#starts sobbing uncontrollably because i remembered it

[sharky-the-idiot]

anybody else just write a fanfic so bad that you're scared to write any more in that specific genre of fanfic because the fanfic you made was so shit

That's how I feel everytime I remember that one fanfic that I will not share :33

[iloveyouitisruiningmylife]

bestie is coming home on 1st im having thoughts

[swxxtsxcchxrine]

I feel like i need more emphasis on Miguel's level of nasty because he is just messy. point blank period. imagine he's got you on all fours, your face is stuffed into the sheets of your shared bed, he has your arse in the air all the while his face is stuffed right in your pussy. he's sucking and slurping on your cunt from the back because he knows you like it. maybe too much. one hand is laying comfortably on your bum cheek while the other holds your hands in place on the small of your back to diminish any attempts you have to run away. not that you would anyways. his face moves up and down your slick slit, his tongue prodding at your tight hole. he groans in satisfaction as you push your hips into his face and cry out a silly version of his name. his hand squeezes your cheek in affirmation "that's it, bonita," he praises. his words go straight to your sticky cunny as he slurps loud enough for the neighbours and their mothers to hear. he lifted his head momentarily just to spit on your puckered hole: watching as the fat glob slides down the globe of your arse, not before catching it with a finger and sliding it in. he feels you tight hole squeeze as he stares in awe. he lowers his head back onto your throbbing clit and starts suckling on it, drinking up your sweet juices in tandem. he shakes his head from side to side receiving a high pitched sob from you in return. he brings down his heavy hand to slap your soft bum, hard. he rubs the sore spot as his finger continues to work on your ass. he's moaning and groaning, whining and whimpering into your cunt that he loves too much. "Miguel...you have to stop, i need a break PLEASE!" you plead no avail. infact, he pushes another finger into your tight hole. you silently plead he's not hoping to stuff his hefty cock into your puckered hole. it's already too overwhelming for you. he's still playing with your hot pussy while still at it with your rim. he removes his fingers from your asshole and watches it clench and unclench uncontrollably as your orgasm hits like a truck. he lewdly spreads your cheeks apart, mouth agape, watching your tight holes squeeze around empty air, waiting so patiently to be filled by his pretty, long, thick, heavy, pleasurable, delicious, tasty, mouth watering, eye rolling, name yelling, soul snatching, creaming and screaming, sobbing and rolling around the floor, toe curling, earth shattering, squirting fountains, mood lifting, dopamine giving, life changing, powerful thrust, pretty, dark brown tipped - remember nips match tips - veiny all over, a proper 8-9 inches, he's definitely a grower, he grows while he's inside of you so its the most delicious stretch everr, undeniably good, leg shaking, heart wrenching, name forgetting, drooling, mind dumbing, mind breaking, back arching COCK.

i'll glad be on my knees for THIS man. 🥴like im not even joking brooo ill do jumping jacks on the d just for him he can dump ALL the cum he wants in ME, i'll gladly be the mother of his children. i swear, ill be the perfect little wife for him. he wakes up in the morning to freshly made breakfast and coffee. his clothes are washed, dried and ironed to perfection. his shoes are clean and polished, his shower is already running at the perfect temp. he comes home from work? i'll great him with a fat kiss and a home cooked meal. the recliner is out the tv is on his favourite show, when he's getting ready for bed, its ready made, his clothes for tommorrow are out and im waiting for him in bed. i need him so bad he doesn't understand i'm so upset why isn't he real. like...who am i ever going to find thats gonna compare? will i ever find someone that compares, omg imagine if i don't...☠️☠️☠️☠️ see lemme not God forbid🙏🏾

🫨 (ignore that i just wanted to use the emoji ibr)

[healmyhrt]

⌗ out of it, c. sturniolo

chris x fem!reader

summary: chris gets really drunk and begins to say things you and him both know he doesn’t mean.

disclaimers!: alcohol use, cursing, short

a/n: this is based in like the future like, chris has his own place n everything lols | also, we all know chris wouldn’t say these things guys, don’t take this to heart <3.

“chris?” i call through the front door. he had been ignoring my texts and calls for hours so i thought i should come and check up on him.

i unlock the door with my spare key. “chris, im coming in. okay?” i push the door open, and see a trail of beer cans to the kitchen.

following them, i meet a very drunk chris. he removes a bottle from his lips, and stares at me. “well, shit.”

i step closer to him, taking a look at the mess around me. alcohol everywhere, cigarettes burnt out on window sills.

chris looked terrible. his eyes were red and foggy, his hair was a mess, and his shirt had stains on it, probably from the alcohol.

“chris,” i start. he interrupts me, “come sit.” he guides me over to the couch, swiping beer cans off of it so i can sit. i sit on the clean couch arm instead. “are you okay?”

he tilts his head at me. “dont say that. im fine.” i purse my lips together, and finally sit next to him. he leans in to kiss me, and i pull away.

“what? so now im not good enough to kiss you?”

“its not that, chris.” i look around at the mess that’s surrounding us, then back at him. “what’s going on?”

chris takes another sip to stall away from the question. i stare at him, with worry in my eyes. “dont fucking look at me like that.” i can hear the anger in his voice. chris gets up, walking around.

i stand, not taking my eyes off of him. “chris, you aren’t okay right now.” i walk over to him. “let me get you the help you need, baby.”

i attempt to place my hand to his shoulder, and he dodges it. “dont fucking call me ‘baby’, matter of fact, you should go.” his words slurring.

“im not going anywhere.” i reply. chris stares at me, an angry expression across his face. “get the fuck out.”

my eyes start to water at his words. but i try to remember its just the alcohol talking. “no, chris—”

“LEAVE!” he shouts at me. chris stomps toward me, his breath reeking of alcohol. “i love you, chris.” i whisper out.

“yeah? well i fucking hate you.”

i stay silent, and gently bite my bottom lip as tears trickle down my cheeks. “you don’t mean that.” my voice cracking as the words leave my mouth.

“yes the fuck i do.” he enunciates each word as much as he can. chris gets in my face, our noses basically touching. he looks down at me, anger in his eyes.

“i hate you.”

i shake my head as tears begin streaming down my face. chris scoffs. “i mean it with everything in me. i hate you. i don’t need or want your help, and im better off without you. so, go. leave.”

i lick the tears up, and look at him again. “say you don’t mean it, and i’ll go if that’s what you really want.”

chris slams the bottle onto the ground, glass flying everywhere. i hold my head in my hands, and start. crying uncontrollably.

i guess this reality checked him, because his face immediately turned soft. “baby?” i look up, my eyes now red from crying.

i fall into his arms, and his squeezes me tight. he moves us slowly over to the couch, and lets me cry into his shirt, (that smelled like alcohol).

“i am so so unbelievably sorry, baby.” his eyes begin to water. i sigh, and hug him again. “say you didn’t mean it.” i whisper into his shirt.

“i would never mean anything i said. i do not hate you. and i am 100% not better off without you.” he frowns.

i kiss him, and cry into his lips. chris tucks my head back under his chin, and cradles my head. letting me sob into his shirt, he begins to do the same.

“i was so out of it.”

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Slashers accidentally killing their witchcraft s/o but a few minutes later they revived again and they find out that they are actually immortal?

Ty and have a great day <3

Here you go!

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Allusions to amputation

Slashers accidentally killing their s/o only to find out they’re immortal

Jason Voorhees

His machete slipped out of his hand, and time seems to slow down as it heads straight for you. There is nothing he can do, it all happens so fast, and before he even knows what is happening, you’re on the ground, the blade buried in your chest, down to its hilt.

His whole world is anguish. Memories of the night his mother died are flashing through his head. First her, now you. And this time, it was all his fault.

He sinks to his knees next to you without paying any attention to the escaping victim, and cradles you against his chest, hot tears dripping from under his mask onto your face.

You groan. “Hey… Jason? Love? Could you please pull the machete out? It’s really uncomfortable.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. You return his gaze sheepishly.

“I… I guess I should have told you that I kind of… can’t die.”

Wait what? He tilts his head at you.

“Yeah. You know. Practising witchcraft has its perks. Now please…. the machete?”

Needless to say he is torn between being angry and relieved. Could you not have told him that before he essentially relived his past trauma?

Vincent Sinclair

He mistakes you for a victim. He lost sight of the last survivor of the current group, but he can hear someone right next door.

He strikes before he can see who it is. And it happens to be you, now with his carving knives sticking out of your neck on both sides. When he realizes what happened, he reflexively pulls the knives out, and you are already on the ground, blood pouring out of the wounds.

He drops his weapons in horror and rushes to your side. You are losing too much blood, there is little he can do… But soon the wounds seem to close up again with no issue, and you sit up.

“Vincent, honey. Next time, please look before you slash. Okay? This would have gone horribly wrong if I weren’t immortal.”

You still look a bit ashen, but seem otherwise okay. You assure Vincent that while you may be a bit more tired and lethargic until your body managed to regenerate all that blood you lost, there won’t be any long-term damange.

Freddy Krueger

It’s a prank gone wrong. Freddy assumes that, as his s/o, of course you aren’t afraid of him, so he can feel free to play rough with you in the dreamworld. But love or not, appearantly there is a tiny sliver of you that is at least a little afraid of him and his powers. Which is unfortunately only something the two of you notice when your stomach gets sliced open while Freddy tries to tickle you.

“Ah shit… fuck… bitch… we’ve been together for so long, how the FUCK are you still afraid of me?!” He panicks and tries to stop the bleeding and you… you start laughing.

“Freddy, you can stop. I can’t die. The whole witchcraft thing, remember?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You double over and clutch your stomach, both from laughter and to keep your guts from falling out. It *is* pretty adorable how worried Freddy is for your safety. And in the end, even if he can technically hurt you, your immortality still means that you can play rough with each other.

Brahms Heelshire

Another one of his fits of rage, after which he finds you on the ground, bones broken and with blood pouring. He stares at your remains in horror.

“Hey…”

He kneels down next to you and shakes you.

“Hey, get up. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please. Get up… don’t leave me…” He starts sobbing, uncontrollably switching between his child and adult voices in his distress, until he feels you gently pat his back.

“You’re grounded”, you say dryly. “Just because I’m immortal doesn’t mean I’m down to being your punching bag.”

“Yes. Yes of course. I’ll be good now, I promise”, he sobs, relieved that you are okay after all.

Bubba Sawyer

He accidentally touches the button that switches on his chainsaw while the two of you are fixing some malfunction. The saw buries itself in your torso, sawing through bone and soft muscle and organ alike. Your blood sprays through the room, and Bubba howls with terror while desperately fumbling to turn it off again.

He finally manages to, after a few seconds. But the damage is already done. His hands are cupping your face, running through your hair, knowing that after an injury like this, there is nothing he can do. He just whines softly, trying to somehow comfort you, if you can even still hear him.

“Geez”, you sigh, with some difficulty. The saw completely shredded one of your lungs, after all. “Good thing that it missed my spine; regenerating that would have been a pain.” You look up at him and are met with Bubba’s teary gaze.

“Bubsy”, you coo softly. “I’m fine. I don’t die that easily. Give me a week to recover and I’ll be good as new. So no tears, okay?” You raise your hand to wipe away the tears from under his eyes.

When Drayton later learns of this day’s events, he asks if you can also regenerate limbs, like, say, a leg. You will have to firmyl tell him that you are *not* going to end up being the family’s primary meat source.

[koreads]

DRUNK! HAZEL.

PLOT: Hazel goes to a party and gets a little drunk, but her classmate takes good care of her.

thinking too much about college au, probably bc it's closer to what i'm living and i feel like college is a experience that's kinda of similar to everyone. anyway, enjoy hazel being a cutie while drunk.

The first time Hazel drank was on her last day of high school.

It was obviously PJ idea. The had a small liquor bottle and distributed to all of her friends. It was their last day, after all. "We survived high school" she said, everyone cheering up, drinking small shots and laughing because of the weird taste.

It didn't take too much time to get Hazel drunk, she was very lightweight and Drunk! Hazel was very emotional and clingy.

The girls took way too many videos of Hazel cuddling into them at random moments saying that she would miss them ( most of them were going to the same college, but no one had the chance to explain that to a crying Hazel), there were videos of Hazel crying because she did stomp on a ant or because she did drop Isabel's cell phone.

The next morning she woke up with her head hurting like a bitch, then promised herself to not drink ever again.

But, she was now at college. With all the parties, boredoom and stress, it was pretty much impossible to not drink, even if it was just a little and for distraction

She was at a frat party when she got drunk. She followed PJ and Josie again, Josie went to watch Isabel to perform with the cheer squad, PJ went to flirt with girls and Hazel was there because she had nothing better to do.

So, one beer, then another, and another. Then a couple of vodka shots, and then Hazel was at pool, very close to crying.

—Hey, are you okay? — a voice called behind her.

—I'm fine. —Hazel answered, sniffing —Just thinking about how sad a fish must be. Like, one moment you're swimming happily in the ocean and the next you're being served dinner at the Sushi Bar

—Oh, so you are drunk. —the voice mumbled, getting closer to Hazel. The owner of the voice was Y/N, the smart girl in her literature class.

—I'm not drunk, I'm Hazel. —and them she started sobbing again —I mean, I do know you, you're Y/N but I'm that much irrelevant that you don't even remeber my name? —At that Hazel was crying uncontrollably.

Y/N came closer to her, wrapping her arms around the girl shoulder, trying to calm her down.

—No, no. Hey, I do know you. —Y/N said, rubbing Hazel arms —You sit right at the front, last week you said some joke very quietly about Romeo and Juliet. I do remember that.

Hazel came back to her sniffling state, her nose running a little at Y/N jacket, but she didn't seem to care.

—Yes. I said something. —Hazel felt very calm at the sight of Y/N smiling —I'm hungry.

—Do you want to go get some food? —Y/N cleaned Hazel tears with the paws of her jacket, smiling a little more when the girl noded .

If earlier at that week someone told Hazel that she would be eating some chicken nuggets at Y/N car she wouldn't believe. Maybe she would think that it was her own dream, definitely not a real thing. But there she was. Her eyes puffy from all the crying, her nose running and sitting at the passenger seat of Y/N L/N, the smatest and prettiest girl at her literature class.

—Feeling better? —Y/N said, Hazel was too concentrated at eating and thinking, so she only noded as an answer. —Good. Now, let's take you to the pharmacy, get you some painkillers.

—I'm okay. Nothing is hurting.

—Your head will hurt in the morning. —Y/N answered, ruffling Hazel hair. —So, we'll get them and next we'll get you home.

She did exactly as she told, getting a box of painkiller and some Gatorade to Hazel, then leaving her in the appartment she lived with Sylvie.

—Can I kiss you? —Hazel blurted out, making Y/N gag on her Soda.

Obviously, sober Hazel wouldn't do that, but, the Clingy&Drunk Hazel did. That girl, who she barely knew, took care of her. She did buy Hazel food and pills, took her home, and looked beautiful doing all that.

—No, you can't. —Y/N said, Hazel did pout at answer. Feeling humiliated and the tears were about to get out —But you can ask me that any other day, when you're not drunk. I'll 100% say yes.

—Oh... —Hazel looked at the apartament building, playing with her fingers. —Can you kiss me on the cheek? Just the cheek. —So, Drunk!Hazel was also shameless. Clingy, emotional and shameless.

Y/N laughed, leaning in and kissing Hazel cheek then, opening the door for her.

—See you around, Hazel.

The next morning, Hazel woke up with a severe headache, mentally thanking Y/N for the medicine and a text message from an unknown number:

"hi, i hope you don't forget about asking for that kiss.

Y/n"

Hazel never got more happy about being drunk in her whole life.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

GOOD OMENS MASCOT HERE, IT'S MY ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY ON TUMBLR!

HELLO MAGGOTS I'VE BEEN ON TUMBLR A MONTH (CAN'T REMEMBER WHETHER I JOINED ON 21 OR 22 DECEMBER, SO I'M MAKING THIS POST NEAR MIDNIGHT 21 JAN MY TIME)!

I felt like I should make some sort of post but I am really not sure what to say. And for those of you who may not know, yes I only joined tumblr a month ago. I only was kidnapped into the Good Omens fandom three weeks ago.

For those of you running across this post having no idea who I am, hello, I'm Asmi (uhz-mee), I'm the Official Good Omens Mascot because the fandom decided to uh adopt me as their son, and also am hailed as prophet here. Aside from that clearly scintillating resume, in real life I'm an author, artist and designer.

A brief description of What Happened: I joined tumblr to make a friend or something and spread chaos. A week later, I realised Good Omens was all over my dash but I had no idea what it was, so I made a summary based on what I'd gathered from the screaming. I hoped someone would enlighten me. I had no idea who David Tennant was. Or Michael Sheen.

Instead, 24 hours later and the fandom made an executive decision to kidnap me, install me as mascot, because my sheer dumbassery amused them, and started Good Omens livestreams for me. The coming Saturday will be the final three episodes of season 2. You don't need to warn me, everyone is doing it. Offering emotional support fruit etc.

I also ventured into the Doctor Who fandom. I now know that the TARDIS is blue, not yellow.

It's been three weeks since that happened and, well, here I am. Hello, Tumblr *waves awkwardly* *recollects myself and performs an elaborate bow instead*.

@neil-gaiman also seems to have found the same sadistic amusement in my descent into utter madness as the rest of you. Sir, you have created something marvellous, but some pity would not go amiss. I've gone from not knowing who Crowley is to sobbing uncontrollably over him in three weeks while the fandom rubs their hands in pleasure.

Anyway here is a reminder to all of you maggots, that I love you very, very much, and it is only 57% Stockholm Syndrome. I really, truly love you all. CAN I GET A WAHOO FOR SURVIVING A MONTH HERE?

Cursed take by @1800ineedshelp, you are all free to consider it, if Neil follows my account, does that make him a maggot?

Do with that what you will.

[waffelteufel]

Random Dark Urge stuff that blew my mind because it's so fun (and terrifying) [SPOILERS BELOW]

The Alfira scene came totally unexpected and I was literally sitting there with my mouth agape because I was so used to how cute EA had been

Those moments where the Urge gets to you and your character just suddenly goes >:) like a little evil shit

Those random over the top dialogue options

The way you can literally tell your companions from the start that you are a bit cray cray but they're all just "Ah don't worry about it we're literally killing people every day now. We're all a little evil right now :) Just put in that energy when we need it :)" and when you get to That Scene (tm) with your Love Interest in act 2 they suddenly go "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME" I DID!!! I DID TELL YOU SFHFSF

THAT SCENE IN ACT2 WITH YOUR LOVE INTEREST... That you can just murder them there?? And you have to roll against yourself? So good

The fact you can try to fucking bite them and sob uncontrollably?? Cinnamon Topography as they say.

You were besties with Gortash!! "I can tolerate Orin. But I liked you". Hello??? I want to be besties with him again???? Gorty let's become Team Rocket please.

Gortash saying that he missed your dark humour or something of the like.

Orin and Durge's rivarly. Slaughter-Kin. Queen...

That lady at the end of act 2 that did horrifying experiments on you and became obsessed?? It was sooo uncomfortable but like in a masochistic way. Fucked up and amazing.

Finding your pod in that mindflayer place and asking Astarion "Humour me Astarion. What does that blood smell like?" "[SNIFF SNIFF] Oh that's you. I can recognize that everywhere lol"

The way Astarion's and your own personal quest mirror each other in a way.

Those dialogue options after you refused to kill Isobel, Nightsong and your Love Interest where it sounds like you are some evil puppy trying to atone for your sins to the most random people, like the freaking circus guy, and going like "I used to be a crazy murderous maniac but I am trying to change my ways <3"

If you get Heal cast on yourself (that high level spell that gives you like 70 HP) you get a mini cutscene in which Durge's mind "knits back together" for a moment and you remember a scene from your childhood. This was so unexpected, I did NOT expect a random spell to trigger story and I loved that.

Realising that you were involved in stealing the Crown from Mephistopheles vault, and that you've been to the Nine Hells before. Finding this out only a little bit after Raphael bitched to you about that lmao.

The fact you're literally playing one of the main bad guys, but with amnesia, and you realise this only in act 3.

[erii-ya]

Punishing Female Trafalgar Law

LAW X FEM READER

A Valentine’s Special One Piece FanFic

CW: **NSFW, smut, bounded, finger-fudging, swear words, dominant reader, submissive Law, spoilers, not proofread**

WC: 1.7k

Dedicated to Anonymous (This may not be to your liking, but I thought of dedicating this story for you still. But I’ll make another one more decent. 😅)

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

“Y/N-ya… ngghh… s-stop this…” Law huffed. Feverishly squirming under his restraints while you take your time thrusting two fingers inside his wet sex. Choking back a sob, not wanting to accept the fact that you are in control this time and not him.

An unexpected opportunity arises, much to your luck. After getting hit by one of Blackbeard’s men’s devil fruit, Trafalgar Law was turned into a woman. The lasting effect of the DF power is unknown, so you took the opportunity before you missed the chance.

Restrained in your bed by seastone cuffs is your captain and partner, Trafalgar Law, in his female form, as you like to call it. Why you have a seastone cuff is thanks to you being a weird collector of unusual things.

You gave her a maniacal grin, “Aww, the princess wants me to stop?” you teased. Curling up your fingers inside him, hitting that perfect spot you know so well will make him see stars - or hearts.

Law writhed in pure bliss. He didn’t expect this to be too…good. Now he knows just what you feel whenever he does this to you. “Yes…nghh-no… ahh fuuuck.” and for the nth time, he squirted. 

Making a mess on your shared bed and on you, but you didn’t care. As if it’s not enough torture for Law, you played with his clit while he's at it, the same as what he does to you. Overstimulating him while he moans and spasms uncontrollably under you.

The way he looks right now, sweat forming on his forehead, the uneven pump of his chest, and his half-lidded eyes full of undeniable desire and excitement, made you even more eager to mess him up. You want him to experience the same things he’d done to you, how he played and bullied you down there.

Law was gasping for air, looking at you. He wants to say something, but his thoughts are still in disarray after another display of performance. Without missing a beat and to build up his arousal, you shamelessly suck up your fingers that were covered with his essence, licking it clean. You saw how his eyes widened and gulped down in anticipation.

You hover over him, giving him a sloppy kiss to which he hungrily returns. “Can you taste yourself? You tasted so sweet, love. Just how I like it.” you told him in between kisses. Law only moaned in agreement.

“Good girl…so obedient for me.” you cooed. You act precisely as how he is when he fucks you dumb, and you, in fact, are enjoying it. The feeling of being dominant over him for the first time in the course of your sex life was so satisfying it’ll be etched in your memories forever.

Breaking the kiss, you slowly descend to suck on his melons, going down to his sex, leaving a trail of bite marks and hickeys on his body. “Wh-what are you-ooohhh shit…” he hadn’t got time to finish his words when you started to ‘eat’ him out. 

You had never done this before, so you mentally followed how you remembered him doing it with you. Licking his folds while playing with his clit, seems to give him the same amount of pleasure as you experienced since he started to convulse again and was trying hard to squeeze his thighs shut. But he can’t because his legs are splayed out in restraints for you.

“You truly do too much work for me whenever you do this, don’t you?” you stopped for a bit, making him whine in dismay. “Oops, sorry. Were you enjoying it? Just want to appreciate you for a minute.”

“Y/N-ya… stop… t-teasing… m-me…” said Law, heavily breathing, lust covering his strained voice. “I-I want… to cu–ngghhh” moaning louder when you thrust your digits inside him again.

“You’re saying something, hon?” you asked, mischievously toying with him while you continuously pounded your fingers painfully slow inside him. You can feel him clench your digits in their every thrust, desperately clinging onto them for immediate relief until you see him starting to buckle up his hips, attempting to chase his climax.

Then you stop. Removing your fingers inside him.

Law glared at you due to your sudden halt. He was almost there, reaching his needed peak, but you mercilessly stopped and left him hanging on nothing. “W-wait.. Why’d you- why’d you stop?” he groaned.

Eyes lustful, you stared back at him; licking your lips, you asked, “Was it good?”

“Yes… yes, babe, so please… let me cum.” he begged. 

HE. BEGGED. 

The surgeon of death BEGGED.

It boosted your ego so much that you can’t stop thinking how you’ll prolong this game with him. He’s not the only one on edge for a while now. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your legs. If only you could be turned into a guy right now, you’ll definitely fuck the lights out of him.

You walk over to his side, tracing your fingers on his sensitive skin. Sitting down, you gently wiped away his drool and tucked the strands of loose hair covering his sweat-covered face behind his ears. Slowly laying down beside him, giving feathery kisses on his cheeks, your arm snaked behind him so you could fiddle on his hardened nips, pinching them from time to time while the other hand reached down on his sex, your middle and ring finger alternating between circling his clit and lunging inside.

Law felt the familiar knots on his stomach again, heat building up along with it. “Babe…” he said breathily. “Please… let me cum…” pleading for an immediate release.

You stopped what you were doing and shushed him. Cupping his face with one hand, you close your mouth to his ears, licking it sensually as how he liked it. 

“You want to cum, hon?” Law nodded eagerly, lust drunk. “Me too. Can you feel how wet I am for you right now?” you cooed—placing one of his thighs in between your dripping sex and humping on it. The squelching sound it made was too much for Law to handle. Giving him shivers, and you feel his body tense against yours.

“This is so unfair, love.” whispering in his ears in a flirtatious tone. “As much as I want to play and tease you more while you’re in your female form, I wish you could fuck me senseless instead.” 

Hearing your remark made Law choke.

“Fuck me so hard the only thing I could do is scream your name.” you added. “But I guess it’s not my lucky day, so to be fair, cum for me instead… but only through my voice.” purring to his ears. 

As much as it pains him to admit, Law was actually enjoying this sadistic side of you. He was so thrilled seeing that confidence while you tormented him the whole time. And that dirty talk… hot damn. It makes him too impatient to go back to being a man so he can wipe that smug grin off your face using his cock.

Law’s already at his limit. Your voice sends a tingling sensation throughout his body, and it’s not helping him at all. He started jerking, trying his best to free himself from his shackles, and you’re enjoying watching him try.

To add more fuel to his now blazing fire of desire, you continued purring sweet nothings and dirty talking through his ears. Biting it, then licking, then moaning deliciously after.

“It’s alright, love. You’re doing great.”

“Ngghhh yes… yes that’s it… cum for mee”

“Can’t wait to have you inside me again. My pussy’s throbbing just thinking about it.”

“I am so hot and ready for you, babe.”

“I need you, Law.”

“I love you, captain.”

“Remember to pump me up with your seeds once you're back.”

“I want all of it. I want all of you.”

As soon as you said the last word, Law went on an overdrive—his slim female body spasms in delight with his successful release. Appalled that he came to a climax because of your voice. 

You didn’t interrupt him this time and let him chase down his high. Planting kisses on his face, neck, and shoulders.

“Such a good boy.” you said, wrapping him in a hug as he pants, trying to get even breaths.

You both stayed in that position; moments later, you heard his light snores. Seeing that he’s already out cold, probably due to your exhausting torture, you carefully stood up and removed the seastone cuffs securing him one by one.

There were red marks around his wrists and ankles, proof of him trying to unbind himself the whole time. Feeling a pang of guilt, you softly caress the marks as if it’ll help heal them.

“I may have gone overboard. I’m sorry, love.”

To appease him when he wakes up, you change your clothes to one of his since yours has gotten quite messed up earlier and go over to the kitchen to get him some water and whip up an Onigiri. 

As you return to your shared bedroom, you are so busy mentally thinking about the other things you must prepare to clean him up that you don’t notice the towering shadow in the room waiting for your return. You placed the tray you were holding on his desk near the entrance and were about to close the door when you saw Law –in his original, manly figure, in all his glory, closing in on you.

‘Oh no. This won’t be good.’

“Fuck. I forgot somethi–...” You frantically turn around to open the door when Law cuts you to it, pinning you in place between him and the door.

Feeling his breath in your ears, he whispered, “Why the rush, Y/N-ya? Didn’t you say you are so hot and ready for me?”

“I should’ve left you in cuffs until morning.” you whizzed. 

Law only chuckled; wrapping his other hand on your waist, he spun you around to face him. There, you saw golden eyes staring back at you, piercing your soul and your very core. You swallowed up a lump.

His eyes are still lustful; you know he’ll go feral any minute because you awaken the beast.

“Who would’ve thought this was YOUR lucky day?” mocking you for what you said a while ago. “I hope you built up enough stamina because just as you wished, I’ll fuck you so hard; not only will you scream my name… but you may also not be able to walk for the next. Three. Days.”

‘I am sooo dead.’

(*/ω＼*) (*/ω＼*) (*/ω＼*) (*/ω＼*) (*/ω＼*) (*/ω＼*) (*/ω＼*)

A/N: Never thought my first Trafalgar Law fic would be smut. Not even sure if I intended it to be a dirty smut or a decent smut if that makes sense. Happy Valentine's to all!

My bisexual heart had never been triggered by a fictional character until this dazzling pirate captain came to my knowledge. Thank you, Oda-sensei! Thank you for making Trafalgar D. Water Law. I hope the live-action will do him justice, too.

[asimpwithfreetime]

Hi, I really like your work and if you didn't mind, could I ask of yandere Neteyam x Na'vi reader, you can choose the promt and setting.

Obliviously if you don't mind!

Idea: Yandere Neteyam forcing the bond because he is jealous

You belong with me (Yandere! Neteyam x Na’vi reader)

Content warnings: English isn’t my first language, this hasn’t been proofread yet, Neteyam is aged up

General warnings: yandere Neteyam, yandere behavior, obsessive behavior, manipulative yandere! Neteyam, violent! Neteyam, bonding without consent (even though they had planned it just for a few days later), animalistic growling, Neteyam crying just like yandere Jake

[ 3rd Person POV ]

Y/n and Neteyam had promised each other they would mate before Eywa once they turned into adulthood. They promised that since the beginning of their relationship.

The time was near and Y/n seemed quite nervous. Mating with the future Olo’eyktan isn’t the easiest thing to do. Knowing the judging glares some female omatikaya gave her.

With that, she tried to keep herself distracted during the day (when she didn’t have chores or errands). Neteyam didn’t mind at all, he was nervous himself too. And there was an obsessive thought that was taking over his mind, the closeness of having Y/n all for himself had him excited with the idea.

He felt anger any time a male talked to her, even if it was his own father. She shouldn’t be beaming at any other Na’vi. Her sweet smile and kind words should be all his.

And when there were just a few days away from the mating, he snapped. All the omatikaya knew that Y/n was with Neteyam and Neteyam was with Y/n. Quite literally, everyone knew it.

But there he was, a young Na’vi warrior trying to court Neteyam’s soon to be mate. She seemed shy but she was telling him (nicely) that she didn’t want anything to do with him.

He seemed like he had desisted. But it wasn’t like that. Y/n felt bad for the boy, but she knew she wanted Neteyam. She had chosen long ago.

That evening, Y/n went to the tree of souls, asking Eywa to help her ease the tension and nervousness that she had been feeling cooling up in her stomach.

She didn’t hear the Na’vi approaching her. The same boy from that morning. He started talking, going on and on, saying that he was a way better potential mate than Neteyam. The boy wasn’t aggressive or tried to impose, he was just a little bit of annoying. Y/n, once again, declined nicely.

The boy seemed to not get it. Probably one of the young warriors who had just finished one big hunt and thought they owned the place.

From between the bioluminescent plants, Neteyam emerged. “She is mine! Back off” the tone was harsh, she didn’t remember the dark look over Neteyam’s eyes.

“You guys haven’t bonded yet” the boy said, trying to sound confident, the figure of Neteyam making his voice crack, “She isn’t from anyone yet”.

Neteyam growled low in his throat. He then hissed, showing of his fangs and the Max look in his eyes. He jumped over the other boy and started punching him. Y/n suppressed a scream. “Neteyam! Stop!” She found her voice back once the other boy started bleeding.

Neteyam didn’t stop, the low growls coming from deep inside of him. Y/n started crying the moment she saw the bloody state the other Na’vi was in. Neteyam stopped the moment he heard her sobs.

He got up and got close to her kneeling down. “I’m so sorry baby, didn’t mean to scare you” he said, hugging her, some of the blood painting her body as well. “Please, please, don’t cry” he said, his own eyes watering and his lip quivering.

“Please, baby, look at me” his pleadings weren’t heard, Y/n was not only mad, but scared. She looked at his as if she was seeing a demon. “Get away from me!” She hollered, her own hisses scarring Neteyam. “But I was protecting you” he cried, lowering more onto the floor. She got away from him, trying to pry him away. He cried, he whimpered and tried in all ways possible to get a hold of her. He was uncontrollable, like a baby crying and wailing for his mother. He reached for her and used all his force to get to her.

She couldn’t resist it. Seeing him crying so hard made her feel bad, until she saw the other boy almost unconscious. But he had already reached her. She couldn’t react fast enough to stop him form connecting both braids together. “There” he said crying. “Now that we are mated before Eywa in the tree of our ancestors, you are mine and I am yours” he cuddled her, even when she tried to get away form his grasp.

“You belong with me now” Neteyam’s voice softened little by little, his body jerking while he was catching his breath. Y/n looked around dumbfounded. What had just happened?

[cielelyse]

Favourite 5 Saezuru Scenes

I recently reread Saezuru for the umpteenth time and just needed to gush about it like a crazed person who constantly hallucinates about Yashiro being happy and soOooOOooo.................

1. Why now? (Chapter 25)

These 3 panels kill me always... although it's the entire chapter 25 actually, and not just these panels. This broke me when I first read it nearly a decade ago, and it breaks me every time I reread it. I recently just listened to the drama CD for the first time and wanted to hear how this scene played out (a.k.a. wanted to hear Yashiro moan wkegh;ghwle) and I did not expect to start bawling and sobbing uncontrollably when his flashback appeared. WITH THE MUSIC AND EVERYTHING. THEY DID NOT SPARE ME. FUCK. What was supposed to be a tender and gentle and loving and intimate scene between them turned into Yashiro facing the effects of his childhood trauma -- that will never cease to hurt me. Doumeki saying "kashira, kashira, kirei" right before that broke me in a way reading that scene in English couldn't. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS and if I keep writing about it I'm gonna cry again so:

2. Car ride back from Kageyama's clinic (Chapter 4)

This is mostly for nostalgic reasons, really. I first read Saezuru in 2013, and I wasn't used to Yashiro at first. I didn't know what to make of him.

So what happened was that I read "Don't Stay Gold" first and was like... there's a manga about this mildly threatening and unreadable yakuza dude who's Kage's friend…? Who played cupid for him in a weird way? HMMMMM dubious, dubious. Would I even like him? It took me a while, but I finally gave Saezuru a shot anyway, and I remember feeling uncertain about Yashiro up until those panels. I remember it so starkly, because this was the instant I fell in love with him. I think it was because this was the first time I understood the depth of his loneliness (since I hadn't read his high school oneshot yet at this point).

There's just something about how Yoneda Kou-sensei draws these kinds of pages that just resonates with me so well. I CAN'T EVEN DESCRIBE IT. It just connects with me the way Yashiro connects with me, and that was pretty much it for me. Obsession sealed. Life signed away. For the next 10 years I would follow the story closely and routinely check every few months for updates. Yashiro became one of my only 3 comfort characters, and rereading Saezuru always gives me a catharsis and sense of peace that I didn't know how to find elsewhere.

3. "To go on living this strained existence... no longer holds any meaning to me." (Chapter 34)

This scene is one that I come back to every time I'm down. AM I A MASOCHIST? I really like the June translation too: "To go on living this strained existence no longer holds any meaning to me." I think the way the panels divided up those thoughts were brilliant!

This especially hurt me because for the entire manga up to this point, Yashiro has stated that he completely accepts himself and he's happy with who he is. It wasn't until his realization during the sex scene with Doumeki and how much he's said/done hurtful things to Doumeki afterwards -- who he considers pure and sweet and good -- that he thinks this.

4. "Falling in love feels like this" (Chapter 33)

The first time I read this, I had to set my PC down, go out to my apartment balcony, and just silently stare out into the night and resist the urge to smoke (that was half a joke) (I did feel a pang in my chest though) (and I did have to fight very hard not to smoke lwkehg;hge). I love the dialogue right after these panels too, when Yashiro said, "Your sister was lucky that you were there." That, along with Doumeki's reaction, hurt.

This was such an intimate scene between them. Yashiro was so vulnerable. So was Doumeki. I hadn't realized this until I reread Saezuru this year, but these two have always had such intimate scenes right from the start. It was a slow burn, yes, but they had always been instantly drawn to each other: Doumeki thinking Yashiro was beautiful and captivating, and Yashiro doing something he doesn't normally do with his subordinates the first time he met Doumeki. And it didn't clue in for me back in 2013, but their conversations with each other were much more intimate than the conversations they'd have with anyone else, right from chapter 1. I find that so precious.

5. Dream (Chapter 40)

I couldn't not include a scene from post-timeskip, BECAUSE I LOVE POST-TIMESKIP. I love Darkmeki and I love Yashiro and I love that the theme of post-timeskip centers around "change". Wish I could include that conversation Yashiro had with Tsunakawa about it, because I thought that drive-home was brilliant. I really appreciate that Yoneda Kou didn't have Yashiro and Doumeki get together right away after they have sex, and I really appreciate that the question was raised of: Do people change? Can people change on their own, or would you have to force them? Or are we always the same at our core? And I think the answer is of course a mixture of all of it, and that it's very much circumstantial and subjective, but I love how we're able to see the shifts in both Yashiro and Doumeki. How both men aren't quite the same people we knew pre-timeskip. Ten years ago I didn't think I would meet a version of Yashiro that wouldn't talk about sex 24/7, but here we are.

(Not to say that they're completely different now. They're still our Yashiro and Doumeki of course; I just wanted to gush about how well Yoneda Kou were able to flesh out her characters in such a complex, multidimensional way.)

ANYWAYS, I went on a rant without even mentioning these panels of Yashiro's dream. I love everything about it: Doumeki's face not showing, Yashiro running away and turning back to see Doumeki not there anymore, and that last panel of him standing in the middle of nowhere, lost and empty and lonely -- all of that was so incredibly told in pages of no words. UGH YONEDA KOU IS A GENIUS. It reminds me of that page of Yashiro looking at a mother and child in the rain; it's one of my favourite scenes too.

Honourary Mention (Chapter 4):

I should end with a more light-hearted one. THIS WAS CUTEEEE. I remember reading this for the first time and thinking Yashiro was just salty that his roleplay got ruined. But upon second reread (and maybe I'm delusional here), I thought he might've been happy to hear Doumeki say that.

We know Yashiro gets angry and irritated whenever he's happy to hear something sweet from Doumeki (like that extra when they ate together LOL), and that he had the same reaction of kicking the chair when Doumeki said he can't touch Yashiro's hair anymore. Which was cute to say. So I thought Yashiro might've lashed out in annoyance because he was glad that Doumeki doesn't mind. (I tried putting myself in Yashiro's shoes so many times trying to imagine how I would feel if Doumeki had said this............. and somehow came up with "happy" xD)

...........or maybe this was obvious to everyone and I've just been clueless. AAAAAAAA THIS IS WHY I LOVE ABOUT SAEZURU SO MUCH. It never spoon-feeds you information and lets its readers interpret :")

[kai-anderson-whore]

Hi!!! Could you do an imagine where y/n is the first serious girlfriend he’s had since Emma so she’s insecure and she gets hate because she’s a good bit younger and has to deal with the fact Evan and Emma still work together on AHS so their fans still want them together. Lots of fluff with a touch of smut? Thanks!!!

Insecure of the ex (Evan peters x fem reader slight smut)

Warnings: hate comments, doubting a relationship, being compared to an ex, smut, heavy kissing, p in v sex nothing too major, fluff

Word count: 1,4k

A/n: in my flop era xoxox

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

The dim light lit up the room the coffee cup in your hand, your phone in the other. Evan your boyfriend of two years sat on the other side on the room watching tv. You had just posted a picture of you both on instagram it was a picture one of your friends took when out for dinner you were cuddling into Evan, his lips on your head hugging you close with the caption "here's to two whole years with you my love, and many more 💕💕".

You loved the picture one of your favourites. You received nice comments from your close friends and family congratulating you both on the milestone. But you couldn't help but notice the negative comments. "They won't last any longer", "I miss Emma", "he's probably going to go back with Emma", "she's so much more younger than him probably only with him for the money", "god I hate her #evan&emma". You knew you shouldn't have let it bother you but it did.

Sure you were a couple of years younger than Evan five years to be precise but you weren't with him for his money. You loved Evan you both met at a convention and hit it off from then on sure it wasn't too long after his split from Emma roberts. He still worked closely with her in ahs which did make you feel unsettled but you learned to get on with it since Evan loved working on the show despite his ex girlfriend being there too.

But the comments on each post didn't stop you from getting into your head. You wondered why he was with you, was he just using you to get over Emma and you were just sticking around to something that means nothing to him. You didn't know. Every time Evan was filming for ahs you knew Emma would be there and with their history you didn't know if there was still feelings or not between them. Their fan ship them more than you and Evan it was just something you learned to become accustomed with.

You glanced over at Evan his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. "What time is it?"you asked you already knew the time it was past midnight already but you wanted him to notice. "Twelve fifteen- oh happy anniversary babe" he says after pulling out his phone getting off his seat giving you a kiss on the lips. But you couldn't help but feel hurt at the fact you had to tell him.

"What's this?" Evan asked his eyes glued to your phone. 'Shit' you thought you forgot to lock out phone so he wouldn't see all the comments. "It's nothing Evan really" you tried to dismiss but Evan wasn't having it. "Come on let's see the post it's obviously us" he smiled taking your phone from your hand his smile grew at the picture remembering the day clearly.

With a short scroll of his thumb his boyish smile dropped seeing all the horrible hate comments you were receiving for the first time. Evan's brows scrunched in confusion reading all the comments. "How long has this been going on for?" He asked the tears pricked your eyes uncontrollably you felt like you couldn't breathe.

"Almost the whole of our relationship, I delete the comments so no one can see but there's so many of them" you started to sob. "Sometimes I think they're right what do you see in me Evan, they're obsessed with you and Emma I can never compare to her" you started to sob. Evan just placed your phone down engulfing you in his arms.

He smelled of your favourite cologne hints of wood, tobacco and citrus notes it was all so comforting to you. Your tears staining his white t-shirt but Evan didn't care about that all he cared was making you feel better and putting a stop to these comments. "Listen to me" he started cupping your chin so you can meet the gaze of his brown eyes.

"They might be obsessed with me and Emma and can't get it in their heads we're history. But I'm obsessed with you okay your the best thing that's happened to me what I see in you is a beautiful, smart, independent woman who loves me just as much as I love her and no dumb comments will change that you can't compare to Emma because your better and I mean that". His words made you cry more but a smile crept on your lips which Evan didn't hesitate to kiss.

"I love you so much Evan I'm sorry for-" you tried apologised which Evan placed his index finger to your lips shushing you. "Don't apologise you have nothing to be sorry for it's natural to get upset and let these comments get to your head and I know me working with Emma still isn't necessarily helping but your the only one for me". you could see the hurt in his eyes Evan hated seeing you upset. Nodding your head you whisper a small "I'll stop apologising" to him before burying yourself back into his arms.

"I'll put a stop to these comments I'll log back into my instagram account and say something I promise" he added kissing the top of your head. You still felt shitty these comments really have took it's toll on you. "Hey look at me" you looked up at Evan again who placed a kiss on your lips, "I - promise- I'll- sort- this" he said in between kisses. His lips continued to kiss you your hands roamed his hair. His body pushing you further down on the couch slotting himself between your legs.

A giggle escaped your lips Evan took those thoughts away a smile once again invaded your lips, "there's that beautiful smile" he sighed happily. His lips peppered themselves along your neck, your head moved to the side slightly giving him more access to you. "Happy anniversary babe" he mumbles against the hot skin of your neck. "Happy anniversary" you sigh in satisfaction completely forgetting about those comments you knew they shouldn't matter all that matters is you and Evan. 

His hand roamed your body slipping under your sweater feeling every curve. His lips continued its work along your neck and collarbones. "Evan" you hummed desperately, Evan knew what you wanted and wasted no time in giving you it helping you out your sweater and sweatpants leaving you in just your undergarments. Evan then proceeded to remove the remaining articles of clothing from his body, you took the time on getting completely bare for him showing him every curve and shadow of your body.

"How did I get so Lucky with you" he smiles his eyes drinking all your beauty before him. He slotted himself back between your legs your arms wrapped around his neck, your legs hooking along his waist. Evan gave himself a few tugs before lining himself up with your entrance. Your body quivered as he started pushing into you slowly.

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as evan thrusted into you in a slow passionate way. Your arms still wrapped around his neck bringing him down to meet your lips. Your lips moved in sync swallowing each others moans. Wanting to be more closer to him if that was even physically possible. “I love you so much” he whispered against your swollen lips bringing his back upon your own.

Soon enough you felt that knot form within you. Evan picked up the pace a little more bringing you closer to the edge. Your moans got louder as you came undone beneath Evan. He stopped for a moment drinking you in a smile forming on his lips, “god you so beautiful” he thought out loud coming down from your high Evan started to chase his own high coming undone on top of you.

You both felt limp laying on the couch not saying anything just trying to collect yourselves. Evan had his arm slung over your frame a small smile on your lips completely forgetting about the comments. “I’ll sort all that out I promise” he broke the silence nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck placing a lazy kiss there. “I know thank you Evan” you sighed tracing your fingertips along his back.

[holylulusworld]

Love by heart

Summary: Can you and Dean work things out? What about Sam?

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, a/b/o, arguing, insured Sam

Catch up here: Omega by nature

“Sammy?” you whisper as the tall hunter is still out cold. The shifter got him good. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it wasn’t Dean. It’s just, that we got so comfortable at the bunker that I never thought an enemy would be able to enter it.”

“Y/N,” Dean sighs deeply. He gently places his hand on your shoulder, making you flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. I know it’s a little too much to bear. I cleaned the bunker and got rid of the shifter.”

“It’s all my fault.” You hide your face in the palms of your hands. “I should’ve known better. I’m a hunter, an experienced one. How could the monster trick me into believing it was you? You want to mate me. Hilarious!”

You start to laugh uncontrollably. “Y/N,” his features soften, and he softly whispers your name. “It’s not your fault but mine. Shapeshifters are sneaky bastards. They tricked me and Sammy years ago too.”

“Maybe I wanted to believe him, Dean. If I can’t have the real Dean, I want to have the second-best thing. An exact clone,” you sniffle. “At least this one didn’t hunt me with a hammer.” You chuckle this time. “Demon Dean on the loose was something else.”

“We’ve been through a lot together,” he runs his hand over your back. “You’re the strongest woman I ever met. No one can compare to you. Not my mother, not one of my friends, or any lover I had.”

“You only try to make me feel better,” you wipe your wet eyes. “It’s fine. Really. Please stop pitying me. I know that a woman like Cassie is more your taste. Finding the right mate is hard and maybe, I only wanted you because you were always around.”

“Sammy was always around too,” Dean argues. “Stop pretending that you didn’t hide your presentation from me to keep me from claiming you.”

“I did not! I hid my presentation since I presented,” you snap at Dean. “This had nothing to do with you, but my father and brother. I was born and raised in a clan of hunters. They had no use for an omega. A beta was fine. But an omega got abandoned and left behind.”

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he regrets his harsh words when you choke out a sob. “All these years  I made you believe that I don’t want you because I was scared of hurting. Loving a Winchester is a death sentence. Look at my mother, Jess, Lisa, and Sarah. They got killed or hurt because of us. I didn’t want the same to happen to you.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying! I tried to protect you.” Dean yells back. “Stop accusing me of being a liar. I’m anything but a liar!”

“You only rejected me because of my presentation. If not you would’ve crawled between my legs years ago! I simply didn’t do it for you!” You jump up from your seat to glare at Dean. “Admit it! Say it out loud. You’re nothing but a knothead.”

“Watch your tongue, Y/N!” Dean breathes in your face. “You should remember your place in the food chain.” He backpaddles when you backhand him.

“I dare you to say shit like that to me ever again DEAN WINCHESTER!” You growl in his direction. “No man talks like that to me and walks away with intact balls!”

“Oh, when it comes to your balls you want me to be nice?” You snarl at the alpha. “You started this by changing the way you see me only because I’m an omega.”

“You want to hurt my balls?” His hands shoot toward his crotch to protect whatever he’s hiding in his pants. “Sweetheart that’s not nice of you to say.”

“I did not! I-“ He huffs. “It’s just…you are an omega, and we could’ve been together all this time. I went through the worst ruts because you were around, but I couldn’t touch you. I was so scared of hurting you with my knot!”

“Liar, liar your pants are on fire,” you sing-song, and stick your tongue out. “Whatever kept you from being with me wasn’t fear. It was your knot!”

“Exactly!” He says. His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”  Dean curses loudly and grips the backrest of the chair you were sitting on earlier. “Fuck. You make me lose my damn mind one day, omega.”

You shudder as Dean addresses you with your presentation for the first time. “You are one to talk!”

“Do you know why the shapeshifter came here?”

“I guess he wanted to kill Sam and me. We are most wanted, on top of the list of every monster,” you shrug.

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “He only came here to get you. That monster couldn’t fight his instinct because he stole my identity. He remembered every single thought I had of you. And he felt what I felt. Need. Want. Lust. Possessiveness. Lust…”

“You said lust twice,” you grumble and cross your arms over your chest.  “This doesn’t count!”

“Well, lust is important,” he smirks. “He wanted you because I want you. Luckily I came here just in time before that sonofabitch got the chance to touch you.”

“I could’ve defended myself.”

“I never once doubted that you’d defended yourself just fine.” He growls. “Can you stop arguing about everything I say? I tried to tell you that I love being there for you and to protect you. I still have nightmares of my time as a demon.”

“The hammer?” You challenge. “At least the demon had a thing for me too. Even if bringing a hammer for a date is a bit too much.”

“You hit me pretty hard with that baseball bat if I recall right,” Dean snaps back. “It felt like you tried to kill me!”

“I had to defend myself against a knight of hell!” You and Dean snarl and growl at each other.

“Guys, I appreciate you are trying to talk things out, but can you do this outside of my room,” Sam says. “I got attacked by a shifter and still got a terrible headache.”

“Sammy!” Dean and you gasp. “Sorry, Sam. We were about to…” you trial off. “Uh-you know. Dean and I will talk things out later.”

“Good.” Sam slowly sits up. “I only had to get myself almost killed to make you talk.” The hunter looks at you and his brother. “Please for the love of fuck. Go out there and do something against this tension going on between the two of you…”

[zh-lele]

TOO FAST (m)

▪︎Pairing: Mark Lee x female reader

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

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

▪︎Word count: 12.6k words

playlist | Pictures taken by Taeyong | Drifting series

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

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

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

Don't they see it too?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

"You're all wet."

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

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

"You know what's missing tonight?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you talked to Johnny?"

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

He shakes his head no.

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

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

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

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

1. You hit them stones and you broke your home

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

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

"Mark, hurry up!"

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

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

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

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

You, however, were worried and scared for him.

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

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

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

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

But that wasn't happening that night.

"No fucking way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're a smokestack."

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

"Excuse me?"

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

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

"And how would you know?"

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

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

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

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

He would finally return all that attention to you later.

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

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

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

"The problem is… I like Mark."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds lovely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may fancy me, but you love Mark.

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

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

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

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

"You need to get out of here."

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

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

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

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

Or at least more attached than you already are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please tell me the truth."

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

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

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

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

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

"You sure?"

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

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

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

"Mhm?"

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

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

3. Permission to crash, collecting damages, boy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You coming back to bed?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's always been easier to ignore all that.

"Can we just– not have this conversation?"

"Are you fucking him too?"

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

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

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

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

"You did a little cleaning," he repeats.

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

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

"Where is Taeyong's necklace?"

"Huh?" discomposure shows in your tone.

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

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

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

Meeting his teary eyes, yours fill with tears too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't an easy process.

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

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

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

"But how do your decisions make you feel?"

"I feel selfish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi."

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

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

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

"I was hesitant to come."

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

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

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

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All of you," and he finishes.

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

5. Loving you almost feels like something

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

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

"But I never lie."

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

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

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

"Maybe we should become a married couple."

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

"You know I don't cook."

"Then forget about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When no ones around me, you lost and found me

I was surrounded

With open arms

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

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

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

"What is this?"

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

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

"And what are you doing for Taeyong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark smiles big and nods.

"Yeah, I think he would have."

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

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

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

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nekonanamii]

All for the best pt. 1— Toji x Fem! Reader

Your boyfriend Suguru doesn’t treat you as good as he used to. Maybe it’s because he’s busy getting his balls drained by someone else.

Just keep reading, I promise you this is a Toji x reader fic <3

Suguru and you have been together for years. You’ve been together since university, but ever since you moved to a bigger and more lavish apartment, things just haven’t been the same.

“Sorry honey I’ll be out til late I have a business meeting over dinner” he says in a text.

You can’t even remember the last time you had dinner together. You’ve had your doubts thinking he can’t possibly have business meetings over dinner that often but you kept telling yourself that your dear Suguru was faithful and loyal to you.

Little did you know that he was busy getting his balls drained by none other than the real estate agent who sold you two the new apartment. The very one you’re currently in right now.

It started with some light and friendly flirting between the two over apartment viewings, followed by the real estate agent’s skirt getting skimpier and skimpier each time they met for a viewing, the agent couldn’t help but gawk at how beautiful this man was and how sexy he was too. Suddenly, Suguru’s pants were by his ankles and the agent was on her knees sucking him dry.

By some odd chance, while the agent was showing him the new shower system this apartment had, the water accidentally turned on and got her white blouse wet, and by some odd coincidence, she had nothing underneath.

“Fuck you set this up didn’t you?” Suguru says as he pumps his cock in and out of her cunt.

Of course she planned this. Why on earth would she forget to wear a bra today?

And just like that Suguru spends more and more time fucking your real estate agent and blowing load after load into her cunt. What’s worse is that you have no idea they’ve fucked in every single room of your new apartment.

It’s Monday and you’re buying groceries for you and your boyfriend. You can’t help but think about how you don’t even need to get as much groceries as before because Suguru doesn’t even eat his meals at home anymore. So there you are, with half the amount of groceries you usually get and more wine in your cart than actual food.

“Sorry honey I’m spent. Maybe tomorrow.” Suguru says as you try to initiate some sort of sexual contact. What gives? You know your boyfriend has a high libido, but ever since you both moved apartments he just doesn’t seem to want any action?

You have your suspicions sure but Suguru would never cheat on you, right?

Wrong.

It’s 10:19pm on a Friday, you were supposed to be at your parents house til Monday but you and your mom had a small little argument about when you were gonna get married and give her grandkids, you’d love to give her answers I mean you’ve been with your boyfriend for 6 years now it was bound to happen sometime soon right? As you opened the door, you heard music. It was the type of jazz you know Suguru loves to listen to as he drinks his favorite whiskey. As you get closer to the living area, you hear it. Little whimpers and someone saying your boyfriend’s name as if it were a prayer.

You watched as your boyfriend roughly fucked into your real estate agent on your brand new couch that you picked with both her ankles on his shoulders. Your loyal and faithful boyfriend of 6 fucking years was thrusting hard while yelling out a string of curses about how much he loved her cunt.

Sickening.

Tears streamed down your face. You didn’t make a sound, but the tears were gushing out of your eyes. The pair were too busy fucking each other’s brains out to even notice you were there. You couldn’t even move. You wanted earth to just swallow you whole.

Suguru grabs the remote to the speakers and that’s when he sees you. “Y/n I-“

You sob. Uncontrollably and miserably.

~

The series of events that followed was a nightmare.

All Suguru had to say was “it just kinda happened, you weren’t there and I was lonely.”

Bullshit.

6 fucking years down the drain.

You buried yourself even more into your work. Spending longer hours at the office. Doing more work than the actual scope of your position.

Your boss took note of this. After all your were his favorite secretary. You were also the most competent.

You worked at Fushiguro Corp and you were the Mr Toji Fushiguro’s secretary.

~

Today was a special day, it was the celebration of the merger between Fushiguro Corp. and Gojo enterprises.

You were on your 4th glass of champagne and you were feeling the best you’ve felt in weeks after having gone through the worst betrayal of your life. You head to the viewing deck of the location your company held the celebration at. Little did you know that your boss was there first.

“Ms y/n, careful now you might fall off” he says as you rest your elbows on the railings

You’re a bit startled to see your boss out here, you can’t help but think to yourself how sexy he looks in his suit

Your boss let’s our a small chuckle, “Yeah you think so?”

Oh god did you just say your thoughts out loud? Shit. You did.

His large hand lands on the small of your back, pulling your closer to him.

“Now now, be careful, I told you you might fall”

~

And just like that Toji was pumping you full of his cum. He hates it when you waste even a single drop, hell he’ll fuck each and every single drop back into you.

You were his sweet little secretary and right now you’re splayed over his lap in the middle of a workday in his office receiving a harsh slap for letting his cum drip down your legs.

“M’ sorry it was just so much sir—” you sob as he gives you another harsh slap. He has a finger plugged into your pussy making sure his load stays inside.

Toji loved how easy it was to make you his good litte girl. You were smart, great at your job, and even though you were lousy at keeping his cum in your pretty little cunt, he thought you were absolutely perfect.

Your boss was a busy man with a tight schedule. He frequently had business trips abroad, he usually brought along multiple secretaries with him on these trips but on this particular one it was just you.

Of course you were on his private jet getting dick shoved down your throat as he took in a work call. Toji told you to stay quiet but how can you when he’s pushing your head deeper into him. Your boss ends the call, he pulls up your head and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

“Aww little girl couldn’t take my cock?” He says smirking as he looks at you.

There you were on your knees with saliva dripping down your mouth, glossy eyes, flushed cheeks, and red puffy lips.

God what a sight he thought to himself.

Just as you were about to say something he plunges his cock back into your mouth as he holds both sides of your head. He fucks into your throat while praising you for how obedient you were taking him in just like that.

“Good girl now be a doll and unbotton your shirt, I wanna see your pretty tits”

As soon as you exposed yourself to him, Toji’s pace became more erratic.

“Fuck, baby you’re so fucking beautiful fuck me—”

Your boss cums down your throat then pulls out of your swollen lips to cum on your face and your tits. It’s crazy how much cum he has. Honestly.

You get to the destination. It’s a private island. Your sneaky boss disguised this getaway as a work trip.

The villa you were staying at had a large double door facing the ocean. You would’ve enjoyed taking in the soft sounds of the water and the stars out tonight if you weren’t on all fours getting pounded like there’s no tomorrow.

~

Several months later your belly’s all round as Toji lightly fucks into you. “Wouldn’t want our precious little princess to get hurt, yeah?”

This man was truly insane.

You thought that the fact that you were pregnant, Toji would have some common sense to lay off you a little more.

Wrong.

Toji loves seeing you round with his baby. Fuck he thinks you look the sexiest like this.

He can’t wait to fuck another baby into you. <3

~

Your little princess is turning 1 and you were back to getting pounded non-stop, always having your pussy filled with this man’s cum.

Toji loves you, he proposed as soon as you got back from that “business trip” with him. He promised he’d take care of you and love you forever.

This man not only married you but gave you your beautiful darling daughter, and he can’t wait until he gets you knocked up again <3

Honestly, I just need Toji in my damn guts

Also! I made a second part (ish!) pov you’re the real estate agent 🫣

[venus-haze]

Can’t Help Falling in Love (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You wake up in a hospital room surrounded by unfamiliar faces, unable to remember much besides your own name. Elvis, your husband, is devastated at how close he came to losing you and at your amnesia as a result of the car crash you survived. The road to recovery is long, but he stays by your side as the two of you fall in love all over again.

Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a woman, but no other descriptors are used. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope everyone enjoys it (I feel like there’s a lot of crying in it, though. Which I guess tracks considering the plot). I’m not a medical professional so don’t take what I wrote in this as medical advice or expect a ton of accuracy. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: Depictions of amnesia and physical injuries as a result of a car accident. Do not interact if you are under 18.

The day you woke up from your three day coma was bright and sunny, but you couldn’t tell because the curtains had been drawn in the room that was crowded with people you didn’t recognize, expressing varying degrees of concern and surprise when you began blinking and shifted a bit in the bed. Your eyes moved from person to person until you had no choice but to focus on a man who had practically thrown himself into your lap, crying uncontrollably. Another man rushed out of the room, shouting for a nurse.

You had no idea who the dark-haired man sobbing into your hospital gown was, but you obviously meant a lot to him if you elicited this kind of reaction. He looked up at you, eyes red from crying, and lack of sleep as you’d later find out, heartbreak written across his handsome face at the realization that you didn’t recognize him. 

He was mumbling incoherently, his voice muffled, but you felt the urge to comfort him. Slowly, you reached over and stroked his hair. He looked up at you, kissing your palm as he continued to weep. Still confused as to what was going on, you tried to give him a sympathetic smile.

The other man from before returned to the room with a nurse and a doctor. The nurse immediately began checking your vitals, rattling numbers off to the doctor who made note of them on the clipboard he was holding. You were acutely aware of the various tubes hooked up to you, presumably what had been keeping you alive for however long you’d been out for.

“Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered.

The crying man squeezed your hand gently, sniffling. 

The doctor nodded, writing something on his clipboard before looking at you again. “Do you know your birthday?”

You answered that to his satisfaction. When he asked if you knew what day it was, you didn’t have an answer. He continued asking you similar questions and taking notes, but you felt distressed at being the only person who had no idea what was going on.

“I’m sorry, why am I in the hospital?” you asked. “What happened?”

“You were in a car accident. Neither driver was at fault, just one of those freak things,” the nurse sighed. “You’re lucky you didn’t suffer more damage than you did.”

“Yes, we can’t discharge you just yet, we want to observe you for a few more days—get you started on physical therapy and see what level of occupational therapy you may need,” the doctor said. “You’re also showing symptoms of amnesia, and we’ll need to monitor that as well.”

“How do you know I have amnesia?” you asked.

“When I asked you your name, you responded with your maiden surname, not your married one. I assume you have no idea who the man next to you is.”

You looked at him, an apologetic smile on your face. “No, I’m sorry.”

“You might be the only person in the world who doesn’t,” the nurse quipped.

“It’s me, darlin’. Elvis, your husband,” he said, voice shaky. 

“Elvis,” you repeated, seeing if that would jog your memory at all. “Elvis. My husband’s name is Elvis.”

The doctor and nurse spoke among themselves, while Elvis introduced you to the other people in the room, explaining they were friends the two of you had known for a long time. You didn’t recognize any of them, but they all expressed how glad they were that you were awake. It felt a bit overwhelming, and your head started to ache.

“Do you mind if I speak with Y/N alone?” the doctor asked.

“Not at all, doctor,” Elvis said before turning to you. “I’ll be right outside, baby.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

After everyone left the room, the doctor explained your condition to you. While you hadn’t been comatose for too long, your memory had obviously been affected, and he recommended occupational therapy, as he expected you’d have to relearn how to do various day-to-day tasks. It’d take at least six months to a year of physical therapy to get you back to your full range of motion, but he couldn’t give any definite timeline as to when or if your amnesia would go away. Your leg broke in the car crash, and even after the cast came off, he figured you’d still be on crutches as you built up your strength again. Some of your ribs had also cracked, but the doctor didn’t expect any complications with physical healing.

In the hallway, Elvis paced back and forth as he spoke to Jerry and Red, his eyes glancing at the door every few seconds. He hardly had any rest since he arrived at the hospital, but despite the fact that he should surely be exhausted, your waking up sent a rush of adrenaline through him.

“Tell the Colonel to cancel it all—shows, concerts, records. I’m not doin’ a thing until Y/N is better,” Elvis insisted.

Jerry nodded. “He’s gonna be pissed, but I’m with you EP. Y/N needs you.”

“That sack of shit can do whatever he wants. My wife—” he choked up, taking a moment before he could continue, “my wife is in there, and she don’t even know who I am. I almost lost her. I can lose everything, but I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t EP. We got this,” Red assured him. “Sonny’s back at Graceland, so you say the word and he’s on it.”

“You guys head back to Graceland, get some rest. I’m gonna stay here with Y/N,” Elvis said. 

“You sure? You’ve barely slept the past few days. You should be getting some rest too,” Jerry said.

“I’ll manage,” he said. “Hey, when you get back to Graceland, will you have someone make Y/N’s favorite and drive it over? Maybe it’ll—I don’t know, do somethin’.”

The doctor walked out of your hospital room, his clipboard at his side. A different nurse from before went into the room. Elvis waved off Jerry and Red to go as he worriedly approached the doctor, who gave him the same rundown you’d gotten.

“I’ve got my people on it,” Elvis assured him. “Whatever she needs, it’s done.”

“Yes, your wife has more resources at her disposal than most. I’m optimistic about her recovery, but money can’t buy time, Mr. Presley, and that’s what she needs most of.”

Elvis considered the doctor’s words, thanking him before returning to your room. The nurse had already left, but she put the TV on for you. You smiled at Elvis, but there was little recognition behind your expression. It made his heart ache, you were everything to him, his best friend, but now he was a stranger to you.

He took his seat next to your bed, and you reached out for his hand. The two of you sat in silence as you watched TV, some comedy show on that made you laugh, but you winced when your ribs ached. Elvis hurriedly changed the channel, looking helpless as he didn’t know how to comfort you. Just then, the phone in your room rang, and you reached over for it.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, Y/N. How’re you feeling?” Jerry asked.

“Hi Jerry, I’m okay,” you said.

“That’s good. You’ll get through this, we’re all here to help. Can you put Elvis on?”

“Sure,” you said, handing the phone to your husband. “Jerry wants to talk to you.”

“Thank you, darlin’,” Elvis said before getting on the phone with Jerry.

You didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, instead studying the hospital room that was previously filled with people. There were flower arrangements, gift baskets, and balloons shoved into corners and on top of shelves and even medical equipment. Were you really that important?

“I gotta run out real quick, darlin’. I got a surprise to bring up to you,” Elvis said, snapping you out of your daze.

You nodded, and he gave you a forehead kiss before leaving the room. Grabbing the TV remote, you flipped channels until landing on a news station, hoping some current event they’d mention may jog your memory. You caught the last half of the weather forecast, warm and sunny through the weekend. The station cut to a news anchor behind a desk, a large photo of you and Elvis next to her head.

“Good news from Graceland,” the woman said, “Y/N Presley, wife of rock n’ roll icon Elvis Presley, is awake after being in a coma for nearly four days following a car crash in Memphis less than a week ago. Elvis has announced an unprecedented career hiatus to support his wife’s recovery. The two met on the set of his 1961 movie musical ‘Blue Hawaii’ and their wedding in 1966 was one of the highest viewed live television events in history. We wish Mrs. Presley all the best. In other news—“

Your furrowed your eyebrows. Getting married on TV seemed kind of tacky, but maybe it was what you wanted at the time. From what the anchor said, though, you’d known Elvis for over ten years, yet you couldn’t remember a thing about the man who was such a major part of your life. You were frustrated, tears welling up in your eyes as you figured you could at least remember your wedding day, but it all came up blank.

“Y/N, darlin’, what’s wrong?” Elvis asked as he returned with the container of food.

“Why can’t I remember you? The lady on TV said we’ve been married for six years.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “I love you no matter what, no matter how long it takes you to remember, or even if you never do.”

“Thank you,” you said with a weak smile.

“Here,” he said, handing the container of food to you. “It’s your favorite. I had it made special for you.”

As soon as you took a bite, your face lit up and his did too. While it didn’t bring on any old memories, it at least tasted familiar and delicious. 

“What’s Graceland?” you asked through a mouthful of food. 

“It’s our home. You’ll be goin’ back there real soon,” he said. “The doctor says that with your amnesia, it’d be good for you to have your physical therapy there, since it might be familiar to you.”

“Yeah, he said even after the cast is off, I’ll be on crutches for a while.”

He nodded. “I’m gettin’ that all taken care of, got a bedroom on the first floor made up for us until your leg is better.”

About a week later, after some physical therapy sessions and brain pattern monitoring, the doctor cleared you to go home. Elvis had informed him that he arranged for physical and occupational therapists to come by a few days a week to follow the plan the doctor had laid out for your recovery. 

A car drove you and Elvis to Graceland from the hospital, and as it approached the mansion, you knew your eyes were practically bulging out of your head. Hundreds of people were crowded outside the gates with signs of well wishes for you and Elvis, some of them crying as they banged on the car windows and shouting incoherently. You knew by then Elvis was famous, but you had underestimated how much.

Though you didn’t remember Graceland, it felt like home. From the furniture to the decor, it was familiar enough for you to feel comfortable there. Some of the people from the hospital were already inside, waiting with even more flowers and gifts than were in your hospital room. Again, everyone was glad to see you. You hung around the living room with everyone before getting tired, and Elvis announced the two of you were going to bed for the evening.

“I’ll wait out here while you get changed,” he said, letting you into the bedroom.

“Okay,” you said.

When he closed the door, you picked up the sleepwear that had been laid out for you, a nightgown that was easy to slip in and out of so as not to strain your muscles. You could tell it was a guest room by the lack of personal decor, and found yourself observing the small details of the room before being startled by a knock at the door.

“You alright in there, baby?” Elvis asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said. “You can come in.”

He opened the door, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I could have waited in the bathroom, but I didn’t want you to feel—well, I don’t know. It’s just nice to have you home, darlin’.”

“When I watched the news the other day, the lady said we met on a movie set. Was I an actress?” you asked.

“No, you did hair and makeup. I found every excuse to sit in that chair and talk to you,” he laughed. “One day you caught me messin’ up my hair before I went over to talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” 

He grinned. “That’s exactly what you asked back then.”

“Guess it all worked out, huh?” you smiled.

“It sure did.”

He gave you a kiss on your temple. You were thankful you were at least going through all of this with a husband who seemed to really care about you. Being around Elvis put you at ease, and it was easy to have conversations with him and the whirlwind of people who were in and out of Graceland.

When you weren’t busy with physical therapy or doctor’s visits, you and Elvis would spend a lot of time listening to music or watching old home movies together. The music seemed to jog your memory a bit, but there were no significant breakthroughs. The home movies were bittersweet; you and Elvis looked so happy together in all of them, carefree and in love, but you couldn’t remember any of it.

For a few weeks, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d sneak out of bed and watch the home movies in hopes of recognizing something. Every time Elvis found you like that, he would get upset, not at you, but toward the situation the two of you had ended up in because it just wasn’t fair. Eventually you stopped, not wanting to see him so distraught.

About two months went by with major progress in physical and occupational therapy, but your memory was hazy at best. Still, even if you couldn’t remember all your relationship with Elvis, you knew you loved him, becoming more affectionate and trusting with each day. As you built your strength back up, the two of you would spend more time outside, walking around Graceland and even talking to the fans who seemed to keep vigil outside of the place night and day.

You and Elvis had developed a routine of sitting on the lawn to watch the stars at night, weather permitting. He’d bring a blanket and a radio, and the two of you would talk until someone started yawning, usually, it was you.

“Well, it is about nine, don’t wanna keep you up past your bedtime,” he said one night, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You stepped out of the hair and makeup trailer to see Blue Hawaii’s star running his hand through his styled hair, pushing it any which way so that it was wildly out of place.

“Now what are you undoing all of my hard work for?” you asked, a smile on your face as Elvis looked at you like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Guess I gotta find a new excuse to talk to you,” he said.

“Or you could just talk to me.”

“How about tonight?” he asked. “The beaches are real pretty at night, the way the moon reflects off the ocean. Not as pretty as you, though.”

“Don’t lay it on too thick, Presley.”

He laughed. “Alright, I was askin’ for that. Just meet me on the beach later, please?”

“What time?”

“Nine.”

“That’s past my bedtime.”

“Y/N, you’re killin’ me.”

“Elvis! They need you back on set!” a production assistant yelled.

You walked over to Elvis, using the comb in your hand to get his hair looking decent enough for filming, as if he needed to try anyway. “See you at nine,” you smiled.

“Im’a hold you to that,” he said before running off to redo whatever scene he had been shooting that day.

“I said that to you on the set of Blue Hawaii,” you said excitedly.

He laughed. “I can’t believe out of all the things, you remember me makin’ a fool of myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too.

“I think I fell in love with you that night,” he said. “By the end of filming, I had you workin’ on all my movies. The Colonel said you were a distraction, but I didn’t care.”

The Colonel. A name you’d only heard referenced with tones of disgust by those around you. You couldn’t remember anything about Elvis’ manager, but from what Jerry had told you, when you begged him to clue you in on what everyone else seemed to know, you were glad you didn’t. After all, it was his idea for you and Elvis to get married on TV, a decision that the two of you detested, according to Jerry.

“How many movies did you make?”

“A lot,” he said, “so we spent plenty of time together, believe me.”

“Good, I like spending time with you.”

“I’d hope so.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him playfully. The two of you went to bed for the night not long after that, and as the next few months went by, bits and pieces of your memories would come back, mostly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it was progress. After several appointments with your doctor, you and Elvis had come to terms with the fact that your memory may never fully recover. Despite that, your relationship was strong, and when you told him you loved him for the first time since you woke up from the coma, he cried so hard he almost couldn’t say it back.

The next day, he bought you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, almost an apology of sorts, even though he had nothing to be sorry for, you thought his reaction was sweet. He was always around, but it never felt suffocating, and your physical therapist even commended him for how well he helped you on the days she wasn’t there and you practiced the exercises on your own. 

Your occupational therapist was similarly pleased with your progress and began encouraging you to do Elvis’ hair and makeup again in your free time to work on your fine motor skills. The first time you did so, your hands were shaky, and you stayed the hell away from doing any eye makeup, but you found styling his hair relaxing. As you built up your confidence in your skills again, you carefully applied the eyeliner to his eyelids. The result wasn’t perfect, but as you practiced more and more it was like your muscle memory began to kick in again. If only your brain could do the same, you lamented to yourself as you dabbed eyeshadow to Elvis’ eyelids, a look you found he had mostly kept early on in his career, but you liked it.

“When are they gonna let you make the movies you wanna make? You’re Elvis Presley for crying out loud,” you said, applying makeup to your boyfriend of going on three years. His latest movie, Girl Happy, was yet another movie musical, when he’d been wanting to star in more serious dramas for years.

“People don’t wanna see movies where I don’t sing,” Elvis shrugged.

You sighed. “Maybe you could make something with one of those independent directors. They’re doing really amazing things in New York. I mean, that one director–”

“C’mon, baby, what’s this about.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy,” he said.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

You liked to watch when Elvis filmed his movies. You didn’t think he was a bad actor by any means, but you wished he got to work with serious directors on more dramatic roles like he wanted to. Still, he had a knack for comedy and his natural charm made his chemistry with his co-stars stand out. You never felt jealous or insecure; you figured if he wanted to try something, he wouldn’t bring you along to every movie set with him. 

After filming was over for the day, he asked you to walk on the beach with him. This time, being in Los Angeles, meant most of the Memphis Mafia had to tag along to make sure you two got some privacy without fans hounding him. Most of the time, he didn’t mind, but tonight was different. He was fidgety, and you knew something was on his mind.

“You alright?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just thought it’d be a lot easier to do this.”

“Do what?”

He took a deep breath, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. When he got down on one knee and opened it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring, your hands flew to your mouth.

“Y/N, I always thought soulmates were real, and meeting you only made me sure of that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you choked out, practically tackling him in the sand as you threw your arms around him. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

You dropped the makeup brush you were using, to Elvis’ concern.

“You feelin’ okay, darlin’?” he asked. “Should I call the doctor?”

“Yeah, I just remembered something is all,” you answered quietly.

“What was it?”

You smiled. “When you proposed to me.”

His smile matched yours. “I had the ring for weeks. I was waiting for the right moment, and that was it. Just like that first date in Hawaii.”

It was nice, finally remembering some of the more significant aspects of yours and Elvis’ relationship. As the months passed, you were almost completely physically recovered from the car crash, and you didn’t need to do physical therapy nearly as often as you did when you first got back to Graceland. Still, Elvis was overly cautious, not that you could blame him, but sometimes you needed to remind him that you weren’t made of glass.

The two of you started going out more too, mostly to different restaurants in Memphis or to see shows, but you felt almost normal. Maybe you would never be the exact same person you were before the car accident, but you were happy with the progress you’d made and especially that you’d woken up to a husband who didn’t hesitate to drop everything for you. You felt a bit guilty that he was putting his career on hold for you, but it didn’t seem to concern him or anyone else very much. In fact, it seemed like everyone was enjoying the ‘time off’. Well, almost everyone.

Jerry rolled his eyes as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. The Colonel had been a pain in the ass the previous few weeks about Elvis getting back to performing, insisting enough time had passed for you to be fine on your own at Graceland. As much as Jerry tried to stall the Colonel and make up excuses for why Elvis couldn’t come to the phone, it got to the point where the man wouldn’t stop calling.

Finally, Elvis answered, fuming at the Colonel’s audacity. “What? What do you want?”

“It’s been eight months since you’ve performed a show or recorded a new song. You’ve had your time with Y/N, but you have a job to do,” the Colonel said.

“It can wait until she’s better,” Elvis said. “Hell, people still show up every day with their signs and flowers for her.”

“My boy, I understand your sentimentality toward Y/N—”

“Sentimentality? Like Y/N is some girl I keep around and not my damn wife? I knew you were low, but this is somethin’ else,” Elvis raged.

“You’re at risk of violating your agreement with the International Hotel. Need I remind you the debt you owe Jamboree Entertainment. I’m not above taking legal action to get what’s owed to me.”

“How’s it gonna look, some lyin’ old bastard tryin’ to put a man takin’ care of his sick wife out on the street? Do what you want, you’re out. For good this time,” Elvis spat, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders as he hung up on the Colonel.

“‘Bout time, EP,” Jerry said with a grin.

“You’re damn right, Jerry,” Elvis agreed.

For what felt like the millionth time, you found yourself flipping through your wedding album on your own. It was beautifully made, and the photos were just what you’d expect from one of the most widely covered weddings at the time. There were dozens of them, but a photo of you and Elvis at the altar particularly caught your eye, and you pulled it from the album to get a closer look.

Your wedding day was a fairytale. Everything exactly to your taste as you married the love of your life. It was also, however, nothing short of a public spectacle due to the insistence of the Colonel that if Elvis was going to break millions of hearts across the country by getting married, he may as well make money off of it. You felt like it cheapened the whole thing, and you knew Elvis did too, but for some reason he never wanted to push back against the Colonel. It was the biggest source of tension in your relationship, especially as the wedding got closer.

The day of, though, you weren’t going to let anyone ruin your day. The whole world could watch if they wanted to, but the wedding was for you and Elvis, let them cry into their cake at home. As soon as you got to the altar, you and Elvis broke into tears upon seeing each other, and he pulled you in for a hug that you welcomed.

‘I wish there were no cameras, nobody else here but us,’ Elvis whispered, kissing your cheek. ‘The honeymoon is gonna be completely private. I promise.’

‘It better be,’ you sniffled. “I want you all to myself.”

“You got me, baby. Always.”

You dropped the photo, feeling all of the emotions of that day flooding into you. It was almost overwhelming, the love you felt for him. You didn’t even notice him walking in to find you sobbing over the book.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, you don’t have to remember,” he assured you.

“I do remember. Oh my god, it was beautiful. Even with those stupid cameras, it was the best day of my life,” you cried.

“Mine too,” he said. “The reception was great. You remember how Charlie was cuttin’ it up on the dancefloor?”

“I don’t know if I want to,” you laughed. 

It’d been a little over a year since the accident, and while your memory wasn’t completely back to where it had been, you remembered enough, especially how much you loved Elvis and he loved you. It was the push he needed to reevaluate his life. He began considering his career again, touring in a way that wasn’t as physically demanding as his previous schedules had been, and he sure as hell would never step foot in the International again.

The most important part of it all, however, was you. Music was his passion, and he wanted to get on stage again and connect with his fans, who’d been unbelievably supportive of him and you through his career hiatus, but he’d only do it if you were on board. He was a bit apprehensive when he sat you down to share his idea, but you were encouraging, reminding him that he could tell you anything.

“Now, this is just an idea, and it completely depends on you, but I was thinkin’ of tourin’ again,” he said, a smile spreading across his face at your excitement. “I’m not goin’ without you, though, so whenever you’re clear with the doctor, we’ll start plannin’.”

“That sounds great,” you agreed. “I’d absolutely love that.”

“Before we do that, though, I was wonderin’—I know our wedding wasn’t exactly what either of us had in mind. I was thinkin’ maybe we could go to Hawaii, just us, back to where it all started and renew our vows,” he said, almost as if he was nervous, that for some reason you’d answer anything but yes. “Whattya say? Finally have the wedding we both wanted?”

You couldn’t help the tears that began streaming down your face as you nodded, throwing your arms around him to give him a sweet and tender kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing you again.

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