categories of favorite music: sad emo boy, sexy alt boy, and rebellious 90s girl. And then Keyleth is just unironically into the softest cheesiest music you've ever heard on the soundtrack to a chick flick. We're talking Jewel here, folks. Also retro oldies cuz Homeschooled Vibes. I'm going to say Vax tho, cuz he's the one who gets emotional about it, while Keyleth is just a casual listener. And he listens to more of her music than she does his. She'll send him the Live at the Troubadour recording of Kelly Clarkson's Sober and he responds back like "??? Why would you send me this??? At 10am on a Tuesday??? When I have things to do??? Now I'm crying on the bus?????" And she's just "glad you liked it! :D"

Who reads the most: probably Vax. He gets deep into reading in attempts to find less self destructive ways of getting out of his head.

Who’s better with kids: hm I'm gunna say Vax on this one because Keyleth has a tendency to try too hard with everyone and was also an only child who was forced into very structured time while growing up cuz expectations. Vax has more clear memories of actually just being a kid when the twins were with their mom, so he can relate easier. That being said they're both pretty good, as we see with that kid Simon, a scene that will HAUNT ME FOREVER.

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house: def keyleth. DIY queen. Vax just gets frustrated and is like "let's just buy a new one"

Who’s got the weirdest hobby: hmmm. Keyleth has A LOT of hobbies, but Vax def will do parkour, just cuz. Like he may have started back when he was still kind of a criminal, but now he doesn't have a practical excuse and he doesn't even like- record it or anything so there's no point to it. He just sees urban environments and goes "gotta jump. Gotta climb. Just gotta."

Who cooks and who cleans up: Keyleth has got prep on lock. Gardening. Hunting and trapping. Gathering. Cleaning and dressing and chopping. She's got this. It's adding fire to things where she starts having trouble. Vax picks things up from there just fine though, and covers dishes and such on the back end.

Pikelan:

Who’s the messiest one: Pike. Pike. Pike. Having a perma-home at last means she gets comfy, which means you can usually not see the bedroom floor. Scanlan is scandalized.

Who’s the one that fixes things around the house: Scanlan tries. He likes the idea of being helpful with domestic stuff and not just a goofus who's just around for the fun parts of being together. Unfortunately he's never really lived anywhere long enough to get good at household repair, and it takes him way too long to do anything. Pike is pretty handy, but gets so busy that she'll just put up with something being broken for weeks. Best case scenario is Pike shows Scanlan how to do something so the next time he can do it himself and feel accomplished and she can come home to things being fixed and give him smooches and coo over him being a handyman.

Who's the funniest drunk? Pike. "I'M TRYING TO STEALTH."

Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA: it may shock people, but Scanlan has the same "once it's serious I get bashful" disease as Vax. Pike will absolutely give his bootie a tap in line at the grocery store and he just goes bright red. He tries to laugh it off like he's still the smarmy mess everyone knows, but she teases him endlessly about it.

Who texts the most: Scanlan is an absolute "good morning," "thinking of you," "how was your day," and "goodnight" text person before they live together. After they move in together it's just text versions of his cover songs about his love for her and dank memes.

Who has the most embarrassing taste in music: we know it's Scanlan. We've heard his cover tracks. Pike has similar cool(tm) tastes as Vex.

Who reads the most: Pike is probably someone who's always on the move, so she's more an audiobook person. But Scanlan is like fully ready for the dad life. Just loving any weekend where he does nothing but sit around in flannel pj pants reading a mystery paperback.

Who’s better with kids: It's a hard one. Scanlan second guesses himself quite a bit and worries every little thing he says or does is going to become Lasting Trauma. Pike acts more chill about it, but slowly gets more and more overwhelmed until she nearly has a nervous collapse. But their opposite styles work well together and they're able to be a pretty great team.

Who’s got the weirdest hobby: I feel like Pike is someone with a weird collection. It is either something a little spooky but cool and academic, like antique medical equipment, or something horrifyingly tacky, like a thong from every city she visits. Maybe both.

Who cooks and who cleans up: this is where Scanlan is a much quicker learner about domestic stuff. Pike is a good cook, but it's usually on the move so much she doesn't have the time for meal planning and prep. Scanlan absolutely throws himself into being a house husband and gets obsessed with cooking shows. Pike insists on helping with dishes tho.

[m-y-fandoms]

[Aoi Asahina, Sonia Nevermind, Chiaki Nanami, Rantarou Amami, Ibuki Mioda] x reader imagine: comforting an insecure guitarist s/o after their band plays live

Request: Oh my god, are DR blogs coming back again?? This is the third new one I've found this month!! Really happy about that.  Great writing so far by the way! Could you maybe do Asahina, Sonia, Chiaki, Rantaro, and Ibuki (separate) comforting an insecure, guitarist S/O after they just performed a live show with their band? And like, the S/O is really worried that they sucked even though they did well? Oddly specific, I know. Would appreciate it though! Cheers!

OMG I NERDED OUT AND HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH CHIAKI’S, POINTS TO THE FANS WHO GET THE REFERENCE, though it’s an easy one Nishishi~

Thank you for this imagine request and being so specific about what you want while still giving me a lot of creative freedom! I immediately had some simple but cute ideas about this! - Mod Kokichi

Gender Neutral reader, a few brief lewd humorous lines, but SFW otherwise.

Aoi Asahina

- You were nervous, pre-show jitters shuddering through your body, but you couldn’t back out now.

- Not when your super hot, super excited, super supportive girlfriend had hyped you up just before the show.

- “Stage fright?! How’d you even get into a band in the first place with that mentality?!” Hina teased you backstage, mere moments before going on out to preform. She saw you chuckle nervously, not taking her joke as well as she’d hoped.

- She took your hand firmly. “Look, you know that face you love, the one I make when I’m thinking about pastries?” She continued.

- “The one that makes you look like a chipmunk?” You answered flatly.

- “I don’t agree, but yes! That one! When you’re scared up there, imagine me doing that face! Or better yet, I’ll be front row, in the V.I.P. standing section anyway. Just look for me there!” With a peck on your cheek, she gave you a determined look before pushing you toward the stage and disappearing.

- “H-hina!” You stuttered, but it couldn’t be helped, it was time.

- To your surprise, the nervousness went away as your band was about half way through the first song.

1. The attention is mainly on the lead singer.

2. You were focusing on playing too much to fully take in the screaming crowd.

3. You were actually enjoying yourself.

- As the first song ended, however, the music fading out and the crowd going wild, you felt that little pinch of panic settle back in. There was no music to focus on and protect you, just a hundred faces to look out upon.

- Your eyes darted back and forth over the audience, searching. Your breathing came out a little heavier, until your eyes landed on a lean, curvy, athletic figure, with tanned skin and a smile sweet like honey...no, like doughnuts

- She put her hands up near her face like paws, closing her eyes in an open-mouth smile. You smirked, nodding and strumming your strings once again.

- At the end of the show, fans flooded to the hallway that connected the venue’s main hall to the dressing rooms backstage, reaching out to try and grab band members, hoping to take how an autograph or lock of hair as a souvenir, and you rushed through, sweating and ultimately disappointed with the overall performance you put on that night.

- Hina was already waiting in your temporary dressing room for the night, standing and throwing her arms around your neck before praising you endlessly.

- “S/O, that was amazing! That third song, I felt like the bass shook the place! It was intense, like the final lap in a freestyle race, you know?! We gotta bring Sakura next time. I think she’d really get into the pull of the steady rhythm!” Her little dramatic expressions, her brow knitted together passionately as she spoke...she reminded you every day why you fell in love with her.

- “You...you really liked it? I thought I was kinda just going down further and further in quality as the show went on. I felt like shit by the end…”

- “Are you kidding me! It was fantastic. I think the whole audience was immersed. I know I was! Hey...you better not have all these groupies flocking you looking for a piece tonight!” She teased, hugging your arm!

Sonia Nevermind

- Sonia was extremely excited to go to a public concert. Anything that brought her closer to commoners, to feeling like she belonged around ordinary people was just swell to her.

- Even better that it was in a country foreign to her, where she could be immersed in the cultural norms and behaviors.

- Even better that she was watching the one she loved play.

- She was afraid that you’d judge her when she first admitted her love for the occult, horror, and all things gothic and metal.

- You thought that was pretty hot.

- So there she stood, in the front row of your concert, in a poofy green dress with expensive jewelry and accessories decorating her frame. She stuck out like a sore thumb, but Sonia, blissfully unaware, felt like one of the normal people.

- She jumped when the crowd did, her fist in the air, entranced by each note that came from your instrument.

- Sweaty metal-heads and ravers bumped into her endlessly in the tightly packed crowd, and she couldn’t care less.

- You looked amazing up on stage, and she felt like she was a part of some fan fiction she read once.

- You know the trope, where the reader is in the crowd at a famous band’s concert reluctantly, and her favorite member locks eyes with her and either pulls her on stage with them or takes her backstage after the show and ravished her!

- And she felt her love for you and your musical talent swell within her heart.

- After the concert, she met you outside the back door of the venue, and you were shocked silent at her appearance.

- “S-Sonia are you okay??” The tights under her dress were ripped, her bracelet missing some jewels, the bow tie falling out of her blonde locks, which by the way looked like a rat’s nest. Topping the look off were the pit stains under her arms and in the valley of her cleavage.

- “I’m sorry. I knew this would be a shitty experience. I shouldn’t have brought you. The music was bad anyway, huh? I shouldn’t practiced more.” You looked down in shame, before she nearly tackled you, her arms around your neck and kissing you everywhere, up and down your face and neck and chest.

- “D-do not say these things! Tonight was the b-best night of my life!!!” she sputtered, too excited to enunciate. “You looked like a hero in this J-Drama I watched years ago! Like the protagonist Sawayama Keito!! And I??? I was your romantic love interest, the plain Jane in the crowd, Ito Aiyaka!”

- “You really enjoyed it that much?” You could smell the body odor and adrenaline pouring off of her, very un-princess-like, but you couldn’t care less, grinning like a fool.

- “I love you, Sonia, you crazy kid.”

- “Play for me again tonight, in the dorm room…” she spoke desperately.

Chiaki Nanami

- Chiaki did not want to be in that crowd that night.

- A short, skinny, lazy, introverted girl at a live concert full of rabid fans and no seats? Standing room only?

- She briefly mentioned this to you days before the show, not wanting to hurt your feelings. It was something mentioned in passing, in her normal flat and tired tone.

- “I hope I don’t get stepped on...maybe I can bring my Gameboy and play when things get too wild?” She mused, leaning back on you as you prepared to start practicing on the edge of the bed next to her.

- You loved Chiaki, and you knew how to take her hints by now.

- “Chi, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know crowds aren’t your thing.”

- “No, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she smiled that lazy, half-lidded smile. She loved you too, and she wasn’t about to be the only one on campus not there to support you. She yawned and took your guitar from your hands before falling asleep on your lap.

- You thought the gesture was cute, but inside you were a bit irritated. You’d told her many times prior to that night that you needed all the practice you could get, and that you were afraid of bombing. So why would she purposely stop you in the middle of practicing?

- Oh well. You leaned back, memorizing chords and lyrics in your head until you, too, passed out

- The night of the concert, Chiaki stood in the front row, her backpack strapped to her front, oddly snug on her chest and obviously on backwards, but it was easier to access her Gameboy and fidget toys in case she needed to retreat from the overwhelming noise.

- She told herself they were just for emergencies. She was there for you, and frowned thinking about how you’d feel if you looked down off the stage and saw her not paying attention.

- People piled in, and soon your band came on stage. The lead singer introducing you all.

- Chiaki was already feeling like the ceiling was lowering, like the people around her were far too close, and looked down, hoping seeing just the dark venue floor and her shoes would calm her, one hand on her backpack for security.

- “Oh!” She gasped, her little bangs flying up and her eyes widening like saucers as the lead singer sang the first notes. Three notes, that’s all it took.

- “Aha~aha ah ah...ha~uh huh huh…” the lead singer breathily voiced into the microphone, and Chiaki smiled wider than she had in months.

- You met her eyes on stage knowingly, smirking at first, then suddenly anxious that you might slip up or disappoint her. You strummed two loud, vibrating notes, stern and piercing through the air.

- Again the same two notes, before you joined the singer by the microphone, inhaling before singing in harmony:

- “In you~ and I, there’s a new land~ yeah~he heah!”

- She relaxed, tilting her head back as the sound waves overtook her.

- “Angels in flight~”

- “My sanctuary. My sanctuary, yeah~”

- You didn’t tell her you’d be doing covers that night. Video game covers, nonetheless. Her head shot up, looking at her phone quickly. She looked at the date.

- February 14th.

- Man, she spaced out often…but this…

- She blushed furiously, and her eyes locked with yours. You grew nervous, playing even harder. She swooned and let herself get lost in the bass.

- You played iconic video game themes all night, and by the end, Chiaki was more overwhelmed and exhausted then she’d ever been, but in a good way.

- When you walked into your dressing room back stage with flowers you had hidden earlier, she accepted them with a flush of her cheeks.

- “You didn’t need to do all that...s/o...this was…”

- “Y-you didn’t like it? I was nervous for a month planning this gig. I know I’ve still got a ways to go with playing live but-“

- “I loved it.”

- “What?” You weren’t convinced.

- “I loved it. Every second. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift, I didn’t even realize.”

- “Gifts don’t mean anything to me, Chi. You’re all I need.” you pulled her into your chest for a tight embrace. “You’re My Sanctuary.”

Rantarou Amami

- Rantarou was so excited about seeing your debut concert, snatching the tickets as soon as you presented them to him.

- “Can I bring along my sisters, too, S/O? They’ve been wanting to hear you play ever since I first mentioned that you were in a band.

- “Of course, but...I don’t know why they’d wanna all waste a Saturday night on my shitty band. We don’t even play that well ye-“

- “Silence!” He picked you up by your waist and squeezed you until you couldn’t breath, much less put yourself down with a self deprecating jab. He kissed your cheek playfully. “You’re sexy and the way you play guitar is sexy. I listened you practice all night the other day!”

- “Y-you did? I didn’t even see you!”

- “Huh...” he scoffed, “ maybe because you were lost in your passion, becasue news flash, you’re good at it, stinker!” He pinched your cheek, always knowing how to make you flustered. “Yeah, I heard every single note, and even peaked in once or twice, seeing you stroke those strings so tenderly…” He forced you against the wall, his hot breath against your ear “ I wish you’d stroke me like that.” You face ran hot and you roughly shoved him away, him giggling like a fool.

- “Okay, okay you win, Amami, bring whoever you want!” You stomped off with a huff.

- The day of the concert, the entire front row looked like a field of spring grass, the large family of green-haired siblings shouting before you even began your first song. You shook your head at Rantarou and his many sisters, half-embarrassed, half-flattered. You felt your hands stumble across the strings, Rantarou giving you a thumbs up and a wink.

- After the show, you couldn’t run off the stage any faster. You ran into the staff room backstage where refreshments and spare equipment were usually set out, and were greeted by a row of Amami’s swarming you and praising you, talking much too quickly and all at once. 

- Rantarou simply let his sisters flock you, asking you to teach them to play, to help them meet hot musicians you knew, to learn to read music. You felt your ego rise, flustered once again at the hand’s an an Amami.

Ibuki Mioda

- Ibuki shouted to the band backstage, tuning her guitar and hyping up the other members. She noticed you a little out of place, looking a quite queasy and apprehensive.

- “S/O! The hell are you doin’ over there! Hudddddddle up!” She pulled you by your shoulders.

- “I don’t know why I let you force me into joining the music club...I shouldn’t have mentioned my interest at all…” you grumbled.

- Months ago, Ibuki had heard you, her darling and adorable s/o mentioning that you played guitar in elementary school, and wanted to listen in on her band once practice one in awhile. Well, that was the end of that. She decided it was time to freshen up your skills and get you comfortable with the strings again. Now here you were, moments from your first live performance since you were 10 years old.

- “Whaaat! That’s like, a major no no, that low energy, ya dig?!” She held your hand, swinging it back and forth with a feral look on her face. “You’re bitchin’! And Ibuki is bitchin’! And tonight we’re gonna set the stage on fire!”

- The show went on as planned, you and Ibuki on guitar while she screamed into the front mic. Your drummer just barely cut through the vibrations of your combined sound waves, and you buckled down and reminded yourself that with Ibuki at your back, that stage was yours. That audience was yours.

- Plus...who was staring at you when Ibuki was up front, looking like that, acting like that. That passion, that intensity, it’s what drew you to her in the first place.

- The crowd roared viciously, opening up a mosh pit in front of your neon gothic goddess of a girlfriend, and you couldn’t have found her more attractive than you did right now, her arms swinging open, releasing the guitar and simply bellowing into the mic, commanding the hellish pit in front of her like one of the succubi from Gundham’s wild tall tales.

- You suddenly felt so unworthy of her in all her glory, simply providing the backup and harmonies.

- When the show ended, you and Ibuki equally carried each other back stage to the school’s stagehand room, leaning on each other’s sweaty bodies for support.

- “Sheesh, that was straight fire tonight, s/o, huh?! Immolation on the stage, in the fleeeesh!” She shredded an air guitar in front of her before collapsing on a folding chair. How did she still have any energy at all?! You scoffed incredulously. “ Ibuki was worried for a second there, but we pulled it off! I knew we’d be amazing!” Huh???

- “You were worried?” You quickly realized what she probably meant, “Oh...like nervous that I’d mess it up for us?” Her eyes widened, a shocked look on her face as her hands flew up to her hair.

-“What? No! Ibuki was worried about Ibuki~” She grimaced.

- “Why would you ever be nervous, you’re the best musician for miles around.” You drank from a water bottle before tossing it to her. She caught it in one hand, downing it.

- “Hey, Ibuki gets worried too~” She winked at you, a flirty glimmer in her eye as she held up a heart made from her connected hands. “But s/o is Ibuki’s rock! Partners in crime, yeah? No need to worry with you at my back tearing it up!”