#the second half is something i saw today from THE SAME FUCKING BLOG

[public-trans-it-deactivated20240]

Listen, if you go digging through a transfemmes blog, looking for reasons to cancel her, and then find a post about her lusting after trans men and prop that up as evidence that she is transphobic and all trans women are predators, then you are quite frankly being incredibly transphobic and are playing into a callout based culture that has a history of prosecuting trans women just for the crime of existing.

However, if you go digging through a transmascs blog and find a post about him lusting over trans women? That is clear evidence that he is a predator, and it is your responsibility to take up a torch and pitchfork and rally a crowd to warn everyone about this dangerous person that no one is safe around. For the children.

[ur-urmom]

I just read your first work for Carlisle and I absolutely loved it!!! 😭❤️👌🏽 Maybe... could you write a second part? It's okay if you don't though!! I can't wait to read more of your works and I feel honoured to have found your blog! ❤️❤️❤️

ahhhh you’re so sweet thank you!! I am so glad to hear you liked it! I’m more than happy to write a second part, the first part is my most liked fic so it’s only right :D

I also did not know that Carlisle’s physical age is 23, but for the sake of this story we’ll say his physical age is like 30 or something 😭

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Okay, That Hurt - Pt. 2 - Carlisle x Reader

(Part 1)

Genre - cute fluff stuff, possibly implied spice (not smut)

Warnings - cussing, age gap, implied spicy time

Summary - after the little accident with the demonic stairs, it’s about time Y/N get their cast off. However, that means the same certain doctor will be there to help with that, and he’s determined to see Y/N again, but this time somewhere outside of the hospital without a broken bone or any other injury.

Today is the day, people! Today is the day!

Not only do I finally get my cast off on this fine afternoon, but I get to see Dr. Carlisle Cullen once more. Oh, how my heart has been swooning over him since I left the hospital that first time! Sure it was only about a month and a half ago, but damn have I been utterly tempted to just ‘accidentally’ fracture my ankle, or maybe slip on those same demonic stairs again… definitely not on purpose though.

I feel like a high school student again, one that has a stupid, innocent crush on their teacher that they know nothing will ever come out of it. But, still, it’s fun to remember how a little infatuation feels.

It’s been too long since I’ve had someone — well, someone who’s actually real and not fictional — make me all giddy and giggly and shit. I think about him and start twirling my hair, kicking my feet, and biting my lip with a turn of excitement in the pit of my belly.

Do I know that nothing is gonna happen? Yes. Yes I do.

Am I still gonna pretend like that man is gonna be my future husband? Yes. Yes I am.

I was putting on my shoes when I took a quick look at the time. It was one o’clock. I still had another hour before I needed to be at the hospital. I wanted to try and pass the time so I wouldn’t be on the verge of throwing up from how nervous I was from seeing Dr. Cullen again. It’s all fun and games until you actually have to be next to the object of your affection in person.

“Let’s go bother Bella.” I whispered to myself while I got up from my seat and began putting on my coat by the entrance. Turning the knob, I walked out and closed the door behind me. I glanced at the cars in her driveway. Her truck was there, but another car that I didn’t recognize was too. “Edward.” I finally decided that’s who it was. It couldn’t be Charlie, he was at work.

I did end up meeting Edward a while ago, he’s a good guy, maybe a tad bit eccentric, but Bella really likes him so I guess I do as well.

I really like his dad, that’s for sure.

Making my way to the steps, I came to an abrupt stop as I remembered my previous accident with them. Inspecting the stairs for any unseen slippery ice, I had come to the conclusion that it should be safe.

“Yeah… fuck you.” I flipped off the step in particular that had tried to kill me. My feet made contact with the ground, and I let out a small breath of relief that I didn’t even know I was holding. Crossing my yard into Bella���s, I went to her front door and knocked with my good arm a couple of times. I waited a few with no answer, so I decided to repeat my actions. On my third knock, the door opened and Bella stood in front of me. I gave her a smile and a wave, and my eyes glanced past her to Edward. I saw that his hair was kind of a mess, and when I looked back at Bella, I noticed her shirt’s top buttons were undone.

My eyebrows raised a little, and my mouth formed an O shape before I started giggling like a little kid.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” My smile only grew bigger.

Bella’s eyes looked everywhere but me, her hand running through her hair and she kept it on the back of her head as she stuttered out, “N-no, no not at all. Come in.” She bit her lip as she stepped to the side for me to walk through.

I did, looking at Edward and the tiny grin on his features.

“You might have interrupted a little something.” He spoke, his gaze not leaving his flustered girlfriend, to which she gave him a very noticeable glare, almost as if telling him to shut up with her eyes.

“Aw darn it, my bad guys!” I apologized again. “I just wanted to pop in and say hello before I went to my appointment to get this son of a bitch off.” Pointing to my cast, I kept talking. “But I promise I’ll leave soon so you two can get back to your foreplay.”

My words only made Bella even more shy, but I did get a chuckle from Edward before he spoke up.

“Oh yeah, my dad can’t wait to see how it’s healed.”

All jokes about the happy couple immediately left my mind as images of Carlisle replaced them. I felt my face heat up at the thought of him somehow looking forward to our — professional — meeting today.

“Ah… what, he’s asked about me?” I tried to play off my butterflies.

“Every time Bella comes over.”

I looked at her, and she was nodding her head in agreement with her hands in her pant’s front pockets.

“…Which is all the time.” Edward finished.

I lightly coughed, trailing my finger along a dusted item to do anything with my hands except fiddle with them.

“Hm, good to know he cares about his patients.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning ear to ear. “Makes me feel more comfortable in his care.”

“I don’t think it’s just that.” The pale boy voiced.

“Yeah, like… you’re the only patient he’s asked about so frequently like this… or ever.” Bella awkwardly stated.

I blinked.

“C’mon guys, it’s only because you two know me. He’s only being courteous, yeah?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean, do you know how many times Mike has hurt himself? We know him and Carlisle never asks about his injuries.”

“…Maybe he’s not very fond of Mike?” I was more so asking myself that in order to keep my composure. Sure, the idea of Carlisle actually being interested in me is absolutely exhilarating… however it’s quite terrifying in reality.

An older man who is the town’s favorite doctor and has kids that are very close to the age of my own? Given they’re adopted, but still.

How would society — the community — react to that?

Innocent flirting is always fun, but when there’s actual intentions behind it? I might need to rethink my feelings.

When neither of them answered, I took that as my sign to go ahead and get to the hospital and have this over with as quickly as I can.

“Alright, well, I’ve gotta get going, but I’ll let you guys know how it goes and what the verdict is.” I smiled. I gave Bella a small hug and waved bye to Edward before I saw myself out.

The chilly air hit my face like a brick, and I took a deep breath as I rubbed my hands together in an attempt to get them warm. I had grabbed my keys before I went next door, so I just walked to my car and got in. Starting it, I kept thinking about what they said about Carlisle. Needless to say, I’m about a hundred times more anxious than I was before, but I’m just gonna blame the coffee I had earlier for the upset stomach I was beginning to get.

My mind was racing as I drove to the hospital. I’m not gonna lie, I was driving like five miles below the speed limit. I was gonna be a little early anyway, so it’s okay. The fact that I was so excited to see his angelic face again when I thought there was no chance he would like me, but now that I know there might be a possible chance that he does I am dreading this interaction.

I can’t get too hopeful. Maybe he really is just a caring doctor who just so happens to be asking about me a lot more than his other patients. Yeah, that’s it.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I must have sat there for a good three minutes before finally getting out.

“Okie dokie. Let’s get this thing off… that’s what I’m here for… nothing else.”

I stepped inside and made my way to the front desk to a woman sitting behind the counter.

“Uh, hi! I have an appointment with Dr. Cullen for removing my cast.”

“Name please.” The woman didn’t even look at me.

“…Y/N L/N.”

“Have a seat and someone will call you to the back when it’s time.” Not even a glance my way.

“Um. Okay.”

I did as told and sat in one of the chairs, ignoring the fact that the lady could’ve been a little nicer or something, she could’ve at least made eye contact with me… but no need to dwell on that. If people wanna be negative there’s nothing I can do about it.

I heard the doors to the back open, and when I looked up I saw a nurse come out.

“L/N?”

Shit shit shit shit.

“Yup!” I got up.

“How are you today?” She asked, a smile on her face. Much different from the woman at the front.

“I’m good! I’ll be a lot better once this thing is off.”

“Oh, I bet! You’ll be walking out of here with a brand new arm!” She laughed. I followed her to the back and she had me sit down on the edge of one of the beds. “Alright, well Dr. Cullen will be with you in a moment.” And with that she was on her way.

All I could do is wait in anticipation now.

It’ll be a quick process, there’s nothing to worry about. Hell, maybe I’ll even throw in another wink when I leave like the last time.

Honestly? Maybe I’ll shoot my shot! There’s nothing to lose, and the age gap isn’t even that big…

I don’t think, anyway.

The curtain to my section was pulled shut, so when the light sound of footsteps could be heard getting closer to me I couldn’t help but adjust how I was sitting. I straightened my posture and fixed my hair even though it didn’t need fixing. I was expecting the curtain to open and Carlisle in all of his glory to step in with his pearly whites showing and that glint in his eyes, but when the footsteps got close enough to enter, they turned a corner and faded out.

I slouched back down in disappointment and relief. That was until the curtains suddenly got pulled back at the speed of fucking light. I jumped up, startled and a small gasp escaping my lips.

And of fucking course it was the one and only Carlisle Cullen.

“Fucking hell, fuck me— god damn you scared me!” I muttered the first part, my heart pounding and my blood rushing. He let out a hearty laugh, closing the hanging fabric again.

“Sure, if you’d like.” The words absentmindedly left his mouth. I was confused at first, until I had realized what he was replying to. The blood that was rushing from a sudden fright was now rushing due to his flustering response. He turned around to face me now, and he was just as gorgeous if not more than the last time I saw him. “How have you been?”

"Oh... um, I've been okay! Getting by as well as I can with this stupid thing." I said, lifting up the wrist I idiotically broke. "Hopefully the doc has some good news for me though."

"The doc is about to have a look..." Carlisle's features changed from amusement to concentration as his gaze traveled across my face, making his way down to what I thought would be my cast, but his attention passed my injury and kept lowering... and lowering... until he finally started to go upwards again.

Is it just me or is it getting hot in here? I felt the heat rise to my chest, neck, ears, literally everywhere as his eyes scaled my entire being. It felt like he was checking me out, not looking me over. Either way, it's getting a little hard to breathe.

"You look great... healthy."

Yeah, obviously. I only had a small concussion, a few scrapes on my arm, and this dumb ass fragile bone that snapped.

He has to be doing this on purpose.

"Thank y—...ou." My breathing completed haltered, my words coming to a stop followed by an embarrassing linger when his hand gently grasped my jaw, his thumb on my chin as he tilted my head side to side.

His touch was still as cold as I remembered, a strange yet comforting feeling.

Just as I thought he was done, his free hand found my forehead, his fingers brushing away the hair that rested there and his face getting closer to mine... to get a better look I'd assume.

I could feel his breath on my cheek, and I was wondering if he could hear how fast my heart was beating. When he finally backed away, a tiny cough that I couldn't hold escaped. God, I hope he doesn't ask why my face is so red, because the way I was feeling right now It couldn't be anything but.

His gaze held my own for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Well, it looks like your concussion is gone."

…Yeah, I figured.

"Now, let's get this ugly bastard off shall we?" Carlisle pulled up the rolling seat right in front of me and a cart with everything he needed was sat beside us in his reach. Without warning, he took ahold of my covered arm and adjusted it to his liking, propping it on the empty space on the top of the cart. He grabbed the saw tool that looked like it was meant to be a torture weapon in a horror movie and held it up. Looking at me with a sweet smile, he said, "Don't worry, the worst you'll feel is a tickle."

I nodded to tell him I understood, and he turned it on. He started cutting, and he was definitely right. I couldn't help the small giggles leaving my lips as the vibrations from the cast saw tickled my entire arm. Dr. Cullen grinned at my laughs, still concentrating on removing the plaster. Once he was done, he slowly removed it. I saw the inside and immediately cringed.

"That is so gross..." I muttered.

"I've seen worse." Carlisle stated. "Trust me... you've done pretty good taking care of it!" His cold touch gently held my wrist up and he started moving it. It felt weird, I knew it was just because I hadn't moved it in a while, but at least there was no pain. "There we go, back to normal!"

I slowly took over, and after inspecting it I had come to the conclusion that everything was fine.

"Yeah... I guess you're right." I jokingly tried to question his experience.

"You guess? I have a degree."

"Oh do you?"

It was silent for a few seconds, our eyes never breaking contact before the two of us broke out into a fit of laughs and chuckles. Our excitement died down, and I jumped up now that it was over with.

"Thank you, Carlisle! I'll try not to break any more bones for you." I grinned at him. He mimicked my features. Sadly, I was about to wish him a farewell, that is until he spoke before I got the chance to.

"There's something else you could do for me too, if you don't mind."

My brows raised just the slightest bit in curiosity.

"What's that?" I asked, expecting him to tell me to wrap myself in bubble wrap, or tell Bella he says hi, but both of those guesses were farther than far off.

"Go out with me?... Tonight?"

Oh, wow.

"I get off in a few hours, I'll pick you up. 6:30?" He continued, a hopeful glint in those beautiful fucking eyes of his.

"Um..." I started. My mind was jolting forward to things people might say, how they would view this, what would actually come out of this. So many things that I didn't need to worry about kept jumbling around in my head. But that's what they were, things I didn't need to worry about. "Yeah. Yeah!" My hesitancy dissipating as I realized the opportunity I had here. "Let me give you my address." I was beaming.

Carlisle's face lit up even more than mine. "No need! I know where Bella lives, so I know where you live."

Oh yeah, forgot about that.

I bit my lip in a silly attempt to stop smiling any wider than I already was before he had to stitch my mouth back to normal.

"Perfect!... I'll see you at 6:30, doc." I giddily waved goodbye as I exited the curtained room. I didn't give him a chance to say anything else, mainly because if I stayed there any longer I thought I would drop dead from excitement, anxiety, and how hot he was. At least there would have been a doctor in the room.

I guess Bella and Edward were right to think he might have liked me as more than a patient, but now I have to figure out what the heck I’m gonna wear tonight.

When I left the hospital and got inside of my car, I let out an ecstatic scream. As soon as I get home I have to tell Bella, and I was hoping Edward would be gone by now. I think it would be a little awkward having me excitedly ramble on about how Carlisle and I are going on a date when his son would be in the same room listening to how his dad asked me out.

Adoptive dad, but like I said, still.

Leaving the parking lot, I practically floored it back to the house. As I was pulling into my drive, I noticed both of the cars that were in front of Bella’s place were gone.

“They both left? In separate cars?” I was confused as hell, but who am I to question these things. Edward was a strange man… and so was his family, but I’m literally going on a date with his father so I can’t say anything. Maybe I can pinpoint just what makes them so… well, unique, tonight.

Before I got out of the vehicle, I looked at the time. A little after three. Okay, I have a bit over three hours to get ready, that’s plenty of time. Though, I do need to be ready earlier just in case, so maybe I have about two hours and a half.

I rushed inside of the house, slamming the door shut behind me and speed walking my way to the bathroom while simultaneously taking off pieces of my clothing so I could take a shower now that my cast was off. I tossed them on the floor as I went along, I'll pick them up later.

What if he wants to come inside afterwards... or before? I also have to clean and make sure everything looks nice in here too, because that is a possibility.

Oh god... what if...

What if he wants to come inside, if you catch my drift.

Whatever, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

If we get there.

Once again, my mind was going over a billion scenarios that could happen tonight. I definitely wasn't doing any favors by easing my anxiety.

Before I knew it, time flew by and the last thing I needed to do was pick an outfit. I had straightened up my place enough to where it would look good but not like I was doing too much. My hair was nice, and I touched up any blemishes that might could be seen. Now, the wow factor. The clothes.

I needed to figure out whether I was going for more casual, fancy, comfy, or something else. I could do a mixture? I'm not sure what to expect from this, where we're going and all of that.

That's why I settled for something casual, but a nice casual, so it would be alright for any occasion that wasn't the red carpet or an award winning program.

By the time I got done, it was seventeen minutes before 6:30. To say I was nervous was an understatement, but I was excited too. I was practically walking around in circles pacing all over the place waiting for a knock on the door or the bell to ring. I didn't wanna sit down because I would could wrinkle my outfit, and the moment I sat down would probably be the moment he arrived. I walked to the kitchen and fixed myself a glass of ice water to help ease my nerves. The chill ran down my throat to my spine, and I let out deep breathe through my nose. I stared at the rim of the glass and the ice floating around in the water before taking another sip.

When I did that, the sound of a few thumps from the door came and I jumped. The water I was swallowing in the process shifted the wrong way, and I was met with a fit of coughs from the sudden startle. I was trying to hold them in, and I took another quick sip to chase it.

I'm just glad Carlisle didn't have some kind super hearing to understand what just happened to me from across the threshold, how embarrassing would that be if he heard?

I jogged to the door and stood there for a few seconds to regain any composure I had lost. With a little pat on the back, I opened it.

Carlisle stood on the other side with a smile on his face and one hand behind his back. I hadn't seen him in anything but his scrubs and coat before, so when I saw him dressed in a button down and slacks I couldn't help but stare.

"You look good too." He spoke, breaking me from my trance.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"No need to apologize! Why wouldn't I want to get ogled by someone as beautiful as you?" He pulled his hand out from behind his back to reveal a spectacular bouquet of flowers. "They reminded me of you." He handed them to me with my mouth dropped in surprise.

Talk about old fashioned romance. I'm drooling for this man.

I sniffed them, and of course they smelled absolutely delightful.

"Thank you, Carlisle! They're gorgeous!" I beamed, trying to identify what kind each flower was since it was an assorted bouquet. He pointed to one that was drooping, the only one that was drooping for a matter of fact.

"I got this one specifically, because it had the stooping flower. I thought it could represent your broken wrist."

That drew out a hearty chortle from me.

"I love them, thank you!" I went back inside and left the door open to put these in a vase before we left. "You're welcome to come inside if you'd like, but I'll just be a jiffy!"

He decided to wait right there as I continued to situate the flowers. When I was done, I put them on the kitchen table and hurried back to him. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me, locking it.

"So what do you have planned, doc?" We walked to his car parked on he side of the road in front of the driveway.

"Come on now, what fun is it if I tell you?" He picked up his pace to open the passenger side door for me. I giggled, thanking him in the process.

"Such a gentleman." I said, getting in the seat. I looked at him as I grabbed the seatbelt. He had one hand on the top of the door and the other holding himself up on the side of the car. Then, he winked at me as he pushed it shut. I watched as he walked around the car to the drivers side and got in. "And I thought chivalry was dead."

"...In a way." He muttered, but I couldn't tell what he said.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." He smiled at me as he started the ignition and drove. I didn't think anything of it.

"I'm really excited for tonight, ya know." I spoke. "If I'm being honest, I've had a small crush on you since you put my cast on."

"I know." Carlisle glanced at me and grinned.

"Wait, what? How?"

"Just had a feeling." He replied. "And I'm glad I was right, because I've had a big crush on you ever since I put your cast on."

I knew we were going on a date right now, and he's the one who asked me out, but hearing him say that he's liked me the same time I've liked him is just mind boggling to me. We talked for a bit more before we made it into downtown, and he parked.

"Okay, it's a downtown date?" I looked around from the window. There were tea lights in the trees which lit up the night sky, it was a really pretty sight, one of the reasons I loved going downtown at this time.

"I hope that's okay, I'd love to spoil you tonight. Every night, if you'd let me."

Swoon.

Carlisle didn't give me a chance to answer, he exited the car and went to my side to let me out. He held out his hand once he opened the door, and I took it immediately.

"If this is how you treat your potential lovers, I don't think I'll ever want to leave your side." I joked. He gently pulled to help me stand, and when I stood up from getting out, the proximity of our bodies were a lot closer than I had anticipated.

"That's the plan." He whispered, but we were so close I heard it loud and clear. Our eyes met, and I looked for anything that indicated any sort of distrust in his gaze, but all I saw was longing and affection. I felt myself starting to get flustered, so I broke contact and stepped back, thankful that the air was chilly enough to cool down any heat I started to feel from him.

"Where should we go first?" I changed the subject, looking at all of the different shops in both directions. Stepping on the sidewalk, Carlisle followed me.

"Wherever you want to go." He suggested.

"Well I don't want to go into a store that you'd rather not go in." I started, but in response he started to laugh.

"Thank you, but if you're happy, I'm happy. Wherever you'd like to go, I'd like to go."

"...You're too sweet." I looked at him. Without asking, I took his arm in mine and held it with my hands while I guided him down the walkway. "What about the bookstore first?"

"That sounds lovely."

We entered the shop, and the atmosphere was cozy and warm. There were chairs at the front to sit and read, the lights glowed an amber hue, and the smell was a nice mixture of oakwood and new and old books alike. The man at the counter greeted us, to which we waved and smiled back. I walked to my favorite section with Carlisle beside me and started browsing.

"What's your favorite genre?" I asked, stopping my search to turn my attention to him.

"I'm fond of historical nonfiction."

"Oh, really? I would have assumed medical books are your forte... like stuff on anatomy. Or maybe romance."

"Why would I read about anatomy when I could study yours?"

I was not expecting those words to leave his mouth. My brows raised in shock and I quickly turned my face back to the stories I was looking at so he wouldn't see the intense blush starting to show. I wasn't quite sure what to say, until one book caught my eye and I pulled it off the shelf.

"Ooo! What's this?" I read the title. "Eternity's Love... interesting." I was skimming over the back to see what it was about. "Listen to this! It's a paranormal romance about a vampire and a human... I do love me some vampires."

“Oh? Why?”

“Hm, they’re mysterious and hot.”

“They drink blood.”

“…To each their own.”

I put the book back and made my way down the isle, not seeing the tiny smirk on Carlisle’s face. We ended up staying in the store for another fifteen minutes, and after he made me pick out something to get when I was reluctant to have him pay — which he still did — we went to our next spot, the antique store.

There were a lot of little trinkets I was excited to look at, and if I weren’t mistaken, it seemed like Carlisle was more excited to look at me rather than the objects displayed in front of us. I picked up a few things throughout the store, inspecting them and placing them back in their rightful spots. I would practically point to almost anything I found and say, “Carlisle, look!” to which he would continue to explain what it was, which time period it was from, and what it was used for, almost as if he’s lived through them before and used those very items.

“This is beautiful.” I gasped, gently grabbing an old music box with the handle on the side to wind. I turned it, and although it was a bit scratchy due to its age, the music began to play and it was gorgeous. I didn’t know what the melody was, but it was soft and romantic. “I wonder what the story behind this one is.”

Carlisle looked at me while I went on.

“Maybe a courageous sailor gave it to his weeping lover right before he went to sea. Or maybe it was a gift to a little child from their parents, or an heirloom of some sorts. So many different possibilities, and somehow it ended up here, in my hands right now.”

“Regardless the story, now it’s your turn to make your own with it.” He spoke, taking it from my hands and walking to the register.

“…I could’ve payed.” I said to myself underneath my breath, he was already ringing it up and wrapping it before I went over there. “Let me buy you something.” I told him as we grabbed the bag and exited the shop. The chill from the air hit my face, and I subconsciously — well, maybe consciously — moved closer to him.

“You being with me tonight is enough already.” He smiled, taking my hand in his. His touch was still ice cold, but I blamed it on the weather outside. I felt bad that he was spending his money on me, but when I saw the sign for the coffee shop I lit up.

“I’ll buy us coffee! Or whatever you prefer! It’ll warm us up.” Beaming, I pulled him inside before he could resist. We were instantly met with the wonderful aromas of coffee, tea, spices, and everything else so great about a coffee shop.

There was another couple ordering in front of us, so we stood off to the side to look at the chalkboard of flavors hanging on the wall.

“Thank you, Y/N, but I don’t drink coffee… or tea.”

“I can buy you hot chocolate?”

“I’m okay, really, thank you for the offer.”

“…What do you drink then?”

He stared off to the side to think before bursting out into a mischievous grin, saying, “Blood red wine.”

I giggled with a roll of my eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” I asked again, stepping to order now that the other couple had just left. He nodded his head, and with a disappointed sigh I told the boy at the register what I’d like. I decided to get a honey lavender chai tea latte. He rang it up and told me my total, but when I was getting out my card, Carlisle had already handed him his.

“Carlisle!” I protested.

“It’s only right that I pay for yours since I’m not getting anything.”

I furrowed my brows in genuine annoyance, which he definitely saw.

“Hey! I’ll let you buy me something on our next date.” He took his card back.

“So you wanna go on another date?” I perked up, and we waited for my drink to be made.

“Of course I do.”

His words caused me to break out into a shy smile, and I bit my lip in an attempt to keep it from growing bigger.

Once I was handed my latte, we left the store and walked to a bench close to the car. I sat down next to Carlisle and started sipping, the hot liquid traveling down my throat and immediately warming me up. I was staring off at the other side of the street at the lights in the trees, but from the corner of my eye I saw Carlisle staring at me.

“It’s really pretty, isn’t it?” I turned my head to him. The side of his face glowed a golden hue from the lights, and his eyes twinkled while his gaze met mine. He truly looked angelic.

“Yeah, it is.” He replied.

I had a feeling he was talking about something else.

We stayed there for a bit until the wind picked up and my cup was empty. I threw it away and we got in the car to leave, but of course he opened the door for me again. We talked about a lot of things on the drive back, and when he pulled into my driveway I couldn’t help but think about how I really didn’t want this night to end.

“Gosh, I don’t even wanna get out of the car.” I let out a chuckle.

“You know you don’t have to.” He stated. I looked at the time, and saw that it was 8:30. I had work in the morning, and so did he.

I sighed, taking a few seconds to think before I finally unbuckled and quickly opened the door to leave with my bags with the stuff he got for me. Carlisle followed, upset that I opened my own door.

“I was supposed to do that!”

I laughed, getting my keys out and stopping in front of my door with Carlisle beside me. I turned to him, a small smile on my features.

“I had a really nice time tonight.” I said to him.

“Yeah, me too.” He replied. “I’m thinking we do this again… say, in about—…” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes?”

“Oh yeah, okay.” I giggled at his joke. He was looking at me with something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite catch, but it was enough to send butterflies to my stomach. “Well, I—…” My voice trailed off when I saw him lean in and felt his lips on my forehead, my face now adorned with a blush. When I thought that was it, he moved down to the tip of my nose and placed a light kiss on top of it. The lower he got, the faster my heart was beating. His lips were finally in front of my own, and his eyes were on mine. We were so close, he was hovering in front of me, waiting, almost as if searching for consent. I gave a slight nod, and felt his lips gently press against mine.

My eyes closed, and hopefully his did too. I leaned into the kiss, and was happy when he did the same. Both of his hands cupped my face, and I felt my stomach twist with excitement. It was sweet, romantic, but unfortunately it was short. He pulled away and rested his forehead on mine.

“Ya know, you’re welcome to come in. I can make us some popcorn and we can watch a movie.” I whispered, my eyes fluttering open again. To my dismay, he moved completely now and stepped back.

“I would love to, but I think you need to rest.”

As if he willed it, a yawn was conjured and my mouth stretched open to let it out.

“…Maybe you’re right.” I frowned. He took my keys from my hand and unlocked the door for me before opening it. I walked past him inside, and then turned to him again. “Let me know when you get home?”

“Of course.” He gave me another kiss on the forehead, then started walking back to his car. When he was to the driver’s side, he stopped and looked at me. “Get some sleep. Doctor’s orders!”

I grinned, nodding my head with a wave of my hand as I shut the door and locked it. I turned around and pressed my back against the wood, and I heard his car turn on and him leaving. I couldn’t believe the events that had just unfolded, I was smiling like a freak, all giddy. I was still against the door when I suddenly heard the house phone ringing. I hurried to pick it up and answered it, but before I could even say hello, Bella’s voice spoke from the other line.

“Am I mistaken, or… did I just see Carlisle leaving your house?”

“Bella, hey!”

I was beaming as I replayed the events that happened in the last couple of hours in my mind. It looks like I had a long story to tell before I could follow the doctor’s orders tonight.

———————————

I hope it’s alright that I tag the people who asked for a pt. 2 in the comments of the first part!

not proofread, sorry if there are any typos!

@victorianhorrors @emmettcullenswife @twilightlover2007 @cudan2

[winderlylandchime]

Hello! I am coming to you with Christmas/reveal update: So first of, Merry Christmas, i hope you had a lovely day. And second: yesterday my day started with my brother waking up probably the whole neighborhood by blasting Christmas music and then he immediately forced me to open presents. His “bad present” to me btw was my own candle that was already half used. So that made me fell a bit better about his present. Let’s get to the thing we all care about, btw i was so fucking nervous, it’s actually ridiculous even though I knew he wouldn’t freak out. Anyway: he opened his present and saw the shirt and he started laughing so much and was like ‘oh fuck i can’t wait to wear this to my check up on Wednesday’ and then he found the note… and he stared at it and then looked at me, looked at the note, looked back at me and went ‘isnt that the site that banned porn?’ Out of all things i thought he’d say, that one wasn’t even near the list. And i was like ‘yeah, im sorry. Originally i just wanted to tell the person how you started watching it and how she kinda had something to do with it and then it just kind of…blew up and other people wanted to hear your thoughts’ and he looked at me surprised and went ‘people…as in plural..*looks at me almost a bit scared* so like…do they hate my thoughts and me oooorrr would we be friends if we met?’ And then i told him that to my knowledge, he was liked and the look on his face was priceless ngl. And then he went ‘show me the blog’ and i had your blog already pulled up all the way down to the first ever message (which holy shit..i almost feel bad for all the spam, bless your heart for putting up with me) and he spent hours going through them. I’m talking every answer/comment/post.. and when he finished he went ‘damn…i was going through it. I’m so glad I matured since then. But im happy they didn’t witness my season 1 reactions’ (he has not matured. He is still the same minus all the meds. During s1 he threw a bag of candy at the tv when Craig showed up..) after that he told on me to our parents and he started that conversation by saying ‘merry Christmas, hey guess what? I’m famous!’ I got in trouble a LITTLE bit BUT he did defend it with ‘no no guys, you dont get it. I’m famous! To like 5 people but that’s still a lot of people!’ He also called our uncle and was like ‘you made bets on me being gay cause of Brian? That’s messed up bro.’ He spent the entire day going through the messages multiple times and told his friends about it.

And then today he wanted me to send you guys a message in his name and i wanted to die inside. His only order was to type everything he says. So my apologies in advance, he proof read this entire message and still wanted to send it as it was. So without further ado, here’s a message from the man himself:

Should I start with hello or sup? Hi everyone, how are you guys? Hope Christmas didn’t suck for you. Yesterday i found out about this blog and my partial participation in it. So hello, first of all I gotta say: Jinx is fucking cool so I already like the person who runs the blog. Make sure you let them know that. And ask what their favorite drag race moment with Jinx was? Okay, second of all: that photo meme someone made with Kevin Hart being Bri Bri was the best fucking thing I’ve seen in a while, it made me laugh so much. I sent it to all my friends to show them, hope that’s okay. Anyway now to the important shit: I am very happy that I was able to entertain you people throughout the last few months even if it was without my knowledge. I am also 100% very fucking confused about it. I actually thought my reactions were pretty fucking normal and that mom and dad were being dramatic but now being able to go back and see them…i would lie and say it was the meds but my sister clearly provided some other stories so I can’t even lie that I’m usually normal. Whatever. But i am happy to learn that I am not the only one when it comes to being in love with Blondie and Brian. Or the real life versions of them. Although there’s not a lot of them in any behind the scenes stuff or even interviews or photos and my sister told me that that hasn’t changed even now, so what the fuck is up with that? I was ready to reactivate my instagram to keep up with them, only to learn that I got better chance seeing Jesus come back to life than to see them post a fucking photo especially Gale. Kinda fucked up and rude but whatever, I’ll live. I think. Probably not.

Anyway, glad to know we had similar feelings about some stuff and that I’m not alone in thinking Mike and Ben are fucking boring. Felt good to be understood. And I’m happy to know that without my knowledge I was accepted into your little club. I read every answer to my sisters messages and even some, is it comments? Well I read those little notes too and some of them made me laugh and you guys all sound pretty fucking dope. I mean someone all the way from fucking Europe kept up with me? I am so sorry to that person but also that’s so cool.

And I want to say thanks for the well wishes! I saw that at the beginning there were some replies wishing me fast recovery and all that shit, so thanks for that! That’s very sweet of them especially since they don’t know me. Let them know i find out on Wednesday if I can go home next week and that i might get my cast removed. Okay, now i leave them with my farewell message: You guys are cool, thanks for making me a member of the club. I appreciate that a lot. Fandoms are fucking dope cause it’s just bunch of people loving the same thing and isn’t that fucking cool to think about? Just bunch of people coming together because of their love for something. So it’s nice to be in another fandom. I met my best friend cause we both love Iron Man. Hug your homies or whoever you want and pet an animal if you can! And while you’re at it, tell a republican to go fuck themselves. Especially right now. Bye. Let them know I threw a peace sign up at the end.

FRIENDS IF YOU ARE READING THIS GO TO MY BLOG AND READ FROM THE START OF THE MOST RECENT UPDATES BECAUSE THIS IS THE SWEET SWEET FINALE TO THIS CRAZY LITTLE TRIP.

Hello brother anon! (Dear sweet anon, please show him this message). I’m so glad you’ve taken this all with a big heart and a sense of humor. But give what your sister has shared with us and the way you’ve joined your local drag community, I didn’t think you would be super pissed. But you never know. As this is a show that has been off the air for nearly 20 years, the fandom is small and we very rarely get new content (the newest content was 2020) so having your updates via your sister was an incredible breath of fresh air. Thank you from the entire tumblr fandom!

This? This is what it’s about:

Fandoms are fucking dope cause it’s just bunch of people loving the same thing and isn’t that fucking cool to think about? Just bunch of people coming together because of their love for something. So it’s nice to be in another fandom. I met my best friend cause we both love Iron Man. Hug your homies or whoever you want and pet an animal if you can! And while you’re at it, tell a republican to go fuck themselves. Especially right now. Bye. Let them know I threw a peace sign up at the end.

This is what it is all about. Fandom is about the people just as much as the canon on which it is based. We are small but mighty and we are happy and delighted to welcome you with open arms.

My favorite Jinkx moments? Oh god, to have to choose? Ofc her iconic snatch game performances - all stars 7 of course of course but her snatch game as Little Edie on S5… whenever I wash my hair and put it up in a turban I like to go find my spouse (not hard, we live in a 2 bedroom apartment) and quote her line “I can never tell if it’s caviar or giblets for the cats” and I get bonus points if I actually grab a can of cat food for my performance. I’ve gotten to see her live twice - her and Dela’s holiday show in 2019 (I think - or it was 2018) and her most recent one-person show. I am SO EXCITED TO SEE HER IN DOCTOR WHO.

Much love to both of you - Siblings Anon. (makes fist) Ally.

[mybloodyfamousprophets]

Taking the go train out from the city. Running around your friends little suburb that’s a copy paste of everywhere else in the province, but it’s still theirs. Seeing the stars on lake scugog after a half hour drive. Taking a bus and running wild around my hometown seeing all the spots from when i was 6. Wandering around sauga seeing where I could’ve been if I didn’t leave, and what’s changed since I was 13. heading out to niagara, the crumbling tourist trap of a town that was the backdrop to a lot of my dumb kid adventures. The spots in Burlington on the water where i fucked around and met people i never saw again. the abandoned bus stop overlooking the pond behind the university where i smoked and talked with strangers and grew my soul just a little. late night drives on the highway watching the scenery change from houses and offices to the city lights. driving up north and looking at the little ski village and snowed in forest clearing with the biggest eyes you could dream of. fireworks in the night for olympics on the other side of the country that you’ve still never seen. driving to the subway station at the city limits so you could take the train in for a taste of city life years before you moved there. walking out at bloor yonge, or yonge and dundas, or union, tasting a whole different world than kid you was used to, something you could see but never have, until you did, and you got lost in it.

you know this city like the back of your hand but you lose yourself in it every time. or that’s what you try to convince yourself, when you hang around and study or smoke or whatever in the same few spots, because even in this crazy city everything and everyone has to go somewhere. and even when the years pass and the shops get razed for condo buildings, the streets are torn up for a new subway, some things still manage to look the same as they did. when the light shines at the right angle when you’re walking by the right spot, when you see a place you’ve associated with your memories, for a split second you don’t exist in 2023. there hasn’t been a pandemic, you could still try to afford to live here on your own, the radios playing Hold On We’re Going Home, you could see a shadow of those old shops where the new high rises stand, the old bar your parents took you to, these things all come back to life again if only for a moment. but that second is over and all those things really did happen, and you’re standing here in the present surrounded by it all, and you can only see the past like a glimpse of a maintenance sign in a subway tunnel in between stations.

or in old photographs, the ones that survived anyways, memories etched into chemical emulsions and digital files, those old songs are still there, and even if things will never be the same, you can live and feel now with your own perspective while enjoying the good things you can scrape from the past, because ultimately the world exists here today, not in the past or in a photograph, and these songs i write are my experiences in the present as shaped by things in the past, and not everything is a true story because the true stories really aren’t always so pretty to tell, and that’s the art of telling a story anyways, you dramatize it a little to make it engaging to its audience, right? so i get to be a little dramatic and let my pen run free. like that spiritual stranger at the bus stop who preached peace love and harmony, green is an energy of focus and of creating something, and i try to create something, dipping my pen using my heart as the inkwell and putting a little piece of it in the shit that i write on this blog

and so from all of this comes the theme, the story of my life and things that happened along the subway line, the places ive been and memories associated with them, the things that happened in my life that brought me here today. it wouldn’t be in any chronological order but from left to right, i imagine myself starting it off with a melancholy nostalgic guitar or something for Kipling, the start of my adventures, where we kicked off into the city when i was a kid and didn’t live here, coming in with family and all that time spent

i need to write when i think of things because i have things in my head all the time and just never put them anywhere and there’s some things i wanna make before i forget

there’s a post on this account for the stop Jane. i would clean that one up a lot cus it gets nasty and angsty and a little horny by the end of that post and a lot of that needs a cut.

St. George would be a nostalgic ode to the city, it just feels right

christie bathurst spadina could be their own trio with each song telling a different but overlapping part of the story - high school and nostalgia, young queer love, and the breaking apart of it all, when i don’t have so many essays i wanna put pen to paper for these 3

woodbine i get to write nostalgic memories of times at the beach :3

broadview, seeing my first concert, freezing out in the cold and getting a shitty balcony seat but having the best time of my life, tearing up getting to hear drunk drivers and beach life Live, having my own little moment of turning my shit around

probably more that isn’t coming to mind in this second

or not, but i dunno, i have a long ways to go, i still haven’t even recorded anything or picked up a guitar, maybe after exams? (^:

[baekhvuns]

It has just been a month and a half since I got into second year........things alr seem tough 😭. NVM about that, my friends's acquaintance apparently came in handy for this job. Yn job?!?!? Nah frr it reminds of those rom coms 😭😭.

NO HES GOTTA MAKE THE MOVE! But I bet he doesn't even know i fancy him cuz of my tremendous behaviour towards the person I like- PRETEND THEY DON'T EXIST! you will never catch me, and i mean NEVER catch me giving them soft eyes or trying to make a good covo, Bcz my brain says if you find someone attractive act cold towards them and then secretly cry in your room for them to notice when you basically give no clues whatsoever 😃

OHMYGOD NELLY FURTADO?!?! Honestly, I could've given out much better songs! I just forget the artists 😩 WEEKEND IN JUST FRIENDS DANG IT I FORGOT ABT HIM! I'm telling you since the whole the idol show launched, I can never listen to the weekend the same.

I scrolled down a lot on your blog, reading the asks and i saw someone made like vision boards for your fics. And i specifically loved the khronus one 🤌 and I kept tht in mind while thinking of the songs but i forgot it was based on moon lovers 🤦‍♀️

Besides that I've been meaning to ask you about your views on anime. I mean do you watch anime if so what'd be your top picks? Bcz...I'm obsessed with it so ....

Nooo I need a new part of just friends 😭 I'm STARVING FOR IT! The idea of hwayoung automatically popped in my brain when I saw this blog praising Shiloh pitt's visuals and people were going crazy over that oh wow she looks so much like her mother, or like mother like daughter. But ong Shiloh is majestic! Like those genes she acquired from Angelina 🤚🙌✨

I've been meaning to watch red, white and royal blue...(I hope that's the right title!) But I won't get the timeee 😭 like today, I'm doing nothing but I wanna dedicate this day to just my silly little videos on YouTube and not a series or a movie. But I'll try to stay strong!!

Ok but like I really wanna make hwa read the ffs 😭 LIKE PLS SIR!! I'm gonna dm KQ ent a pdf of Duke and general and ask them to MALE THIS A DRAMA! I will in this lifetime, SOMEONE HAS TO DO THT FIC JUSTICE!

reminds you? best friend it IS A YN JOB just wait till the holidays and the movie will start 👀

NO BECAUSE I GET U 😭😭 GOTTA ACT NOT INTERESTED AND MYSTERIOUS CANT LET THE COVER FAIL GDKWHDKW

NELLY FURTADO’S EVERY SONG W TIMBALAND IS FOR JUST FRIENDS (waiting for their new collab omg) AND THE WEEKND YEAH FHWJDHKS no ur right ever since the idol’s clips i saw on twt i just 🫠 what the fuck <3 but if we forget that then the songs def work for runways

omg yes i do!!! i grew up watching it but i mostly only watched shoujo and they stopped making shoujo’s for some reason like 5 years back and i only go to watch those but there’s a few new ones out w the same drawing so im watching them atm! my top picks since i only watched shoujo/slice of life’s would be 1. kamichu, 2. k-on, 3. tamako market, 4. ouran high school, 5. maid sama, 6. orange, 7. kamisama kiss, 8. alice academy, 9. yunerio patisserie!!!!!!! 10. pretty rhythm aurora dream (this was my fav as a kid)

a few others i can think from the top of my head is nana, cardcaptor sakura, SPECIAL A, itazura na kiss, my next life as a villainess, natsume’s book of friends, swan lake (2002), kodocha! if u want recs lemme know ive got a whole collection list 😭😭

ILL DEF LOOK INTO SOMETHING LIKE JUST FRIENDS! NO SHILOH IS LIKE THE PERFECT MIXTURE OF HER PARENTS i get it, id want hwa and yn from just friends to have pretty kids, u know they’d be mad tall 😭😭

that movie is so good!!! i wish it was longer bc i wanted to see more of their progression but it’s a good movie nonetheless!!

LMFAOOOO PLS FHWKDHWKHDWK TAKE THE SMUT OUT RIGHT NOW FHWKHFKWFJWK

[whoabo]

cough syrup and capri-sun

parings: bo burnham x reader.

readers pronouns: she/her.

request: hey there, just found your blog and i absolutely love it! could you please write a fic where reader takes care of bo when he's sick (she/her and current era)? thanks!

warnings: talk about vomit, loopy bo, and grown adults drinking capri-sun.

era: inside/current (2020-21)

a/n: this was requested like weeks ago and in so sorry i’m just getting to it now! please enjoy <3

“babe, i think i coughed a lung up!”

“no, you didn’t, bo.”

“well, it feels like i did.” the man pouted as he slid further into their shared bed. he had recently caught a fever which led to flu like symptoms. luckily for him, he got tested for covid and came back negative.

just a minor case of the flu.

a couching fit from the other side of the bedroom caught y/n attention. she turned around and saw bo hunched over the side of the bed, dry heaving into a small bucket.

“i think i’m actually dying.” he whispered as he sat back up. he turned to his side to look over at his girlfriend, who sat at the desk by the window. she looked back at him, seeing his red cheeks, clammy forehead and the circles around his eyes.

he opened his arms, as if he was inviting her to lay down with him.

“fuck no, babe.”

he pouted as he let his arms fall limp. “maybe, you’ll feel better if you take some cough medicine?”

he widened his eyes, as if he was appalled she would even suggest something like that. he sat up leaning his back against the headboard. lifting his hand and pointing his index finger, he starts to speak.

“shut the fuck up.” he spoke. y/n eyes widened as a small smile fixated on her lips. “you know how much i hate cough syrup. the taste is awful—.”

a small coughing fit interrupted his speech about how much he hates medicine.

she walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, her hand going to play with his hair. she frowned as he looked at her. he had small tears in his eyes from coughing to hard. he leaned forward and tried rest his head on her shoulder, but she pulled away before he could. making him stumble before he caught himself.

he looked over to y/n, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “i love you, bo. but i am not getting sick.”

he grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back down on the bed. bruce jumped onto the bed trying to snuggle up next to the ill man. eventually, bo let him lay next to him and give him soft pats. while murmuring a soft, ‘it’s not the same bruce.’

y/n laughed as she heard him. bo laughed a little too. not very long though, a small cough fit started back up again. she stood up and walked over to him and started patting his back the smallest bit.

he coughed into the sleeve of his stripped sweater. “can you-.” he stopped for a second to take a breath. “can you help me change outta’ this, please? it feels gross now.” he frowned as he sat back against the headboard.

y/n nodded and walked to the closet, grabbing another sweater. when came back out she set the new sweater on the chair in the corner and turned to her boyfriend.

“how about you take a bath?” she asked.

bo shook his head, “i’ll fall asleep and prolly’ drown.”

“okay.. how about just a quick bath? i’ll help you.”

bo agreed and stood up. he gripped her hand as she helped him walk to the tub. he sat on the edge while she filled it with warm water and lavender bath salts that bo bought her.

once ready, she helped him strip down and as carefully as possible sit in the tub. he sighed at the warm feeling against his chest.

bo watched as she lathered up a small loofa. a small and somewhat lazy smile appeared as she started to scrub his back and chest. she lathered his arms and neck.

“do you want me to wash your hair?” she asked rather quietly.

he nodded and leaned back a smidge. as her fingers started to scrub at his scalp, he felt his eyes start to drop.

what seemed like mere seconds later, y/n was waking him up. he squeezed his eyes as he grabbed her hand, feeling his pruned fingers against her smooth skin. she handed him towel that he slowly wrapped around his hips.

his mind was foggy, and he could barely remember y/n practically dressing him. or her leaving the room for a few minutes.

“babe, sit up a little,” she whispered. bo hazily sat against the headboard, what felt like the thousandth time today. “here, drink this.”

with his eyes half way closed, he grabbed the cup from her hands. his head bobbed as he tried to get the cup to his mouth. luckily, y/n grabbed his hand and helped him lift the cup. he closed his eyes as it reached his mouth.

“ah, fuck! honey, what the fuck!” his eyes widened as he tasted .. cough syrup.

y/n laughed as she looked at him. she reached over and plugged his nose and told him to swallow. he tried to shake her hand off but to no avail.

she groaned as she continued to kept her hand plugging his nose. “swallow it, robert!”

“nuh uh, you kinky bitch!” he spoke to his best ability with his mouth open, trying not to let the cough syrup go down.

“bo! drink it, now!” she raised her voice the slightest bit.

he finally agreed and swallowed. he made a noise of disgust after.

she rolled her eyes and reached at the bedside table. “here,” she handed him a capri-sun pouch, with the straw already poked in. “drink this to wash it down, you big baby.”

he grabbed the pouch and sipped at it. his eyes closed involuntary as y/n hand started to play with his hair. it was something she did that always made him relax.

he smiled and held out the pouch to her. “do you want some?” he asked rather sleepily— loopy if you will.

she shook her head and continued to play with hair, hoping it will make him knock out soon. “no, i’m okay, baby. you drink it.” she smiled as he started sipping it again.

“how do feel?” she asked.

“a li’l better.. tired though. sleep next to me.” his eyes were practically fully shut as he slurred his words. she grabbed the juice pouches and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. he naturally moved his body to the side, but not fully falling asleep til he felt y/n next to him.

he fought to keep his eyes open as he watched her walk to the closet, and change into her pajamas. eventually, she slid into the comforter next to him.

she sighed as bo moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting his head on top of hers.

“if i get sick, you better take care of me.”

“yeah, honey.” he whispered before soft snores filled the room.

she closed her eyes as her head moved on its own to his chest. her own arm went under his, putting them in a hugging like position.

when the two awoke, bo did feel a lot better. but that all changed when y/n started coughing.

bo smiled sheepishly, “i’ll go grab the cough syrup and capri-suns.”

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 23}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta was torn.

Half of her thought that Cassian was overreacting, but the other half of her thought that his anger and frustration was perfectly justified.

What exactly were they getting into? And, was it what was best for Nyx? Yeah, the last month had been great, but if it didn’t work out, what would that mean for him? Would it be better if she and Cassian had simply remained two friends, co-parenting under one roof?

Nesta’s heart began to beat a little faster.

She felt like she was going into a panic attack.

Cassian and Nyx had been gone for an hour, and every second that passed became more and more unbearable.

She needed him to be there.

She needed to figure this out.

She just didn’t know what the answer was.

Alis had gotten into her head, there was no doubt about that. A little over an hour ago, she was living in a dream, then Alis came in, out of nowhere, and brought her back to reality.

She was sitting on the couch, almost exactly where he’d left her, when he finally returned. He was covered in sweat, his t-shirt sticking to him. Nyx was having a conversation with him, more to himself though, since it didn’t seem like Cassian was even close to paying attention to him. But his eyes went directly to Nesta as soon as he walked in.

She’d changed. She no longer wore his t-shirt, instead in a loose shirt of her own and a pair of jeans, and her hair was loose and wet around her face. As if she’d need to shower their night together, shower him off of her. Not a shred of that beautiful skin was showing, not like she’d been doing lately. Leggings and shorts and tank tops. She’d been comfortable around him.

With a scoff, Cassian set Nyx down on the floor. He headed for the stairs, but Nesta stood, nearly toppling the cup of coffee she’d been clutching over as she set it on the coffee table. “Cassian, we need to talk about this.”

He paused, waving a hand towards her. “What for? It looks like you’ve already made your decision.”

“I need you to calm down,” she said, steadily. “I need you to think logically.”

Cassian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I need you to tell me.”

Nesta hesitated. “Tell you what?”

“If this is something you want to pursue or if I just wasted the last couple months falling in love with you,” he finished.

His voice may have lacked emotion, but Nesta felt every word like a stab in the chest. Falling in love with you. Those were the words she was going to tell him today, under much different circumstances.

Now, she didn’t know what to think.

Now, she was overwhelmed.

Now, all of her thoughts were rushing toward the same spot in the middle of her skull at a thousand miles an hour, and when they got there, her head would explode.

“It’s not that easy,” she said, and her voice cracked.

“But it should be,” Cassian said. “If you feel the way that I do, it should be that easy.”

“We have to think of Nyx,” she breathed.

“I am thinking of Nyx,” he said, struggling to keep his voice low. At the sound of his name, the baby turned to look at him. “I want him to grow up in a happy home, seeing two people who love each other, and damn it if that isn’t how it’s been for the past few weeks.”

“It’s not that simple,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “What happens if we break up? What happens if we get in a fight or something happens to one of us? What then?”

He had strode down the stairs and was in front of her before he could stop himself. He framed her face in his hands, like he had so many times the past month, to kiss her, to make love to her, to show her how he cared for her. “Why are you worrying about the what if’s? Why are you worrying about what could go wrong, rather than how right everything has been?”

Because everything goes wrong eventually. The only reason we’re together is because we were shoved into this house after the worst thing imaginable happened. They died. We took over. What right do we have to be happy?

The words flooded her mind, but stilled on her tongue.

Nesta didn’t push him away. She wanted to reach up on her toes and kiss him, softly, but she didn’t.

Instead, she met his gaze. “Cass,” she breathed.

The pain in his eyes nearly shattered her heart into a million pieces.

Nyx had walked up to them and was hugging Nesta’s leg, as if he knew that she needed the comfort.

“Dont say my name like that,” he whispered.

Nesta slowly shook her head. “I just think this has all happened too quickly. We haven’t been thinking, we’ve just been acting-.”

“You’re pushing me away,” Cassian interrupted, swallowing harshly. “Damn it, Nesta.”

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded.

“Because you’re not making sense,” he argued. “Things have been perfect—”

“They’re dead!” She cried, pulling from his grip, scooping Nyx up. “Things have been far from perfect. We’re only like this now because Rhys and Feyre are dead.”

The words seemed to freeze something inside of Cassian and he stepped back as well. “So what? We go back to how we used to be? I’m back in the guest room and we awkwardly exchange good mornings over breakfast?”

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of him, the scent of him, everything. “I don’t know, Cassian, I don’t—.” She took a shuddering breath, her arms wrapping tighter around Nyx. “I just need some time to think, to breathe…”

When she looked back up at him, his jaw was set and he was slowly nodding. “Fine. Take your time.”

And then he was moving, back up the stairs before Nesta could even ask what he was doing.

A few minutes later, he was back with a duffle bag in his hands.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

“Giving you space,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

Nesta opened her mouth but nothing came out. She was frozen where she stood, her feet stuck to the floor, her mouth hanging open, that panic rising from the pit of her stomach into her heart, which was beating far too quickly.

Cassian kissed Nyx on the forehead as he passed, but paid Nesta no mind as he went for the door.

“Cassian!” She called, at last.

Cassian stopped just in front of the door, keeping his back to her, one hand on the doorknob.

“You're just going to leave?” She asked, quietly, bouncing a sleepy Nyx on her hip. “Just like that?”

Cassian didn’t turn around. “Are you going to ask me to stay?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. Nesta said nothing.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he grumbled, exhaustion lacing his tone. “Maybe I need time to think, too.”

He opened the door and shut it softly behind him.

*

He didn’t know where else to go. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He knew where he wanted to be, but right now…

He couldn’t look at her.

It didn’t escape him that when he’d told her he’d fallen in love with her, she didn’t say it back. He couldn’t even act like he hadn’t seen her eyes flare in panic. So he couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t go back to sleeping in that guest room, not when he’d become so used to sleeping with her in his arms every night.

So Cassian had ended up here, knocking on his brother’s door, thankful that his car had been parked in the driveway when he pulled up.

He needed a drink. He needed someone to tell him he was being an asshole. He needed someone to listen while he vented and bitched. He knew Azriel would do all that for him.

When he answered the door, Seph was in his arms, pulling on his bottom lip. She smiled when she saw Cassian, but Azriel’s surprised smile quickly faded.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, looking at the duffel bag tossed over Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

Azriel stared at him for a second before stepping aside and letting Cassian pass.

“Are we talking about this now or later?” Azriel asked, shutting the door behind them.

“Beer?” Cassian asked, dropping his bag beside the couch.

“Fridge,” Azriel said, slowly, watching him.

Cassian made his way to the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door, grabbing a cold bottle and chugging its contents.

Azriel followed, leaning against the countertop and Seph continued to play with his lips.

“Where’s Elain?” Cassian asked, tossing the empty bottle into the trash and getting another.

“Work,” Azriel said, sighing. “So, if this involves smack talking Nesta, you may want to get it out now.”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to do that, barely wanted to think about her. But he owed Azriel at least some explanation.

“The social worker stopped by this morning,” he sighed, leaning back against the counter and opening the beer. “And honestly, yeah, it was unexpected, but I figured it’d be fine. Last time, Nes was drunk off her ass, but we— I figured, since we were more of a family this time, things would be great.”

Azriel blinked. “They’re not taking Nyx, are they?”

Another shake of his head. “No, gods, no. They— She could tell he was in good hands, but she immediately picked up on Nesta and I. What we’ve…become.”

It seemed, just like Cassian, Azriel didn’t see it as a problem. He wasn’t following. “And?”

“And Nyx was hungry so I left the social worker and Nesta alone to get him breakfast. I came back and she’s gone and Nesta is second-guessing our relationship. She asked if I’m just fucking her out of convenience.”

The thought made him sick to his stomach, almost as badly as it hurt his heart.

“And you replied with…” Azriel began, trailing off, waiting for Cassian to finish the sentence.

“I went for a jog,” Cassian said, shrugging.

“So you ran away?” Azriel pushed.

Cassian shot him a look. “No. I went for a jog.”

Azriel sighed. “And when you came back?”

“She said she needed space,” Cassian said, emptying his bottle.

Azriel set Seph on the floor with a plastic spatula, which she instantly start banging on the cabinets. “And that’s when you ran away?”

“I didn’t run,” Cassian snapped. “I gave her what she wanted. I gave her space.”

Azriel slowly shook his head. “Did you even try to talk things out?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, the word clipped. “Told her I was falling in love with her, and guess how she replied?”

Azriel watched his brother.

“Didn’t say a fucking word,” Cassian finished.

When Azriel didn’t speak, he walked back to the trash can, dropping the bottle inside.

“Quit looking at me like I’m the bad guy here,” he said, unable to turn around and look his brother in the eye. “She was ending it. She was calling things off and I’m supposed to, what? Just keep living there like we were before? Pretend nothing has changed?” He swallowed hard, willing the damn tears clouding his vision to fade. They wouldn’t. “She didn’t even ask me to stay.”

Azriel sighed, opening a cabinet beside the fridge that Seph couldn’t reach. He produced a bottle of whiskey and set it on the counter. “I can’t drink until Elain gets home. And I absolutely think you need to talk to Nesta, but I think you’re right. You need to stay here tonight. Give her space.”

Cassian blinked, and a tear that was holding on slid free, down his cheek. He angrily wiped it away. He felt ridiculous, but it had been a long time since he had told a woman that he loved her. He’d never said it in his adulthood. A couple times in his teens, before he knew what the word really meant, but never as an adult.

He’d said it.

He’d meant it.

And she hadn’t felt the same.

Cassian nodded and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

*

Nesta stared at Cassian’s contact on her phone screen.

She wanted to press the call button, but didn’t.

She did open a blank text a few times, but couldn’t type anything.

She didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do.

She knew what she wanted.

She wanted Cassian.

But, she didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

She had never been one who was dependent on a man, had spent most of her twenties single and having no problem with it. But suddenly, she couldn’t imagine her day to day life without Cassian in it. And that terrified her.

She heard murmuring on the baby monitor sitting next to her on the side table and glanced over to see Nyx sitting up in his crib.

It had been nearly three hours since Cassian left, and aside from putting Nyx down for a nap, Nesta had barely moved. She still sat in the same spot on the couch she’d been in when the social worker had shown up and when she’d ignored that Cassian had said that he loved her.

The words should have filled her with joy and she should have screamed from the rooftops that she loved him, too. Instead she locked up and thought she was going to be sick.

What was wrong with her?

Wiping away the tears she didn’t even realize had fallen, Nesta hurried up the stairs, and into Nyx’s nursery. He reached for her the moment he saw her, his own big, blue eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“What’s wrong, bubba?” She cooed, resting his head against her shoulder.

After a deep sigh, he looked up at her and reached for a tear that had fallen down her cheek. His lip began to wobble.

“I’m okay,” Nesta promised, even though her voice cracked and those tears continued. “I’m okay, buddy, I promise.”

Nyx knew, though.

He knew something wasn’t right.

He knew Cassian was gone.

He knew Nesta was heartbroken.

Little did he know that her heartbreak was self-inflicted.

Nyx laid his head back on her shoulder and clung to her. He stayed like that as she walked back downstairs and sat back in her spot on the couch.

He held onto her, looking around the room. She knew he was looking for him and was about to tell him he wasn’t here when he spoke. The word wasn’t a mash up of noises like it had always been. No, it was a true and steady word. His first word.

“Dada?”

Nesta froze. She didn’t even know what to say. Should she tell him Cassian wasn’t his father? He probably wouldn’t even understand, just like he didn’t understand where Rhys and Feyre had gone.

But…for all intents and purposes, Cassian was his daddy now. And she was his mama.

So she pressed a kiss to his dark hair and whispered. “He had to leave, baby. He had to go for a little while.”

Nesta hoped and prayed that Cassian would walk back through that door, and yet, she couldn’t muster the courage to ask him to.

That night, instead of Cassian taking up the spot next to her, it was Nyx, who held her hand until they both fell asleep.

[aresrambles]

Are You Bored? [Pt. 1]

shigaraki tomura x f!reader - mentions of nsfw, villain!reader (984 words)

a/n: fuck! my 1st blog post please go easy on me </3 it’s 1am and i couldn’t stop thinking of shiggy so i hope this is ok ahh lmk!

part 2 is up!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“You know, when I see you, my fingers twitch.”

You hadn’t even registered when Shigaraki had entered the room, however you knew better than to let him recognize that surprise. Instead, your eyes remain glued to your book as you let out a soft hum in acknowledgement.

Oh.

You realize that you had thrown your bra carelessly somewhere on the floor at some point. Silently praying it doesn’t catch his eye, you attempt to scan the room discretely and almost sigh in relief as you see it wedged underneath the dresser. He won’t see it there, thank God.

“That same fucking bored expression- every time I see you.” Shigaraki’s whiny voice snaps you out of your stupor and directs your attention back to him. Today his crimson eyes don’t seem so cruel, in fact, there’s something behind them that’s a little harder to recognize. “It’s always that same look. So tell me, Y/N,” He leaves the doorway and instead joins you on the bed, guiding your chin to face him with his pinky painstakingly close to your face. He wouldn’t, you know that, but the thought makes your head feel dizzy. “Are you that bored right now?”

Why is your heart pounding? This isn’t fear, no- it’s something worse. Something that makes your lower half ache and twist and beg to shuffle closer to him. He smells like fresh laundry today.

“How could I be, Boss? You’re right in front of me.” You reply coolly. A rehearsed reply. You are in fact ready for anything he could throw at you. With such a temperamental leader, it would be foolish not to be. Shigaraki almost takes a second to process your response before abruptly letting you go, leaning back to stare at the ceiling.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He grumbles, although not bitterly. Instead, he looks lost in thought, looking everywhere except your face. You don’t want to admit to yourself that you already miss the feeling of him being so close. Your stomach still feels knotty and hot. “Boss, if I can ask, is everything alright?” You regret the question as soon as it escapes your lips, feeling that familiar Shigaraki glare return and settle icily over you.

“What, so I need a fucking reason to be in here now? He snaps. You can only stare at him incredulously until he’s forced to speak again. After all, your place is out of the way so Shigaraki hardly comes by here, at least to the best of your knowledge.

“I wanted to see why you’ve always got such a stick up your ass, especially around me. Around Twice and Toga- I mean fuck, even Spinner, you’re fine. But you shut up around me.” He looks so different right now, eyes wide and focused on your every movement like a wild animal, it didn’t help to soothe the fire taking hold of your body. Sometimes you really do wonder if this is the same Shigaraki who’s killed before, and will undoubtedly kill again. You shouldn’t be alone with him right now; not when your mind is this scattered.

“I didn’t realize, Boss.” You answer sheepishly, knowing damn well it was true.

“Bull-fucking-shit. You think I’m not worthy of your respect, or some shit?” He’s seething, and it doesn’t help when you accidentally giggle. So that’s what it was. Shigaraki mistook your awkward crushing behaviour for some portrayal of dominance. How cute. “What’s so fucking funny?”

Feeling a surge of confidence bubbling up inside of you, you lean forward until your face is centimeters away from his. Shigaraki maintains his glare but inwardly heats up at the sudden proximity between you both. The truth is, he wanted to see you. He wanted to find out what he’s doing wrong, why you didn’t like him. Why won’t you smile at him like how you’ve been smiling at those other freaks? Yes, you made his fingers twitch. But not to hurt you.

His fingers longed to explore your folds, to push dripping cum from your pussy back in through your mouth. He wanted to watch you gag on them and worship him, just like how it was supposed to be. You’re supposed to be his and if you just won’t give in, then how was he supposed to make that happen? How long until you crack?

“Boss,” You murmur, “‘Truth is you keep makin’ me nervous. You’re pretty.”

It takes all the self-control Shigaraki has not to let his jaw slack as he digests your words. You’re lying, you have to be. It can’t have been this easy to get you, how can he-

Ah. Your lips are soft.

The tension really had become too much, and it was of course up to you to do something about it. It was your duty to Shigaraki as one of his humble league members. And what better way to dissolve the sexual tension than to kiss him with everything you’ve got? You smile into the kiss as you feel uncertain, fumbling tugs at your shirt. This was long overdue. Shigaraki’s lips feel rough and white-hot against you as you scramble to get closer to him. Somehow no matter how close you got, it wasn’t enough. You want to be able to fall into his body and lay there, inside of him. And unbeknownst to you, he feels the exact same way.

Except Shigaraki can’t risk his excitement costing you your life.

He pushes you away all of a sudden and stands up, hands in pockets. “Alright.” He declares, before ducking out of your bedroom. You sit there, hair mussed up and taking heavy breaths as you watch him disappear, feeling incredibly embarrassed. Did he just reject you? Did you act way too confidently? Was this all a mistake?

Your questions soon came to a halt however when you glanced back down at the dresser and saw your bra was now missing.

Oh, Boss…

[violenceenthusiast]

im curious why people are saying supernatural is jewish like idk if jewish writers makes an inherently jewish story especially when things like following out the christian apocalypse from revelations and showing a real physical g-d who is just some guy i think is super jarring since though christians claim to be against idolatry they seem totally fine showing depictions of gd or whatever i dont get jesus honestly but jews are far more strict and the idea of showing gds appearance is pretty wrong

WOOF okay um. Maybe this is one of those Tone Doesn’t Come Thru Well Online things but to me this is soo fucking rude… I’m half way between John Mulaney we don't have time to unpack all of that & Ben Wyatt wait it’s gonna bother me if I don’t explain why you’re wrong. 

This turned into all my thoughts. 

So like. First off, it’s all fun and games. We’re all just joking and joshing and projecting here on destiel dot tumblr dot com and Jupernatural is not an exception in a lot of ways. And so when someone shits on what we’re doing here (yes, even unintentionally) what you get is what happened: oh you think you’re funny well I’m about to be hilarious!!! aka I’m gonna do it even more now out of spite specifically because you said not to. Like it really is all jokes but also you know what’s not a joke? Antisemitism in all its forms, even the casual shit! It’s really draining and it builds up in your veins!! Just. Yeah. You saw a lot of people talking about it today in particular because much like other topics of the day, one thing kicks off a whole other turn of events. So like. one misguided comment that’s playfully antisemitic and then one more little one, and then one big/obvious one launched us (Jewish spn fans) into a whole bigger discussion about antisemitism and erasure of Jews in the spn fandom writ large. It’s one thing to be descriptive, offer a headcanon/what if, or employ a certain mode of analysis. It’s another thing to definitively say This Is The Truth, specifically when to do so overrides something else, especially in this case when what’s being overridden is Jews, an ethnoreligious minority. It’s also another thing to talk over Jews. And mind this has been building for days. Not in a bad way just like, it’s been topical for days and then today one big thing pushed it over the edge to us actually posting abt it (partially bc at that point it’s a pattern, which feels like it needs to be addressed). Like, destiel tumblr is small we pretty much all see all the same posts, and then Jewish spn fans… we’re friends, we chat about life? We joke around together, y’know? If you’re being antisemitic (yes, even unintentionally) we’re all gonna hear abt it. It’s how we stay safe or in this case, curate the online exp.

That being said tho projecting on fiction is like fun and even a good thing at times, and def opens up new modes of analysis. But! the other big thing here is that there IS a LOT of evidence for a Jewish reading of spn, in a lot of ways, and particularly if you know what to look for. Like there’s lots of niche Jewish slang (non-Jews just don’t know these things, and that is a reflection primarily of the writers but once you put it in the script it implies things about the characters too of course), the theology of the early seasons (I’ll get to that in a second), main character motivations (hold on), “Moishe Campbell” implying Mary is (and therefore Sam and Dean are) Jewish, etc. 

It’s not surprising to me or anything that non-Jews don’t catch anything/everything Jewish about spn but that Jews catch both sides of it, because that’s just how being part of a marginalized group works. You learn about your own stuff AND the dominant culture’s stuff because that’s how you survive (socially, psychologically, literally). Members of the dominant culture don’t need to learn the marginalized one, are never confronted with it, and so they just.. don’t. I don’t even mean that in a normative or accusatory way, that’s just an observation on the state of things. Non-Jews who aren’t part of another marginalized religion, aka expressed xtians and cultural xtians, have a ton of misconceptions about Judaism, for example, “Jesus was Jewish” and not, “Jesus was an asshole of an apostate who made life harder for Jews at the time in a myriad of ways and whose movement has had a lasting negative impact on world Jewry (and other peoples) for the ensuing millenia”. I truly Don’t Have Time right now to get into the varied and intense history of antisemitism in all its forms but. the point I’m making here is that I’m not shocked I need to explain that life experience shapes your worldview?? So if you’re Jewish you’re always gonna be living life through that version of the world and it does impact you?? Same as anything else?? As unwell as they may be, spn writers aren’t exempt from that. Jewish people writing about xtianity are doing so thru a primarily Jewish understanding and vice versa. Jews can (and did!) write about xtian lore but in a Jewish way! Some core Jewish themes: wrestling with angels/G-d, questioning G-d, IF there’s a G-d they will have to beg MY forgiveness, the afterlife isn’t really a big thing so all that matters is your time on earth, make amends to others directly and thru your actions rather than seeking absolution with G-d, you are not obligated to complete the work nor may you abandon it, etc… So that’s the other reasoning why we say “spn is Jewish” based solely on it being written by Jews. Rather than Death of The Author, let’s look at what the author has imbued the story with, both intentionally and unintentionally. And re: Chuck and idolatry… I don’t even know where to start with the way you phrased this but. the Jewish Spn Writers of Note are apparently Kripke, Gamble, and Edlund. All of whom stopped writing for the show years before the Chuck Is God plot! 

Like yes it feels very stupid to be writing a thousand words on antisemitism and supernatural but like. this is a spn blog run by a Jew so. This whole thing is also just the same every time. This is very representative of typical casual antisemitism.

[byunbaekby]

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

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

—DAY ONE.

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

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

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wants you.

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

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

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

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

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

“You’re giving it up or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying,” he sighs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TASTE.

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

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

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

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

He hums in response, turning to look at you. 

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

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

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

Does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a puff.”

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

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

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

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM. 

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

Shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

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

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” is his response.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops. 

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

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

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but I…” 

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tease me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kind of.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

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

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

Cocaine. 

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

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

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

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

“So, can I have some?” You ask again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathless, you nod without words. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

Luckily, neither will find out. 

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

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

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

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

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

But that hadn’t happened.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST BURN.

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

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

When he wakes, you’re burning up. 

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

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

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

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

It’s the cocaine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

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

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

God, he’s fucked up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

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

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not alone. 

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

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

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

He’s too late. Maybe much too late. 

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

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

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

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

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

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re different now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

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

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

He’s learned his lesson. 

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

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

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

“It’s not that, I—”

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

“... Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

“That was the last time.”

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

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

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

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

[yomiurinikei]

"""""canon"""" terurei.

So I was in this fandom months/maybe a year ago, okay? So back when I was in this fandom, on Teruya Otori's English Website (the one with basically no info lol), in his trivia it said that he had a crush on Rei. (It now has been completely removed from his website). This is probably one of the sources that some people thought that Terurei was canon. But when looking around at much older posts/edits, an edit that was made in Nov 2020 had what seemed to be a translated Q&A of LINJU at the beginning.

The translated thing was

Did the DRA survivors eve have romantic feelings towards each other?

- Tsurugi and Rei would have no interest in those kinds of things. Teruya felt that way towards Rei a few times

Now, I have no clue if this is real, but considering the creator of the edit, they definitely saw it and screenshot it from somewhere. Which I have no clue if it was a reliable source.

Now let's assume for a moment this screenshot was real, what exactly does this answer mean?

It clearly says that Tsurugi and Rei are not interested in relationship, and there are other sources that implied Rei may not be interested in relationship overall. And it only say that Teruya feels this way "a few times". Meaning this could be anything from a simple tiny crush that can quickly end to something more, but is very vague, probably meaning even Teruya wasn't too sure.

So if the source of this screenshot (wherever it was taken from) is what people thought made Terurei Canon is not correct. For, even if Teruya's crush was legitimate, it was only one sided.

I think this Q&A question is the source of most Terurei shippers, even though it doesn't even confirm the ship itself.

I don't hate Terurei shippers, I really don't care, but it was something I saw and something I wanted to share.

HI ANON also hi my other followers i see the other asks i have im working on those too it’s 4:45 am and i just spent half an hour straight rambling for the second time today and i am working on getting a professional to. pretty much confirm i do have adhd. all of this to say i’m working on other asks this is just one i can answer rn before bed

ANYWAYS HI ANON!!! IVE i’ve been here so long by now. not the longest but like. consecutively. i’ve been going strong for a longgggg time now. SO LEMME CHAT ABT THIS

under the cut forrr. length, uh, cw terurei,, also this is so messy im tired and it’s genuinely freezing in my room that’s a whole conversation but it’s a bit hard to type. anyways. tl;dr anons 100% right

okay. yeah. ur like. none of what u said was wrong!!! i don’t like. debating on whether or not linujs q&as are trustworthy because. that’s a whole convo about when they should and shouldn’t be listened to- BUT also because. like. it’s vvv old fandom drama but while linuj does answer peoples questions, anyone can contact him,,,

people have used linujs q&as to lie and spread misinformation before

and it was a huge fucking mess and guys it was really bad and. yeah. so.

i can’t speak on whether that q and a was real, but!!!!! it very well could be, it very well couldn’t be. i’ve seen. prolly the same screenshot/people discussing the same q and a as what ur talking about, i know what ur on abt even if i don’t know it’s validity; like u said, let’s just go with it real!

rei is officially not going to be in a relationship with anyone. if we trust any q and a. then that’s the truth. i can’t remember if it was said in a q and a or a blog post (i highly doubt it was a game thing) but rei is explicitly like. celibate. tbh that’s the biggest reason i question the validity of that q and a but it could also be just inconsistency/smthn that changed as she grew up.

either way,,, she’s not into teruya, lol. like i generally do trust that this q and a was real and just go “okay linuj that’s nice linuj i’m making all ur cast gay and trans now linuj byeeeee linuj” and also like u said,,, like. whatever teruyas feelings were, if we treat the q and a as canon,, it still doesn’t mean jack??

rei Does Not Like Teruya Or Relationships. teruya is extremely mlm coded (which i can and will go into but he’s probably the most mlm coded out of anyone in either game) so,, if people are using the fact that teruya was, jsut after being heavily traumatized, maybe pining a little sometimes. to erase reis equally as canon/official lack of desire for a relationship

…..well. that’s uh. i don’t wanna be mean but no it’s 🤡

which isn’t to say ur not allowed to ship terurei! i dont vibe with it just because neg associations but that’s just a matter of me engaging with content for it- i actually have 0 immediate issues with people who ship terurei tbh lol (it is 4:57 i may think that over more and realize i forgot smthn tomorrow)

but like,, yeah. it’s not canon whatsoever. im not gonna tell people what to believe and take as canon, but,,, there’s no other evidence for terurei other than this q and a with questionable legitimacy, anddd,, it disproves terurei as a ship that would ever happen. it’s one sided, and that crush isn’t a relationship (meaning: the relationship ship between teruya and rei, not meaning a romantic relationship) defining trait; as in, it doesn’t define the way the two interact, it’s not. That Big that teruyas motivation whole interacting with rei is impacted by this crush of it even does exist in sdra2

im. extremely tired and i don’t wanna go through and edit and actually outline and organize. usually when replying to smthn like this i divvy it up and think abt how i’ll organize things and then type it all out in one go but nah u guys got this all as i thought of it 100% unfiltered. this post is extra stamped with the “pls ask me for clarification/to rephrase things if they come across concerningly or confusingly” stamp but. uh.

yeah. anons right terurei isn’t canon whatsoever and the only dubious evidence that exists proves that it’s 100% one sided

[cherryobx]

I only have eyes for you//Drew Starkey x reader

requested?: yeth “Hi can I make a request for Drew Starkey pls?? Where the reader is part of the obx cast and she is dating Drew. And they’re doing a livestream with Austin and Drew gets jealous during the live because of the reader’s relationship with Austin. After the reader reassured him that she only loves him. Thanks! 🤗 I love your stuff so much!”

summary: Drew feels jealous because you’re hanging out with Austin.

warnings: a curse word or two i don’t remember, fluff

WC: 1000

(not my gif, creds to the owner!!!)

It was a normal day on set when all of a sudden Austin texted you and asked if you wanted to be on his live stream. He said that he was on his lunch break and had already finished eating so he had more than half an hour to spare.

“Sure,” was what you answered with. You had been intending to spend the break with your boyfriend Drew but you knew he’d be fine with you doing the live with Austin instead.

But you didn’t want to just disappear without saying a word, so you called him.

“Hey! Is it okay if I skip our lunch? Austin just asked me to do an Instagram live with him.”

“Of course, you don’t have to ask me,” he laughed, making you smile.

“I know. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t run around frantically looking for me again.”

“I’ve never done that.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You didn’t even have to see him to know he just rolled his eyes at you. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“I’m gonna swing by Austin’s trailer soon, to, you know, make sure you’re not telling some embarrassing stories about me.”

“I’m definitely not going to do that.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, not believing you at all. 

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And then you hung up and made your way to Austin’s trailer. You knocked on the door and entered it when you heard a faint ‘come in’.

Austin was sitting on his couch, setting up his phone.

“Hey!” you greeted him as you closed the door behind you and sat down beside him.

You had been live with Austin for about 10 minutes when Drew decided to go and see what you were talking about. Of course, he could just watch the live on his phone but it wasn’t the same.

He was about to enter Austin’s trailer when he heard you loudly laugh at something Austin had said.

“No way! The same thing happened to me!”

Your laugh was his favorite sound in the world. It was like music to his eyes. That’s why he always tried to make you laugh as much as he could.

But now, hearing Austin make you laugh made him jealous. He knew that he had no reason to be jealous but his deep and dark thoughts seemed to be a bit different. What if you didn’t love him as much as he did you? What if you liked Austin better? Maybe he was not good enough for you.

His mind was clouded with those insecure thoughts and he didn’t like it one bit.

He turned away and walked back to his trailer, not wanting to go where he wanted to go earlier anymore. 

He sat down on the couch of his trailer and grabbed a water bottle, taking a big gulp out of it and then setting it onto the table.

He just stared at the ground, his head resting on his hands, thinking about you and hearing your laugh in his thoughts.

He was never the type of guy to get insecure easily. But when it came to you, it was different. He didn’t want to lose you or the connection you both shared with each other. He knew he had found his soulmate and he didn’t want to let go.

When you finished your live, you texted Drew, wanting to know where he was since he didn’t come to Austin’s trailer as he had promised.

You didn’t get a reply though. The most logical place that he would be at was his trailer. So you made your way over to there check up on him.

You knocked on the door but nothing happened. Opening the door, you peeked inside and saw him sitting on the couch, his head on his hands.

“Hey, Drew, you alright?” you asked worriedly, stepping in and closing the door behind you.

He ignored your question.

“Drew?”

Sitting beside him, you placed your hand on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong? Talk to me, darling.”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

“Clearly somethings bothering you. I want to be here for you, Drew. Let me help.”

“Just thinking about stuff. You don’t have to worry.”

“Drew…” Your tone of voice was warning. He clearly wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Stop, okay? I’m fine.” He stood up, turning his back to you and frustratedly running his fingers through his hair.  

You stood up as well and wrapped your hands around his torso, hugging him from behind.

“Let me be here for you, Drew. Don’t bottle it up.”

He was silent for a while. He was thinking of the right words to say.

“Lately I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff. I feel like I’m becoming more and more insecure every day. And jealous. Like really jealous. I’m overthinking a lot and that’s why I thought that you’d be way happier without me, with someone else who can make you happier. You’re my soulmate, Y/N. I feel it. I don’t know. My mind has been fucking with me lately.”

“Drew, is this about today? When I was hanging out with Austin?”

“Mhm,” he hummed.

You let go of him for a second and walked in front of him, taking his hands in yours.

“Drew Starkey, you don’t have a reason to be jealous or insecure. I mean you can feel whatever you want but I’m saying that there’s no reason. I love you, very much. And only you. You mean the world to me and I don’t know where I’d be without you. You complete me and like you said, we’re soulmates. I see Austin as nothing more than a brother I never had. I only have eyes for you.”

“You really mean that?” He was looking straight into your eyes.

You nodded. “I do.”

He placed his hand delicately on your cheek, before connecting your lips.

“I love you,” you mumbled through the kiss.

“I love you too.”

taglist: @teamnick​ @www-imbored-com​ @delightfullynlove​ @afterglows7b-tch13​ @tomhardybby​ @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless​ @ilovejjmaybank​ @allycat449-blog​ @teenwaywardasgardian​ @copper-boom​ @canibeoneofthepogues​ @ifilwtmfc​ @bedazzledbanks​ @jeyramarie​ @themaddies-obx​ @pink-meringues​

[darealsaltysam]

what your paladins main says about you

a comprehensive essay by a paladins player of right around 4 years

this is like really long so i’ll make it under the cut so my followers don’t have to scroll through this if they don’t wanna

(for context i’m a current maeve main, i used to main skye and sha lin and played tyra a long while ago)

.

Androxus

it’s not a phase, mum

“i don’t care we don’t have healer, i’m really good at him i swear”

you ult every time it loads in and you die before the final shot

your favorite mode is siege because you can fly up and shoot the whole point on ult

you’re usually really stand-offish and don’t communicate much and/or a 13 year old boy with anger issues

.

Ash

you are level-headed but in a scary way

you will hold the point solo even if it costs you your streak

“get on the point” “guys get on the point” “attack the objective”

you’ll ult to save yourself 99% of the time

good leader

.

Atlas

you probably used to main lex or androxus before he came out

“he’s like a flank, but a tank, he’s great!”

you chase after solo kills instead of sticking to the point

healers hate you, flanks and damages fear you

your favorite mode is death match

.

Barik

you’re a former/current tf2 player looking for something fresh

you don’t like working too hard so you spam turrets on the point and hope for the best

“healer stick to me i’m boutta ult”

actually really nice between rounds

but you don’t communicate much mid-game and kind of do your thing

.

Bomb King

you’re a really old player. you have the beta makoa skin and you were there when lex was first released. veteran’s discount.

your favorite maps are the old ones and they barely show up any more

the team always underestimates you

“who plays bomb king in 2021 lol?”

you need a hug

.

Buck

“wait, he’s a flank? i thought he was a tank??”

you’re also a veteran in the game

you’re a dying breed. i like never see you. do you even exist?

you’ve been here since like the first day of the game

buck gets so many skins and you want all of them but the best you have is a random recolor

.

Cassie

sweetest person alive

“we can do it guys! let’s try to all rush the point this time!”

you are the bane of every flank

the opposing team hates you, your own team kind of doesn’t notice you’re there

*casually gets a pentakill*

.

Corvus

you know those weirdly political kids who like ww2 and know the details of every tank to ever exist? yeah that’s you

but like that’s corvus. as a character.

but no one ever plays him.

like i never even see him do you exist???

you are a cryptid.

.

Dredge

yo ho you’re a hoe

no seriously the other team views you and they FEAR you

“yeah i just got a penta kill” “YOU WHAT?” “eyes on the point mate don’t get distracted”

hella good at the game and hella casual about it

you like onslaught on the one sea map the most

.

Drogoz

another veteran, are we?

you’re either useless or can wipe out a whole team in seconds. there is no in-between.

you always have a really cool skin.

dovahkiin, dovahkiin...

“i don’t care about the point i gotta get them trips”

.

Evie

you bought her because you thought she was cute, admit it

*turns into ice right before dying* *turns into ice right before dying* *turns into ice right be

your personality type is identical to her. no question about that.

always buys faster reload and better speed

strangely good communication with the team

.

Fernando

gay gay homosexual gay

“he’s kinda hot if you look at him the right way”

fernando is the tank for gay people

you are gay people

i don’t have much more to say

.

Furia

mum energy. not as much as inara mains, but still, mum energy.

will protect every member of the team with your life, even the flanks

you’ve been maining her since she was first added

i bet you didn’t even know she’s canonically seris’ sister

“we’ve literally failed to capture the point the last 3 times we might as well give up and go to another game”

.

Grohk

“yeah i have a gremlincore tumblr blog, how could you tell?”

i honestly have no words

you’re kind of like a catboy but a racoon

do you even heal the team or do you just pretend

you were there when lex got announced and thought he was cringe, now everyone finally agrees with you

.

Grover

he was your first purchased character and he’s stuck around ever since

he’s the only healer you can play well

“i am groot lmao”

you would never say a word to your team

would give your life for the tank but that’s about it

.

Imani

daenerys targaryen on drugs

your favorite anime is my hero academia

your husbando is todoroki

you see where i am going with this

“team protect me i’m gonna ult” *dies 5 seconds into ult*

.

Inara

BIG MUM ENERGY

your team is your family. you will protect them with your life.

can only hold your own with a good healer so you have good teamwork going for you

*cutely places wall in front of your ult*

useless in tdm so you stick to onslaught, siege and koth

.

Io

are you a furry, furry, or a furry?

“victow! dont ult on my tweam pwease! uwu!”

you 100% find her attractive in some way shape or form

you are either a 30 year old redditor who enjoys loli content or a 16 year old teen who is playing a shooter for the first time

she’s kind of cute, i guess

.

Jenos

i can never tell if i’m going to absolutely destroy you or if you’re gonna kick my ass

*cutely holds you up so the whole team can shoot you to death*

kamehameha

you’re a healer??? i guess???

your character has such deep lore and i bet you don’t even know half of it

.

Khan

one day you were playing and your team desperately needed a tank. you picked the first one you saw. suddenly, you’re lian’s foot stool

despite 2 layers of heavy armor, you’d still let this man walk all over you

“this skin is really cool, wish it wasn’t behind a pay wall...”

YEET

you actually know the game’s lore, for some reason

.

Kinessa

i never trust people who are good at a sniper. if you’re bad that’s natural and you’re 99% of the population. if you’re good you are definitely up to something

you’d sell your sister for 5 pennies if you could

you’re missing from the team all game and somehow have the most kills

“we have a kinessa???”

you are an urban legend to your team

.

Koga

someone’s been watching naruto

you are so shit at the game. like i’m sorry. no one’s good at koga i’m so sorry

how do you have so many skins for one character???

you’re always missing from the point

healers hate you. so does the enemy kinessa.

.

Lex

quit the game /nm

“who mains lex in 2021??? lmao???”

wall hacks, aimbot, and it’s all legal for you as an ability. you are a hacker in a world of puny vanillas. you like it easy so you go for the easy min max character. have fun getting hated

you think he’s hot and press on his loading abilities just so he can scold you and you can hear him being mad at you

*bonk* go to horny jail

.

Lian

"she could step on me”

you used to main some sort of healer but switched over when you got sick of everyone being needy

you can hold a point all on your own for a really really long time but the moment your team gets there you start flunking

you wish you had more skins for her

you don’t

.

Maeve

so imagine this. it was like 2018 and you were just chilling playing the game. you kept getting killed by maeve. in every game. she was in every game you went to and she kept killing you over and over and over again. you got frustrated, snapped, and bought her to see if you could do the same to others. you are now the maeve in every game. the cycle repeats.

your whole team doubts you but then you casually get a quad kill and they just sort of look away

you die a total of two times each round and 99% of the time it’s because you go too fast and fall off the map

you repeat everything she says in her accent because you think it’s cute

“welcome to ze meant streets, kitten!” “can you shut the fuck up” “i hate to cut and run, he-he!”

.

Makoa

you have the plushie skin or the beta skin, otherwise you don’t main and only play casually stop lying to yourself

“attack turtle go brrr”

you’re really good if you get paired with a good healer

otherwise you’re useless

you wish you could get better teammates because you could really thrive with an organized group. but on paladins you won’t get that, i’m sorry-

.

Mal’Damba

i always forget this guy is even in the game

you’re definitely under 6 foot IRL

you have an older sibling you always fight with

you’d love to have a snake irl

you’re really chill outside of the game, but when playing you hella rage

.

Moji

you are so precious

but also such a little shit

you annoy me but i also want to give you a hug

“let’s go guys!! to the point!! wheee!!”

please never change but also get out of my sight

.

Octavia

you always main the new character until the new person drops

somehow always have enough credits to buy the new champion whenever they come out

you don’t like having a stable main cuz you get bored

you like hanging out at the training rage

hate siege and love team death match, you like your games quick

.

Pip

you are the worst and best thing to ever happen to this game

you only pick him to heal yourself and hardly ever heal your team

no one notices you there until you ult

then you get focused

honestly you just seem like you wanna do your thing and i can respect that

.

Raum

you probably go to therapy or desperately need it

“BIG MAN BIG. HE IS BIG. BRRRR”

you always love the demons in media

you like being in charge of the team and wreck the point any time you are there, you like fighting on your own but having a healer nearby is nice too

you probably have daddy issues

.

Ruckus

you think ruckus’ and bolt’s dynamic is cool and that’s one of the main reasons you started playing him

he’s the only tank you can play

you used to main either inara or ying at some point but chose violence instead

really short irl. you physically relate to ruckus and spiritually to bolt.

“funny goblin man :)”

.

Seris

certified girlboss

you can hold an objective all on your own or heal your whole team no problem. either way you are SLAYING

“alright. who’s ass am i kicking today?”

mum energy is inferior to inara but still kind of there

i’m like 50% sure you have a foot fetish

.

Sha Lin

*pointing and chanting* incel, incel, ince-

whether that’s about you or the character you can decide

you like minecraft bedwars on the side

“if i don’t get this headshot i am literally going to spontaneously combust”

really useful when there’s no other long distance people - otherwise a nuisance

.

Skye

AWOOGA *jaw drops to ground, eyes roll out of head* BOOBA BOOBA BOOBA

you bought her for the tiddies, didn’t you?

she’s actually really satisfying to play once you get the hang of her, but can be real tough on rough days

you need a break i think - maybe play some other game for a bit?

*casually gets team kill with ult*

.

Strix

you own at least one pretty knife

you played him when he was unlocked on rotation, fell in love, and spent a whole evening collecting credits to buy him fully

“haha bird man”

i’ve said what i said about snipers. if you’re actually good at him you are hiding a body somewhere. i fear you.

why does everyone ship him with viktor????

.

Talus

little furry child

he reminds me of tommyinnit because he is small and annoying

if you play him you are tall and intimidating 

i’m friends with a tall scary talus main

i can’t say bad things please spare me

.

Terminus

you always ult at the worst time and just get killed again 5 seconds after

“hey losers watch this” *goes on the point, dies, revives, kills one person and dies again*

you’re only a good tank if you cooperate

you don’t

on your own you’re a pretty good player

.

Tiberius

*sigh*

you think the cat is hot, don’t you?

“his accent is kinda cute tho hehe”

you saw that one ending scene in zootopia with the dancing tigers and it CHANGED you

you are probably a furry. if not your awakening is coming. be ready.

.

Torvald

you’ve been playing this game for too long

you’ve seen skins rise and fall. you’ve seen nerfs and buffs. you’ve seen reworks and remakes. you are ancient. older than the dragons and wiser than makoa. respect.

people see you on the opposing team and get really annoyed

“the point is really crowded, we can’t move in” “don’t worry guys, my ult is charged up”

you’re really good at all the characters but you like this guy a lot because you think he’s funky fresh

.

Tyra

you’re either new to the game or have been playing for too long

either way you can KICK ASS but you need to keep behind your team to do the most damage

flanks are the bane of you, especially the fast jumpy ones

you really want one of the cooler skins but you can only ever get the basic ones. such is the curse of maining one of the OG characters.

“bite me”

.

Viktor

you are level 100+ guaranteed, and everyone fears you

“oh shit they got a victor. flank focus him”

you probably play COD and CS:GO normally and wanted to go with something familiar and easy. your skill from the other more advanced games DWARFS everyone else

but why are you playing “guy with gun 132″ in a game with magical elves and fairies. like come on bro.

you don’t have any in-game friends because paladins is your guilty pleasure game you would never admit to

.

Vivian

“step on me” syndrome cranked up to 100%

this woman could spit on you and you’d still respect her more than your own mother. good for you

“i’m not a simp. i’m just tier 3 subbed to pokimane ironically”

you sweat the game hardcore. former victor main or he’s your secondary.

you’ve got her on level 50+ at least

.

Vora

like the maeve mains but somehow worse

bought her out of spite or played her while she was on rotation, now here you are grinding credits for her a day after she became unavailable

honestly you’re really good at the game i have nothing else to say

you enjoy the newer characters more than the OGs - you’re either a former vivian or lian main

you miss the play of the game feature in the game because you’d get all of them with this girl

.

Willo

you seem like the moji mains at first but show your true colors soon after

“fuck you” x50

you are a trash talker on max overdrive. you need to sit down, do some breathing exercises and have a drink.

you hate your own team more than the opposing guys

when you see a willow on the opposing team you make it your sole goal to eliminate her as many times as humanely possible

.

Yagorath

i bet you didn’t know she was canonically female until you read this

you don’t like sweating too much so you pick the tank that leaves you heavily relying on your healers and damages

you can hold a point really well so you like siege and onslaught

“are vora and yagorath connected in the lore somehow and do i really care?”

you have a friend who you always party up with to be your healer, otherwise you might switch to another character

.

Ying

“tanks love me, flanks hate me”

you are too powerful. literally. how are you so strong

you’ve mastered the most difficult healer in the game. the others are really easy for you to play but you have trouble with seris

motivate your team a lot but start shading and trash talking if they don’t cooperate

you’ll gladly play someone else for a long while and like taking breaks from her

.

Zhin

this is your first main after switching over from overwatch. we can smell it on you.

you’re really annoyed with his personality and voice lines but the character is too good to play for you to pass him up for that. you respond to his voice lines aloud very aggressively to let him know he’s an ass

“YES ZHIN HEALERS AREN’T USELESS YOU SELFISH PRICK”

you try your best but you’re not a great team player

infinite trips on a good day, die repeatedly without kills on a bad one and you switch over to vora or skye for a bit.

.

this took me hours to write out pls leave reblog and note thanks uwu

[expectingtofly]

Incident at Playgroup

2.8k

fluff, established dean/cas, baby jack, human!cas, cas and dean terrorize other parents

dedicated to @thiscastielhasflown bc a few weeks ago we talked about tfw’s mcdonald’s orders and this fic happened. wishing you a good week with schoolwork assignments that only take half the time you expect them to, eventual restful sleep, and good grades <3

also posted on ao3

“Clown!” Jack yelled, pointing at the entrance to the McDonald’s indoor play area. A Ronald McDonald cardboard cutout guarded the door, holding a sign reading, You must be this tall to enter.

“Inside voice,” Dean said, though he wasn’t sure it mattered much when he could hardly hear himself speak. Recently, they’d joined a playgroup of parents and kids from Jack’s preschool, and this weekend, some of the moms had organized a playdate at the McDonald’s in town, one with a huge play area.

Meaning, they were now surrounded by screaming kids, diaper bags, and stressed out parents.

Dean winced as a kid shrieked from across the room. “We need to take a photo of you next to ol’ Ronald to show Sam.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed, jumping up and down in his chair.

Coming over with the tray of their food, Cas put out a hand to steady Jack’s chair. “That would be unnecessarily cruel."

Dean grabbed his Big Mac. “Yeah, well, he deserves it.” Before they’d come here today, Sam had repeatedly told them, quote, “please don't fuck this up again." Always was a polite bastard. “He’s gotta have more faith in us. What are we, amateurs?”

“Unfortunately, I believe that’s the point,” Cas said, sitting down and giving Jack his Happy Meal. “We don’t have the best track record with these sort of things.”

These ‘sort of things’ being playgroups. 

So, they’d tried a couple that hadn’t worked out. “Not like it’s our fault,” he said. “Take a seat, kid.” Jack ignored him, jumping in his seat as he waved to another toddler sitting nearby.

Cas beamed, holding onto the back of the chair. “He’s making friends, that’s a good sign.”

“Kid could make friends with a blank wall,” Dean said, but Cas was right—making friends was the whole point they were here. While Jack could make friends with just about anyone and anything—every crayon had a name and backstory, Cas’ trenchcoat was taken on make-believe-adventures, and the Impala could apparently talk, if Jack’s one-sided conversations during long car rides was anything to go off of—it was true that Jack was lacking in the friends-that-aren’t-hunters-or-over-a-decade-older category. There weren’t exactly many toddlers running around the bunker.

Hence, why they were spending their Saturday afternoon at the Hell on Earth known as McDonald's PlayPlace.

Jack held out the bag of apple slices that came in his Happy Meal. “Open.”

Dean stared him down and Jack added, “Peas.”

Close enough. Taking the bag, Dean told Cas, “Don’t look now, but Amanda is handing out brochures for Pampered Chef again.” According to Sam, that was another reason this playdate had to be a success—making friends with the right parents meant getting invited to more playdates and whatever other random events the parents came up with. It was like a weird society Dean had never known existed until Jack started preschool and started interacting with other kids his own age.

“I saw you using the food processor the other day,” Cas said, glancing over his shoulder to look despite Dean’s warning. Dean rolled his eyes. “I think it’s ingenious.”

“I’m not going to another two hour cooking demonstration.“

“Sam said we need to make a good impression.”

“He can go buy overpriced kitchen tools then.” It was a little too convenient that Sam had gotten out of taking Jack to this playdate—Dean had a suspicion that the multiple Ronald McDonalds stationed around had something to do with that.

He tried to hand Jack the apples, but Jack pointed at the play area. “Wanna play!”

“You have to finish your food,” Dean told him. Crossing his arms, Jack glared at him and stomped his foot on the chair.

“Just eat two more nuggets,” Cas told him. He picked up his filet-o-fish sandwich and glanced at Dean. “What?”

“You’re spoiling him.”

Jack stuffed his face with two chicken nuggets, which prompted Cas to give Dean a look. “Well, you’re teaching him bad table manners.”

Just to be obnoxious, Dean shoved half of his burger into his mouth in one bite. Jack laughed at him and Cas rolled his eyes.

“Done!” Jack announced, and Cas pushed his chair back so he could escape.

“These play places are gross,” Dean said, swallowing. “He’s gonna catch a disease.”

“Good thing he can’t get sick,” Cas said, watching Jack clamber up some stairs to reach a slide.

“Yeah, well I can,” Dean retorted. Jack went down the slide with a squeal. Landing at the bottom, he waved at them and Dean waved back.

“The Winchesters are here!” someone called too cheerily and Dean rolled his eyes, turning to see Ashley walking over. Lady thought she ran the group, always recruiting parents to bring snacks and toys to playdates. A little too high and mighty when Dean knew for a fact that the cupcakes she'd brought last week were store-bought.

Settling down into the seat next to them, she asked, “I wasn’t expecting you two today. Where’s Sam?”

Dean resisted rolling his eyes. Of course Sam was everyone’s favorite. Wasn’t his fault Sam was better at feigning interest in grocery lists and laundry piles. Parenting was hard enough without getting subjected to the unique torture of playgroup small talk.

“Him and Eileen went on a weekend trip,“ Cas answered easily and Dean nodded. They’d long given up trying to explain to others why Jack had a rotating list of parental figures accompanying him to playgroup, figuring if the other parents thought they were in a weird cult situation, at least that was better than them knowing the truth—like the fact that Sam and Eileen were away hunting a rugaru in Missouri. Though they were going to run out of excuses soon for why playgroup couldn’t be hosted at their place—an underground bunker with enough weapons to hold off an army.

“Well,” Ashley said, “I’m glad you guys were able to make it.” Yeah, that was a fake smile.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Dean said, plastering on his own fake smile. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.” Cas kicked him under the table.

“We’ve loved having Jack in the group,” Ashley said, and that might not be a fake sentiment. Jack could charm anyone. “Such a sweetheart. Lily adores him.” She smiled at where Jack and her daughter Lily were crawling through a tunnel at the top of the play area.

“Jack, no!” Dean called, seeing Jack stick his fingers in his mouth. “I’m so getting sick,” he muttered under his breath.

He was trying to come up with an excuse to get away as Ashley pulled out her phone to show them a new post on her mommy blog—boring, same old content. Give him a blog and he’d actually have something interesting to say—when he heard familiar crying from across the play area.

Without a second thought, he was pushing back his chair and rushing over, squeezing past playing kids and their parents to find Jack sitting on the floor bawling his eyes out and a bigger kid standing over him.

“What the hell happened here?” he demanded. He went to pick up Jack, but Cas was already swooping in and grabbing him.

“He pushed me!” Jack managed through his sobs, and Dean turned on the older kid.

“What the hell’s your problem?” The kid’s baleful expression faltered. He took a step back and Dean advanced on him. “You get off on making kids half your size cry?”

“Don’t speak to my son that way!” someone exclaimed, pushing through the crowd of kids and parents to glare at them. “What’s going on?”

“Your son is a menace,” Cas told the woman—Denise. Playgroup gossip said her son had gotten held back from kindergarten due to his inability to ‘play nice with others.’ Jack’s crying had subdued to sniffles, but Cas still held onto him like he might break apart. “He was bullying our son.”

“I’m sure it was an accident.” She put her hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You didn’t mean to hurt him, right, Tommy?”

Tommy only glared at them, and Dean glared right back. “He needs to apologize to Jack,” Cas said.

“Tommy, apologize.”

After several long, drawn out seconds, Tommy muttered, looking down at his feet, “Sorry.”

“I don’t think that was a real apology,” Cas said.

“It’s not my fault Jack’s a crybaby,” Tommy shot back.

“You little—” Dean started

“Take that back,” Cas snapped, and if he wasn’t human, Dean would’ve expected his eyes to start glowing fiery blue. Denise’s eyes grew wide, her grip on Tommy’s shoulder tightening.

“Is there a problem here?” someone asked, and Dean turned to see a McDonald’s employee hurrying over.

“Yeah, this kid shoved our son,” Dean said. “And he’s being a little shit about it.”

The employee’s expression turned shocked and Dean heard a few gasps from the parents that had crowded around to see the commotion. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” the employee stammered. “This is a kid’s play area, we won’t tolerate fighting here.”

“We were already going,” Cas said haughtily. He glared at Denise. “And if 'Tommy' ever lays a hand on Jack again, he will be sorry.” Jack’s expression was eerily similar to Cas’ as they shot twin glares at Tommy, and Dean thought he caught a spark in Jack’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking Cas’ elbow and guiding him through the crowd of spectators before Jack tried to incinerate the kid. He wasn’t sure if that was one of Jack’s powers or not, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out in a crowded McDonald’s. Even if the snot-nosed kid deserved it.

The staff behind the counter was watching along with everyone else in the store, the once noisy place now brought to tense stillness. Cas snatched up the rest of their food and Dean knew they were already on the verge of getting the cops called on them, but he couldn’t resist turning and jabbing his finger at the little brat. “And don’t you ever fucking touch Jack again!”

Cas shot Denise and Tommy another look, Jack copying it over his shoulder, and Dean let the door slam shut behind them.

“I can’t believe the audacity of that woman,” Cas raged, strapping Jack into his carseat. Dean grabbed the wipes and leaned over the front seat to wipe Jack’s hands before he touched everything and spread germs around. “And her kid is exactly the same!”

Jack craned his neck to look back at the McDonald’s as Cas finished strapping him in. “Play!”

Getting into the passenger seat, Cas slammed the door shut. “You will not be going back there, not when those children are around. Dean was right, these play places are vile.”

“You alright, kid?” Dean asked Jack, shutting the wipe container.

Jack kicked his feet against the seat. “Hungry.”

Cas pulled out the container of Jack’s half-eaten chicken nuggets and Dean protested, thinking of a fateful day with a bag of cheerios—he was still finding them in every nook and cranny of the car. “No eating in the backseat.”

“He’s just been through a traumatic experience,” Cas said, handing the container to Jack. “We can make an exception.”

“Fine,” Dean muttered, gripping the steering wheel as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I always knew Denise was shifty. You saw the way she was trying to spin the story, making it out like it wasn’t her kid’s fault? Fucking asshole.”

“Asshole!” Jack agreed cheerfully from the backseat.

“That’s not a nice word, Jack,” Cas said. Quieter, he added, “But it’s accurate.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna send a message to the playgroup chat. Tommy’s behavior can’t be tolerated. Soon all the kids are going to become bullies.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” Dean agreed, glancing at Jack as he stopped at a red light, trying not to flinch at the crumbs on Jack’s lap that threatened to fall to the floor. “Needs to get knocked down by someone. Hear that, Jack? We’re gonna teach you how to fight back.”

Jack nodded. “I can fight!” He waved a chicken nugget around in mock punches and Dean gave up any hope of keeping the backseat clean.

“Maybe we can convince the other parents to kick Denise and her son out of the—Oh.” Dean looked over at him and Castiel winced. “We’ve been blocked from the group chat.”

“That makes three of them,” Dean muttered, pushing the accelerator as the light turned green. “We’re gonna end up on some blacklist soon.”

First playgroup, Jack had set a couch on fire. Since the "baby god testing out his powers” explanation wasn’t gonna fly, they went with the tried and true, “playing with matches” excuse. Didn’t stop the group from voting to kick them out.

Second playgroup, Cas had gotten in a fiery debate over the ethicality of beekeeping, and what was Dean supposed to do? Not back him up? He hadn't known you could get kicked out of the zoo for "disorderly conduct."

Alright, maybe Sam’s fears that they’d fuck up this playdate too weren’t completely off base.

“I think it’s time we give playgroups a rest,” he decided.

"But Jack needs to make friends."

"He's already got us, and Claire and Kaia and Alex and—"

"Charlie!" Jack added from the backseat.

"Charlie," Dean agreed. "He's got plenty of friends." Cas only stared him down with a particular smitey look in his eyes, and though Dean knew there wasn't a real threat behind the gaze, he sighed. "Fine. We’ll try again.”

"I already had one in mind," Cas said, brightening. "In case this one didn't work out."

“Done!” Jack yelled.

“Inside voice,” Dean said automatically. “Wait, you had a backup plan?"

“Yes,” Cas said, taking the empty container of chicken nuggets from Jack. “I thought it wise considering our track record. It’s a smaller group than this one was—Here, Jack, you want my ice cream?”

“Dude, seriously?” Dean protested as Cas handed an Oreo McFlurry back to Jack, who excitedly held out his hands. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Not necessarily,” Cas said. “I don’t think we’re that destined to fail again—Oh, you mean the ice cream.” He glanced at Jack, who was dripping ice cream onto his lap with every spoonful. “Um. Traumatic experience?”

Dean wasn’t falling for that excuse a second time. He started to say so, but Cas wasn’t listening, picking up his phone as it beeped several times in quick succession.

“What?” Dean asked, seeing a slow frown cross Cas' face as he stared at the screen.

Cas held up his phone to show several texts in a row. “We’re in trouble.”

On cue, Dean’s phone started ringing, the screen lighting up to display Sam’s name. Fuck.

“Sam would like to know why we’re all blocked from the group chat,” Cas said unhelpfully, and Dean rejected the call.

“Good luck explaining why.”

“Maybe the problem is us,” Cas said slowly. He met Dean’s eyes, then they both shook their heads.

“No, it’s those stupid parents,” Dean said.

“And their insufferable children,” Cas agreed.

“Insufferable!” Jack agreed from the backseat, ice cream smeared across his chin. Or that’s what Dean thought he was repeating, the word losing a few syllables along the way.

“Not you, Jack,” Cas said. “Every playgroup would be lucky to have you.”

“Just, they apparently don’t know it,” Dean pointed out. “Or we wouldn’t keep getting kicked out.”

His phone started ringing again, as if to remind him of the fact, and he looked pointedly at Cas. “You deal with him.”

“No, you,” Cas said.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean muttered. Then he had an idea.

“Hey, Jack, tell Sam about what you saw today.” He turned on speakerphone and handed back his phone, not even caring that Jack’s hands were a sticky mess. Okay, maybe he cared a little, but that’s why the Impala now always held wipes in the glove box.

Jack grabbed his phone eagerly. “Sam!” he crowed. “Guess what I saw!”

Dean caught Sam’s voice over the phone. “What—Jack, hey, where’s Dean?”

“Clowns!” Jack said, waving his ice cream spoon around. “Clowns everywhere!”

“Very mature,” Cas told Dean.

Dean shrugged. “Buys us some time.”

“That’s nice, Jack, but put Dean on,” Sam said. Jack started to give the phone back, and Cas whispered,

“Tell him about the slide.”

“Sam, Sam! I went on a slide!” Dean gave him a thumbs up in the rearview mirror and Jack copied it.

“Dean! I know you can hear me!” Sam yelled as Jack continued on about his eventful day.

“We’re horrible influences,” Cas said, unsuccessfully fighting back a smile.

“Nah,” Dean said. “We’re the best.”

tag list

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[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 3 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, but when you’re being held hostage by Hugh Ransom Drysdale there’s really not a lot to be thankful for, is there?

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 2 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist. 

You could feel the chill of the outside seeping into your space, your bones, through the vented window following your shower. The way it crept in made you realize just how far along through fall you were, maybe it was even approaching the onset of the holiday weather. Either way, a storm seemed to be outside. At least it felt like it. Once dried, you found yourself wrapping up tighter in the thick cardigan you’d chosen before you dried your hair, and allowed yourself a quick squirt of perfume before settled into the reading chair in the corner of your room, your journal on your lap.

The little, leather bound book had been in your handbag which had been given back to you earlier that morning as the latest reward for behaving and as you ran your hand over the deep brown cover, you couldn’t help the air of excitement you felt at having been given your treasured little note book, despite the dreary sky you could see from the porthole above your chair.

It had actually surprised you that Drysdale had kept it and not disposed of it the same way he had your phone and your car. But for whatever reason, he’d held onto it, and for that you were grateful. Grateful that you had something of your own from before this imprisonment to anchor too. You’d expected him to want some kind of favour in return but he hadn’t demanded any sort of sexual gratification, simply informed you he would be out most of the morning and would be back mid to late afternoon. As soon as he had gone you had eagerly tipped the contents of your bag onto the bed, almost crying at the sight of your half empty bottle of Coco-Mademoiselle, the Mac Lip-gloss, NYX Eyebrow pencil, Mont Blanc fountain pen, a full tube of mints and your treasured journal. With teary eyes you’d put everything away in its new place, apart from the book and pen before padding into the bathroom for a shower, deliberately sorting yourself out for the day. All you could think of was taking the time so you could savour the moment when you could hopefully make some sense of the jumble in your head by spilling it onto a page.

You opened the cover and flicked to your last entry, the morning of Halloween. A rambling rant about Mick-The-Prick filled the page and you paused, tears in your eyes, as you’d give anything to be stood in his office thinking about ingenious ways to kill him and get away with it. Ironic, really considering that was exactly what your captor had done; committed murder and gotten away with it.

You went to jot the date down in the corner of the page and realised that actually, you didn’t have a clue what it was. Down here, night bled into day, day bled into night…and soon it all bled into weeks. However, given the fact your cycle had been and gone a week ago you figured that it was maybe four weeks since Halloween. Of course, you could ask Hugh, but the less you had to ask him the better as far as you were concerned. You hate the fact that he had this hold on you, that you had to ask for and ‘earn’ things by being ‘good’. And whilst it made you sick to your stomach, you’d fast learnt it was easier to comply than rebel. The night he had left you tangled in your sweater had hurt. It had taken you a good twenty minutes to muster the strength to work your way out and drag yourself into a bath, your body shaking with the trauma, sobs wracking your frame. Your body ached for days, your mind in a post-traumatic cloud of despair. And whilst it hadn’t broken you per-say, it had certainly made you realise exactly what the bastard was capable of, and you had no intention of finding out just how much further he was willing to go.

So, in summary, it had taken Ransom Drysdale two days to break you into compliance.

You’d become passive, so to speak. You gave into his whims, let him use you as he saw fit, did as he told… for the most part anyway. There had been a few other incidents post the sweater one where you’d forgotten yourself and protested, fought a little and he’d gone hard on you, but nothing like that second night. Your passive behaviour was mistaken by him for compliance, and as such you had earned a number of rewards. The bistro table where you took your meals, a book or two which just so happened to be by his grandfather, a gesture you weren't sure was him purging or pressing an agenda onto you. And more recently and most preciously, your bag. But, the strange thing was, that whilst he wanted you to give into him physically, he seemed to enjoy the fact that you were in no way, shape or form compliant to him in others. You openly sassed him, bit back, called him out and he actively encouraged it. He’d started spending a little more time with you in the mornings and afternoons, not just visiting you to toy with you or fuck, but to engage in these little tete-a-tete’s, and the sickest, most perverted thing about it was that you were almost glad. The loneliness was crippling, and you craved company. Even if it was his.  

All things considered, you’d rather ask him for as little as possible so instead, you flicked to the front of the book and crossed off the days on the small calendar inside the cover. Deciding that the date it led you to was as accurate as it was going to get, you turned back, jotted it down in the top right of your page and stared at the blank lines, looking to sort your thoughts for your next entry.

The saying used to go, what's in a name, however as I sit here thinking back on the last few weeks I wonder now what's in a day. My days consist of imprisonment. Held by a captor I have met once before. He's smart, almost too smart. Displaying forms of abuse and aggressive behaviors any FBI analyst would love to dive deep into. But that's not my job, no, my job is to please and satisfy him. Answer to his whims of gratification at any call of the day. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. But if I behave, he lets few things get by. I miss home, my bed, my life. I miss Mick, which is saying a lot all things considered. I don't know still what he wants from me, other than the obvious sexual gratification with little to no room for anything else. I'm a toy, a means to an itch. I don't know how long exactly I've been here, I can only guess it's been about a month. Nor do I know how long I'll have to stay. The answers are blurred like my vision, marred by tears and the low light inside. I haven't seen outside since the day he took me. I haven't been anywhere outside this room. I can see from the small porthole window above this stupidly soft leather chair the season has changed. It feels like deep fall, and as a storm comes outside, what little sky I see is bleak and dark, clouds covering the bluest of skies, angry and ready to open up, raining down water to wash away the sins of the day. I wish I could do the same. 

Before you realized, time had obviously passed, for the sound of the door bolts unlocking had you guessing it was late afternoon or early evening. A glance up at the porthole behind you confirmed as much. The sky was dark and rain had been beating on the window for a little while. 

In came Drysdale, hair a bit wet, a strand slightly out of place, wool pants and maroon sweater. He carried a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He looked irked, like he'd wasted time on something, a look you were now able to decipher after weeks of seeing it. 

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, setting the plate down on the bistro table with its two accompanying chairs, waiting for you to join him. 

Instead of biting back, you simply whispered, "it’s Thanksgiving?" You checked the inside cover of your journal and see the date again. You were a day off and it now dawned on you. It was the fourth Thursday of the month and indeed, Thanksgiving. You glanced back up at Ransom and a deep sadness washed over you. Closing your journal and setting it on the table by your chair, you stood, moving towards him and the plate of food. You took a seat and looked down at the plate, full of the holiday dish basics; turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, diced not candied yams and roasted green beans. It was gourmet and nothing near what he'd been serving you or managing to try. "Thank you," you said softly, rolling your fork through the potatoes. You take a bite but it's about as bland and tasteless as your despair. 

"I brought it back from the country club, I met my father there," he looked under your gaze again, as if willing your eyes to his. "Do you not like it?" 

Finally, your gaze met those cold cerulean orbs, setting your fork down and you took a drink of water, "No, it's fine." Then you picked up your fork again and took another bite, this time of the turkey and gravy. You didn't have it in you for an argument or it's physical ramifications. 

"Are you not hungry?" Ransom pressed. 

"I guess not as much as I thought," you repled further poking at your food, your voice cracking a little as you try to keep your composure. The sting of the holiday has you broken, far more than you'd expected. Normally, today you'd be helping your mother in the kitchen, settling the final touches on the side dishes and listening to your father tell your uncle about some a-typical dad joke he'd heard. Your sister would be giddy over the wine while her boyfriend of the month received death glares from said uncle and your father. 

Ransom outwardly sighed and you wait for what you were trying to avoid. "Are you alright?" 

The question threw you off guard completely and you struggled to hide the shock from your expression. He never cared about your feelings before. Maybe he thought you were coming down with something. You braced yourself to answer honestly. There was no point in lying, he'd see through it. 

"I'm fine, I'm not sick if that's what you're thinking," you answered, a deep restraint on your tone to keep yourself in check. "I hadn't realized what day it was. I didn't know it was Thanksgiving." You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked hard. "My mom, my sister and I, we used to all help make dinner as a family. My dad and uncle would talk a bunch of shit around the fireplace while shooting death glares at my sister's flavor of the month."

He looked at you like he was confused. You scoff, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He squint his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. His body language completely changed as he leaned forward on his forearms, popping one shoulder up higher than the other. 

"Nothing," you backed down immediately. 

"Tell me," he pressed. 

God, he was relentless. You pushed your plate forward and leaned on your own elbows. You looked at him with a raised brow, "am I going to be in trouble if you don't like what I have to say?" 

"Depends," he popped a shoulder smugly. 

You matched his expression and his demeanour falters just a fraction. You saw it, but you didn't hold back. "Then I'd rather keep it to myself. That's what you want isnt it? Me to comply, be obedient? Frankly, I'm not in the mood." 

He failed to hide his smirk and you noticed that too, "Sweetheart." It wasn't laced with teasing, rather his pet name for you on his tongue held a cautious venom. 

"You hate your family. You know nothing about love and what it takes to give love. Hell, I don't doubt that for a minute you've ever felt loved. It's all an act. Self-preservation even. I don't know you or your family outside of the hours of research I did and the mere forty five minutes I listened to you drone on about your 'predicament'. But, the cold hearted truth of it is, you don't know how to love." You watched him run his tongue along his teeth as he continued to glare at you, but you weren't finished. "And that's what family is, it's what they do. They love, they are the embodiment of love at its deepest root. Maybe, just maybe somewhere along your life, your parents loved you, but judging by the Thrombey-Drysdale standards, none of you know what love is outside your selfish tithings and flashy cars. It got lost along the way, more than likely long before you ever were born."

"Wow," he raised his brows and clicked his tongue against his teeth, "That's good, that's really good."

You're fear receptors suddenly spiked as recognizable flash of anger in his eyes flashed through his irises. But there was something else there that you couldn't put your finger on it. Your breathing quickly up-ticked as you felt your palms begin to sweat.

He inhaled a deep, almost centering breath, "that perfume in your bag, I like it."

As if he'd grown a second head, you blinked hard refocusing on him. Had you heard him right? You'd just broken a rule, laid out an unspeakable truth for him and now in a blink he's, God forbid, complimenting your scent? Who the fuck was this guy? Was he on meds? Because he should be or he should at least probably share. It might make life here more bearable. "What?" 

"The perfume from your bag, you're wearing it. It smells good," he lamented. 

Alright, now the 'of sound mind' argument might be worth something because he sure as shit wasn't now. You swallowed and picked up your fork, taking a bite of the cold food just to buy yourself some time as you tried to process the scene before you. You had no remark to make. Confusing jumbled any thought of a coherent word you could utter. 

"Maybe if I'm out, I can pick you up a new bottle. I noticed you were near empty," Ransom offered. 

This was starting to make your stomach turn. If he'd gone through your bag, because why wouldn't he at this point, smelled your perfume, had he read your journal? You made a mental note to go back through and see if there was anything he'd read that he had used against you thus far or could use to corner you in the future. You looked around the room, waiting to see if you were being Punk'd. Just who the fuck is this guy? Without your expression giving too much of your confusion away, you nod at him in reply. "Thank you, I'd like that."

"Hmph," he paused, a dramatic effect he seemed to know that your heart rate up in anxiety. "Well, then why are you looking at me like I have two heads, Y/N?" 

Tread lightly, you thought to yourself. He didn't call you by your first name often, in fact, the last time he had, you were very much smarting back and it resulted in a forceful situation that left you raw and sore for a few days. It was always 'Sweetheart'. 

He baited you, you knew it, but you couldn't back out now. So you sighed, "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but, I don't even know who you are right now. Do you? One minute you're giving me food and being gentle, the next you're allowing my opinion, and now you're ready to flip this table. That's as close as two heads as it gets." 

"Careful, Sweetheart," he now glared at you. There it was, you were in for it. The approach of choice, you weren't sure of, but he was done. You'd learned the different tones in his voice by now, the cues he gave. You were definitely in trouble. You dropped your eyes to your plate. The food stone cold and no longer even appealing in its slightest measure, a wave of nausea washing over you. You further pushed your plate away, "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

His broad frame rose from the chair, "you weren't to begin with," his left hand reaching for the plate and holds it in his hand, "Third drawer down in the armoire. Pick something, I'll be back."

You watched him leave, the familiar click of the door shutting and snap of the lock sounded around the small apartment and you exhaled loudly, your head dropping into your hands. This wasn’t the first time he’d requested that you ‘dress for the occasion’ so to speak. With a deep breath you stood up and crossed the room, opening the drawer of requirements, seeking out a negligee for him to no doubt remove. Your fingers roamed over the fabrics and selection. La Perla, Agent Provocateur, Carine Gilson, Coco de Mer and Fleur of England were just a handful of the expensive, high-end brands that filled the space. Your fingers smoothed over a black macrame and tule underwired long line bra and the matching thong that was folded neatly under it. Plucking it from the drawer, you headed for the bathroom. You slipped out of your casual tee, duster cardigan and leggings, the bra and panties you'd had on. You sighed as you took a good look at yourself in your naked form. 

While you hadn't lost a ton of weight over the last month, you could tell you'd grown thinner. You weren't gaunt but your lack of a daily Dunkin' Donuts macchiato had seemed to thin you out. Your captor made sure you were fed, but you didn't always eat. The plump of your cheeks had receded and your little pooch brought on by happy carbs was sucked into your frame. There were a few bruises still seen, near green, an indication of their final healing stage. The pock mark from a hickey he'd given you still a bit scaby as he'd broken the skin just barely. This was your life now and it made what few bites of Thanksgiving dinner in your stomach nearly lurch forward back up your throat.

You swallowed it down, pulling the long line bra straps up your arms and clasping it behind your back. Your legs slipped into the thong panties and you pulled the material up your freshly smooth legs. Your shaky fingers plucked at the hair tie that fastened the end of your brain closed, nails raking through your hair to loosen your tendrils. He always wanted your hair loose. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you were ready. 

***** Ransom tossed the un-eaten food into the garbage and dumped the plate into the sink to be dealt with later. Turning so that his lower back was leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter he ran a hand over his clean shaven jaw, his mind ticking over the events of the day so far. A pain-in-the-ass Thanksgiving meal with his father had been made bearable by the fact he knew he was coming back to her, and because he hadn’t wanted to be a complete monster he’d made the effort of bringing her a nice dinner back too. But she’d hardly touched any of it.

And what disturbed him most about it, was the fact that instead of wanting to punish her for being an ungrateful bitch, he instead felt a deep rooted sense of concern. She’d lost weight, her face was pale, her hip bones more pronounced, and frankly the last thing he wanted was her passing out on him. Whilst he wanted her compliant, necrophilia really wasn’t his bag.

He had thought by giving her back the bag she’d had on her the night he took her he might have seen a lift in her spirits so to speak, a little gratitude, but instead she’d been meek and reserved until he’d coaxed that familiar sass out of her. And even then she’d been reticent.

It should have pleased him that she was learning her place and becoming more subservient. But if he was being honest with himself, he almost missed her fighting and arguing back. It had been exciting in a way, and he had thought it would have taken longer than it had to break her so to speak. Maybe he had overestimated exactly what a fighter she was, maybe she wasn’t the right muse for his writing after all. Because, let’s face it, writing a tale about a woman who was captured and broken into submission within two days, merely becoming a puppet for her captor’s whims was hardly going to win him any accolades was it? He needed more, needed something that he could spin a good story from. He knew now that when he went back down to her he had to try a different tact so to speak, he needed to coax her mind into reacting not merely her body.

Because if he couldn’t do that, there was no point in keeping her.

He allowed her half an hour or so before he headed back down the stairs and found her sat on the bed, dressed in one of the sets he’d purchased, her hair loose round her face and shoulders the way he liked. She jumped to her feet and he had to actively supress the groan that was rolling in his throat as his eyes scanned her up and down, and he didn’t miss the slight bruises that dotted her skin in various places where he’d marked her as his own. She’d long since stopped trying to cover herself up. Instead she stood stock still, her eyes focussed on the floor.

With long strides he walked into the room and stopped in front of her, tipping her chin up with his finger so she was looking at him, her eyes wide with trepidation and he gave a smirk as he reached up, brushing her hair off the side of her face and neck, dropping his head as he did so.

“You smell so good, Sweetheart.” He inhaled against her pulse point, lips pressing into her there. He felt the gasp of her breath, the way her skin pricked with chill bumps. He smirked to himself, he’s found her spot. And he filed that away, committing it to memory. 

“I like this…” he practically purred as he toyed with the straps to the bra, a long, thick middle finger outlining the strap against her skin, lips following pursuit.

“You should, you chose it.”

He chuckled, ignoring the snark behind her words. “Like I chose you, huh?”

Like I chose you.

His words echoed around your head, reminding you exactly why you were in this fucking situation. Because he had decided you would be. He wanted you, and just like with everything else in his life that Hugh Ransom Drysdale wanted, he simply took. But what worried you the most about all this was whether or not you would be discarded the same way he no doubt discarded the other possessions he lost interest in.

You took a deep, steadying breath as his hands moved from the straps of your bra, long fingers moving to caress the back of your neck, but there was no grabbing, no force. He was being positively gentle.

And it scared the crap out of you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked, his breath hot and wet in your ear as you trembled under the further graze of his fingers against the macramé of your set. 

“You know I am," you swallowed nervously. You weren't new to this, this wasn't your first time, but the way he was being soft, a stark character change to his a-typical stance with you was what had you crawling in fear in the inside. Was it a game? Was it some sort of ploy? Was this his idea of foreplay now before he turned it up and went hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to make you cry?

A flat palm ran down your abdomen, already taught in fear. But not before a thumb grazed along the underside of your breast. Agonizingly slow, his hand, still splayed over you, dips into your matching macrame panties, dipping into your wet folds, thumb lightly pressing against your clit. 

“You’re so wet, considering you’re scared.”

You didn't answer, just swallowed hard, the lump stuck in your throat as it fought against a little whimper. 

His mouth once more latched onto your neck, the kisses gentle as opposed to the bruising ones you had become accustomed to. The fingers in your folds matched his slow nature, teasing you in such a way that when you closed your eyes and focussed your mind elsewhere, you could almost believe you were somewhere with a man you’d given permission to touch you in such away. But when his lips moved to your jawline and you took a deep breath, the heady scent of his cologne hit your senses and your eyes flew open as you were reminded just whose lips and hands were violating you in such away.

You swallowed as Ransom pulled away, his hand gently grasping your chin once more as he issued a simple instruction.

“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile that had once more risen up your throat as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs bent, hands resting on his knees as he watched you the way a lion watched its prey. You undid the clasp on your bra, your eyes remaining locked on his as you slid the straps down your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your captor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking down your body as you moved to shed the bottom half, wondering what on earth had been the point of wearing it in the first place. But even as you asked yourself that, you already knew the answer. It was a bout power, another way for him to remind you just who you belonged to now. How he could strip you bare in more way than one without even lifting a finger.

But lift a finger he did, curling it in mid-air as he beckoned you towards him. You took careful steps over the floor until you were stood in between his legs. His large hands smoothed up the outside of your thighs, before he pulled you towards him, his nose brushing the skin of your abdomen as he took  a deep breath, fingers curling round your thighs.

And then, in a flash he stood, taking you with him, and before you could so much as utter a squeak or noise of surprise he had you naked, laying across the bed, the sheets cold against your skin, a contrast to the heat emanating from the body against yours. The look in his lust blown eyes was overwhelming. You didn't know what you were in for but as his body, still clothed in the frayed maroon sweater and wool slacks sunk into the mattress between your legs, you felt a chill course through your veins, your skin, again, pricking in bumps all over. His hands, with their thick fingers, trailed long lines up and down your thighs, Ransom's full lips kissing at your sensitive inner skin, a nip or two here and there as he went from your knee, upward. 

He could smell your arousal, see it glistening as it dripped from your core. "Someone's ready," he quipped. He watched you swallow hard, a literal lump in your throat bobbing the skin. Your eyes never left him. "No cumming until I tell you. Do you understand?" When you didn't answer immediately, he swiped his tongue over your wet lips, tasting the honey your body gave him, your back arching away from sheets. "Do you understand?" 

And there it was, your punishment finally arriving from your little moment before over dinner. As you still had your wits about you, you uttered a single word response, in the hope that the more submissive you were, the more accepting you were of your chastisement, the less hard on you he was going to be.

"Yes." 

His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, the lavish holiday meal he'd partaken in not filling enough. His thumb pressed against your engorged nub, causing you to writhe but a firm arm over your abdomen kept you in place. The same thick fingers that traced lines up your thighs, two were now buried deep inside you, his tongue working away any juices that seeped out. As he gave you a third, stretching you more, you felt your walls start to tighten, that burning coil in your belly flare and your hands gripped the sheets tighter. 

Ransom could clearly feel you flutter against his fingers as he stopped his assault and looked up at you.

"What did I say?" 

Your chest heaved, your stomach taught and you fought to obey. When you managed to calm yourself, he began again, almost from square one, slowly, tantalizingly slow. 

The action was torture and you were desperately willing yourself to remain grounded as again your body fought to ride over the edge building inside you. When his mouth was over you completely, tongue deep, thumb pressing again into your clit, you felt the urge to cum. But he pulled away, slowly, his thumb stopping the pressure, his tongue slowly dragging out of you. 

"I said no. This is your punishment for your smart mouth over dinner."

"Please, I need to, I'll... I'll make it worth your while, please just let me." Your voice sounded alien as you spoke, the words leaving your mouth in the desperate hope he’d take pity on you but to no avail. Your attempts at bartering served only to frustrate him, anger him even and he Ransom backed away, roughly pulling you to the edge of the bed before stripping out of his sweater and undershirt, the undeniable outline of his hard cock along his thigh strained against his wool slacks. 

Harsh in his grip, he repositioned himself between your legs, your thighs across his shoulders, ass dangling above the floor as a heavy arm kept you still. His flat tongue, hot and full of your sex was eating away at you while his final throws of resolve ate away at him.

“I’m done playing fucking games.” he growled against your aching cunt “I should have gagged you, stuffed my cock deep into the back of your throat, something, anything to shut you up.”

You barely had time to register his words before once more you were flat out against the mattress, trying to regain your breath and calm yourself down when he backed away, tore open his flies and smirked down at you.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, we're not done yet."  He kneeled beside you, his chest heaving, hair completely out of place, anger and wait, was that pain, flickering in his eyes as he stuffed you with a hard thrust of his length. "Now you’re gonna cum on this dick."

He thrusted hard and within a few slams of his hips against yours, he allowed you the release you were begging for, "that's right, Princess, cum on my cock." 

You wept at the feeling finally freeing you, cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as you squeezed around him. Your chest heaving against his, skin to skin. The fabric of his wool pants hot and itchy against your inner thighs. He was still thrusting but now it had slowed to a roll, slow and calculated. Your muddled mind was buzzing and rapidly trying to sort out if he'd cum inside you or if he wasn't finished. His features were softer, but still filled with purpose and his lips latched onto a naked breast causing your body to react, tingles and flames licking at your core again. His eyes looked up at yours as he caged you in, still buried deep inside you, hips rolling. 

"I said we weren't done," he rasped. His thrusts and rolls, the two very different tactics mixing now, made the swell of his cock inside you abhorrently pleasurable. Try as you might, it was impossible to feel otherwise. 

And Ransom was finding it equally as hard to hold on. His weight was evenly distributed over her, his cock swelling inside her heat. It took all he had not to blow his load the first time he made her cum, hearing the sinful sounds of her orgasm that felt like a volcanic eruption around his hard shaft. But now he could feel her again, tiny little pulses around his already overtly sensitive dick. He was sure his precum was leaking out, wanting to paint the way for the rest of him to follow. He rolled and thrust as his lips nipped at her neck. She moaned loudly, her body exuding lust. He could feel her shake beneath him and to his delight and surprise her eyes were no longer screwed shut and turned away. Instead they were locked on his. The moment those deep hued orbs met his, he felt a hitch in his breath and tightness in his chest that travelled through his belly and into his cock, causing the thick member to throb inside her. Tiny, soft hands gripped at his biceps, her touch a fiery scald against his skin, almost as if it were frost bite. Her touch equally shocking as her stare and he gave a roll of his hips to hide what he felt. A deep, satiated roll of his hips that sent her over the edge. 

"Hugh!" She came around him, harder than her first, crying out his given name. It snapped him from his moment of revelation, driving him insanely frustrated at the word leaving her lips. He slammed into her as she rode out her orgasm, chasing his own. 

You felt the dismissal of his body as he violently pulled free from your walls, spewing his hot seed over your abdomen, drops claiming your tits too. He nearly collapsed, his dick in hand, the other holding himself up against the mattress between your legs. 

He left you there, dirty, degraded and shut the door with a barked instruction for you to clean yourself up. You no longer cried in front of him, either before, during or after. There was no point. He didn’t care about how you felt, but the thing he DID seem to care about was the fact that you still refused to call him Ransom. 

It was the one thing you held on to, the only thing that gave you an inch of control in this entire fucked up situation. You hadn’t missed the look on his face when you’d cried out 'Hugh' in the throes of your last orgasm. Before that moment there had been a softness in his eyes, one that had unnerved you no end, along with something that had looked suspiciously like hope. But when his given name had tumbled involuntarily from your mouth and not the one he preferred that softness had turned to contempt and you didn't miss the undercurrent of disappointment either.

And seeing that, knowing that it pissed him off and dare you say it, upset him so much was your single, albeit feeble, act of rebellion that served as a desperate boost to your ever waning inner strength. *****

Ransom laid in his large, plush bed, hands behind his head as the silk sheets pooled at his waist as morning was in full swing outside. His thoughts strayed to his girl in the basement and he took a deep breath, shifting slightly as he remembered the way her fingers had felt as they’d curled around his biceps, her touch firey but cold. That had been the first time she’d touched him when she wasn’t trying to push him away, it had been involuntary, he knew that, a reaction to the way she’d been feeling, the way he had made her feel. 

A twitch resounded deep in his belly....the way he made her feel.

He realised now that he’d been going about this the entirely wrong way. The force had been necessary to make her comply at first, but last night she hadn’t just complied she’d participated, just what he had wanted all along. And all after he’d shown her a little leeway, brought her dinner, entertained her talk. He understood now that he needed to play a different card from his hand. She responded better to conversation, talking. Ransom hated fucking talking, he was more cerebral, calculating. Conversation means connecting, and connecting was something he wasn’t particularly interested in normally. He needed to lead, to be in charge, but it was clearly what she knew and thrived on, so he had to swallow his apprehension down to play the long game, to get what he wanted. 

Now he understood that, it was going to be so fucking easy. All he had to do was to seemingly show her compassion, a little give so he could take so to speak. He rolled his head, cracking his neck as he remembered what she said about cooking with her mom so he decided that after her stellar performance last night, today she’d earned a bigger reward than a book or some journal. He was going to show her what she could have if she just gave in and admitted what he knew she truly wanted. A large house, a garden, a pool, a hot tub, silk sheets, a large bed, and a man to fuck her every way to heaven and back. He could give her everything that any woman could possibly desire, and then some.

With a twitch of a smirk across his lips, Ransom pulled his naked frame out of bed and slipped into joggers, a soft waffle knit thermal long sleeve pulled over his tousled hair. He felt like company for breakfast and he knew exactly to invite up. 

His bare feet padded with purpose over the plush carpet of his room, down the stairs and onto the first floor, over the hard wood and marble tile of the halls and entry, down the plush carpeted spiral staircase down to the basement.

He reached the door and gently turned the locks, quietly pushing the door open as he turned the knob. It opened quietly and his eyes fell upon the empty bed. He frowned slightly, wondering where she was. Then his eyes found her, sitting curled up with her eyes cast upward, that little tease of a porthole window in her focus. She'd turned her chair around so she could see it more clearly, the throw blanket he'd tossed at her the week before was wrapped around her body. He didn't know the time, but it wasn't early nor was it afternoon. Not that it mattered, neither had anywhere else to be.

"Good morning," he said lowly. He watched as her eyes slowly moved away from the only bit of outside world she'd seen for weeks now.

"Morning," she replied quietly, her eyes locking onto his. "I err, I was just..." she trailed off. "Actually, I don't know what I was doing to be honest."

He stalked up to the chair, kneeling in front her. His hand reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her cheek bone. "You were such a good girl last night. Took me so well, teased me with that little number you had on. I've thought about you all morning."

Ransom watched her throat bob as she swallowed before licking her lips and biting the inside corner of her lip. Such an innocent gesture that had him half hard straight away.

"I want to give you something. But you have to be good, or it goes away," he started. "Can you be good, Sweetheart?"

She nodded, slightly. "Okay," he smirked. "Now, fix the chair and come up to make us breakfast."

Ransom stood back, allowing you some space to accommodate his request. You slipped the throw blanket from your shoulders and left it in the chair as you rearranged the piece back to its normal state. You met him at the doorway. You didn't miss the way his eyes moved over you, the way they lit up in a way at as he looked at the silken material covering your body. The dark teal silk and lace cami set was just one of a handful of options he'd provided for you. All the same, different colors, all in your size. 

You hesitated for a second, not sure if this was another one of his little games but he simply met your eyes with his own and nodded up the stairs. With tentative, shaky steps you climbed them, sensing him close behind you as for the first time in weeks you left your prison.  You felt anxious, highly on edge and nervous. What was awaiting you? There was the sickening feeling in your stomach of excitement too, you hadn’t seen the outside since Halloween. You paused at the top of the stairs in the hall. The kitchen was directly across from you, the entry to your right. The door to the basement clicked shut and you felt Ransom’s firm chest behind your back as his form invaded your space. He dragged a finger down your arm causing the strap of your top to fall away, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Straight ahead, Sweetheart."

“Okay,” you whispered before you slowly made your way through to the large, airy kitchen. You stood looking around, taking in the fancy appliances before you turned back to Ransom. "Did you have something in mind?”

"Well..." Ransom leaned in the doorway, watching you as you stood in the middle of the tiled floor "Yesterday wasn't the first time you said you enjoyed to cook so I thought you might like to." His eyes flicked once more down your frame and back up again before he nodded his head towards the rear of the room. “Anything you need is in the pantry and fridge.”

“And I can make anything I want?” You blinked, not quite able to believe what he was allowing you to do. It was fucked up that you were even considering this as a reward but, you’d take it. Boy would you take it, anything to grasp some sense of normality in this day-by-day hell you were living.

“Sure.” Ransom popped a shoulder again and you took a deep breath before you turned and headed to the sink to wash your hands before sorting out your menu and you froze. The outside landscape had stopped you cold. From what you could see of the back garden the property was secluded, not over looked. A lawn extended a fair distance back from the rear of the house, a neat decking area stood to the right which sported a hot tub and a little further down there looked to be a pool of some kind which was covered over for the season. Trees hung over the bottom of the garden lining the high wooden fence, what few leaves they still sported were shades of crimson, gold and brown and the river traced it’s banks as it curved around the side and back of the house, the sun shining off the surface, giving it the impression it was made of sapphires. It was breathtakingly beautiful and you felt your heart shatter, your eyes well and you couldn't help but hold back the urge to weep as your chest contracted painfully. You were so close to the outside, separated only by a pane of glass, yet it had never felt further away.

His voice broke you from your despair and you swallowed back the sob that choked your throat as you flicked your attention to the left, Ransom's reflection drawing closer towards you as he crossed the terracotta tiled floor.

"Everything alright?"

You cleared your throat and gave a quick shake of your head, "Fine."

Again you felt him in your space. His presence consuming. “You sure?”

Sure? No you weren’t sure. Because none of this was fine, in fact it was as far from fine as it could possibly get. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to spin round and hammer your fists into any part of his body you could hit but you knew that it wouldn't get you anywhere, bar back in the basement likely shackled naked to the bed so you instead turned slowly to find yourself caged in by his broad frame so close to yours. You cast your eyes downward, uncomfortable at his searching stare, "Yeah, I’m sure.”

Your tongue flicked nervously over your lips as you continued to avoid his gaze before you cleared your throat “How do you like your eggs? Or would you prefer an omelette? Pancakes even?" The urge to move away from him pulled you away from your idea of a menu. Brunch basics were flooding your brain and you rattled off a few nervously. He may have said you could make whatever you wanted, but right now, you had no clue. Seeing a different space, the outside world and breathing new air had rattled you.

“You choose.” Ransom spoke softly, his hand reaching up to brush your hair off your face before he tipped your chin up so your eyes met his. He looked at you, and you swallowed as for the first time there was something unreadable on his face. His eyes were looking at you in a way they’d never looked at you before, with a softness you’d never have anticipated he could possess.

"Waffles." You suddenly blurted out, desperate to escape his gaze "I err, do you have a waffle iron?”

“No.” He deadpanned.

"Oh," you swallowed "Erm, then in that case French toast...maybe? Is that ok?"

“Sounds delicious.” He said, his hand dropping from your face, “Sure it’ll taste almost as good as you.”

“Great. How about with fresh Chantilly cream and berries if you have them?” You asked, completely ignoring his blatant back handed compliment and you started familiarizing yourself with the space as you glanced around.

“Like I said, whatever you want, Sweetheart.” He shrugged, and with that he stepped back to allow you to move away.

Ransom watched her move around the luxurious kitchen, looking through the pantry and cabinet near the stove taking out cinnamon and vanilla, plucking items like bread, butter, eggs, berries and cream from the fridge. Searching drawers for utensils and measuring cups and spoons. Finding a pan and bowl from a bottom cabinet. Measuring sugar from the glass jar on the counter. He hoped the ingredients were still fresh, he wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been stored. She moved like she belonged there, he thought to himself. So sexy looking in her nightwear, bare feet on the tile, her ass and breasts moving underneath the silk as she stretched and worked. 

"Coffee?" He offered, as he moved from one side to the other. He made sure his exquisite espresso machine was ready as it sat in all its glory on its own portion of the counter like a batista station inside Starbucks. 

He didn't miss the way she watched him move around her, preparing the coffee and grabbing the orange juice from the fridge. He reached over her shoulder, his body brushing against hers as he opened the cupboard where he kept the glasses and mugs. He peered down at her, giving a twitch to the corner of his mouth. A smirk indeed. He noted the way her eyes followed him as he poured the juice, like he was going to poison her or something. 

"It's just juice, Sweetheart," he said nonchalantly and put the juice back in the fridge. He set the breakfast table for them and took a seat in his place, a now hot cup of coffee in his hand, hers sitting on the counter next to her. 

It wasn’t long before she had finished and brought the plates to the table, sitting down timidly in the seat to his right as he gestured to it, stopping her dead as she was about to make her way around to the opposite side.

It was quiet, the only sounds heard for a while were the click and scrape of forks and knives cutting away at the plates of food. Ransom wouldn't admit it out loud, but this was the best French toast he'd ever had in his life. Something about it, the way it was not soggy, but perfectly moist, the edges just crispy. The way the cream made for no syrup and the sweet berries added the final element. He watched her pick at the food for a moment or two as he glanced over at her and saw a small bit of Chantilly in the corner of her mouth.

A long arm reached across the table and automatically she flinched a little, as if she was going to pull away but one firm stare stopped her in her tracks. His thick thumb padded away the white, sweet cream and he brought the same thumb to his lips, sucking the cream away. He lifted his brows in a teasing manner and twitched up his lips, "Delicious. Like I said, almost as good as you, Sweetheart."

"Thanks, I think," she paused. 

"Trust me, I know."

The comment seemingly threw her off her meal and it didn't get past Ransom. She had started picking at it, moving it around the plate like she had done with her dinner the night before. He, on the other hand, was near finished. 

"Are you still not hungry?" He inquired. 

She shook her head, "I just made my portion too big. I overestimated my appetite, I guess."

"Huh," he placated her reply. He knew she was lying but he let it slide, realizing that seeing a new space, the window to the outside was overwhelming. So, he thought he'd sweeten the deal. "I thought maybe you'd like to see the house," he offered, watching as her big eyes locked onto his and she took a deep breath.

"That sounds nice, thank you."

"Good, after breakfast then." He nodded affirmingly, as if it were drying ink in his mind. He picked up his coffee and finished it off, his plate already clear. 

She stood from the table, collecting his plate with her own and headed for the sink. He turned in his chair, stalking her, watching her every move. The way she pitched over the sink, bending her frame over the dishwasher to load it as she cleaned up the kitchen. 

With each bend and snap of her hips, he felt his mouth water more. Her little silk cami riding up as she moved, her breasts falling in and out of a fuller view. When she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, he was on her. He moved behind her, his hands grabbed her hips as she spun around completely startled giving a gasp and a quick yelp. 

"Easy, Sweetheart," he chuckled as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Sorry... you, err...you startled me." She whispered as he moved his hands so they gripped at the side of the kitchen counter on either side of her, caging her in with his body.

"Some women would like that," he quipped, arching an eyebrow a little and watched as she swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward. Moving one hand slowly up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck, he tipped her head back up so those large, Bambi eyes locked onto his.

His hand adjusted, gripping her chin softly as he moved closer still, dipping his head he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. He felt her go rigid, her chest spiking as she drew in a sharp breath, her body shaking slightly in his hold. "Stop fighting it..." he whispered against her mouth before he kissed her again. This time, his tongue traced the line of her upper lip, the feel of it soft and soothing.

You felt his tongue line your lip and you couldn't hold the whimper of fear that passed through you. He’d never kissed you before, not on the mouth anyway. You felt him deepen his kiss, his big hand cupping your face, pulling you into it more. Your mind went elsewhere, imagining anyone but him kissing you like this. You couldn't deny it, this intimate moment, completely lost on both of you for different reasons, felt good and he was good at it. He was damn good at it in fact, and that alone made you want to vomit your breakfast into his throat. At that, you jerked back, panting a little, feeling your lips swollen from the way he'd sucked your bottom one between his, pulling at it just the right way. You hated the feeling between your legs that it had evoked, your body betraying you just like it always did.

In an attempt to stave off the conflicting emotions spiking within you, you focussed on his face, the face you hated and to your surprise he looked dazed. The usual stoic expression that clouded his features had been replaced with something akin to surprise but no sooner had you noticed it, it was gone.

"Clean up and I'll meet you in the study." He told you, his voice a deep almost pained whisper. 

"But I don't..." you started but were quickly cut off. 

"You're a smart girl, figure it out," he smirked and slipped away. 

You were tempted to follow, just so you'd see where he was going but you knew not to defy a command. The feeling of unease seemed to disappear as you slumped your shoulders and instead defeat filled your frame. A trembling hand came to your lips as jittery fingertips touched your swollen skin. Your bottom lip quivered like a ripple in a river and you quickly covered your mouth, turning on a dime as your French toast littered the sink. If the water hadn't been running already, Ransom would no doubt have heard you retching. You rinsed your mouth out to attempt at hiding that vomit taste from your tongue and quickly finished your task of cleaning up the kitchen, salty tears dripping from your chin, mixing with the soapy water. 

When you could stall no longer, you sighed and headed out into the large hallway, taking a quick look around. It was light, airy, the grand staircase swept in and curved round to the next floor and your eyes lingered on the heavy wooden door just beyond it. You hesitated, and then with a dejected sigh realised there was no point even trying to escape. Even if it was unlocked, which you doubted, the threat to your family was just too much for you to risk. Instead, you decided to head down the corridor to your right and found yourself in a large open plan living room of sorts. It was decorated in clean whites and crisp greys with a huge feature stone open fireplace and sported a bar at the back. A brown leather sofa and two matching arm chairs were strategically placed around an expensive looking coffee table but you didn’t bother to look at the rest, this wasn’t the room you needed so you turned back on yourself, walked back into the hall and took the turning to your left.

This time you found yourself walking into what you could only assume was his study-come-den of sorts. It was huge, and once again sported a sofa pushed up against the wall, looking out over the spectacular view of not only the garden but the river too. But that wasn’t what caught your attention, nor was it the walnut desk and laptop that sat upon it. It was the floor to ceiling bookshelf behind it. Your mouth dropped open as you made your way towards it but then you stopped, biting your lip. Were you supposed to be looking at them? But, he had said to meet you in here. And left you to find your own way.  Surely, if he didn’t want you looking around he wouldn’t have left you to it.

Throwing caution to the wind you strode forward, your pace hurried this time and your eyes quickly scanned across some of the books. You couldn’t help but feel shocked. Whilst there was a huge collection of his Grandfather’s books, and a number of other crime novels of types, it was the colourful spines to your right that made your chest heave in delight. The entire Harry Potter collection. With a shaky hand you reached for The Philosopher’s Stone, noting the British version of the title, and opened the front page giving another gasp as you read the publishing details.

This was a first edition.  And from the date you also knew it would be one that contained the misprint errors. And as such, would be worth a small fortune.

“See something you like?” that familiar voice hit your ears and you gave a little shriek, jumping around, clutching the book to your chest to avoid dropping it.

“I’m sorry.” You hastily began to apologise “I was just…erm…”

“It’s ok.” He assured you, crossing towards you. Once more he encroached into your personal space and you felt the blades of your shoulders press into the shelf behind you. “Harry Potter fan?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Didn’t think they’d be your type of thing.

“They’re not really.” He shrugged “I’m a collector. Everything on the shelves, well they’re all first or limited editions, so worth a lot.”

“Figures.” You mumbled, turning round and slotting the book back into the space it had come from. As you did you felt him push up behind you, his hands on your hips, the unmistakable feel of his hard on dug into the lower part of your back and you fought to stop yourself shuddering. He was after pay-back for allowing you to leave your prison.

“Did you like the house?” he asked, brushing your hair off your neck.

“Yes.” You answered politely, your voice catching a little as he placed a kiss to the crook of your shoulder.

“You know, it could all be yours sweetheart if you just stopped fighting what you know you want” His kisses continued up your neck as his words whirled around your brain and you were back to where you had been in the kitchen. It felt good. And that disgusted you.

“Did you enjoy making breakfast?” he whispered, his lips by your ear.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice barely there.

“Show me how much.” His teeth nipped at your lobe, his hips grinding forward and you swallowed and closed your eyes. You knew what he wanted but as you turned to face him you had an idea. One which would save you being fucked no doubt over the desk or on the hard looking couch.

With a lick of your lips you looked at him and sank slowly to your knees, taking his sweats with you. His hard cock sprang free, slapping his lower abs and you reached out, grasping it in your hand.

“Fuck, yeah baby…” Ransom hissed as you moved your head forwards and took him in your mouth.

You pulled out all the moves, you took him as deep as you could, gagging a little as he wasn’t a small man. You kept your hand firmly on the base of his cock, you hollowed your lips, you swirled your tongue around his shaft and he let out a little groan his hand fisting in your hair as his hips bucked forwards.

“Jesus, I knew your mouth was smart but…” he panted, looking down at you. You raised your eyes to look at his as he bit his lip, his entire face contorted in pleasure…

Pleasure that was ruined by the sound of the doorbell.

 “What the fuck…” Ransom growled out, un-fisting his hand from her hair. “Who the fuck is that?”

He glanced down at her and she looked up at him, wide eyed. She was a mess, swollen lips, wet chin and dressed in nothing but her skimpy tank and shorts. With a frustrated growl, Ransom pulled his dick out of her mouth and grabbed his phone from the table to check the doorbell camera. His face blanched as he saw who it was.

“I don’t fucking believe it…” he mumbled, as she looked up at him.

“Who is it?” She asked, wiping her face, “I’m not exactly dressed for visitors, Hugh.”

Ransom might have been pre-occupied with the familiar face staring at him from his phone, but he still picked up on that 'Hugh' and he glared down at her. “No shit, and because we have a visitor, I'm gonna let that one slide. Get up.” She rose to her feet, blinking a little as he pulled off the thermal he was wearing and tossed it to her. “Put that on. No one gets to see you in silk but me.”

She blinked as she caught it, confusion spreading across her face. “Don’t you just want me to go-“

In a flash, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger and she winced, “If I wanted you downstairs I’d have said. So put the damn shirt on, and when he starts asking questions just remember what I said I could do to your family and friends.”

In complete complacency, he watched her slip his thermal over her head, her fingers barely peeking through the sleeves to fix her dishevelled hair. The material hit her mid-thigh and his eyes brows gave a flicker of approval before he walked to the entry and opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Drysdale..." that infuriating Southern drawl hit Ransom's ears with all the finesse of a cheese-grater. Benoit Blanc, without so much as a gesture of request, pushed past Ransom as he strode inside, stopping in the tiled entry, looking around.

"Do you have a warrant?" The man of the house snipped in his usual spiteful tone.

Blanc still didn’t reply, and Ransom rolled his eyes following him as he wandered down the hallway, stopping at the open door to the study. "Well, if it isn't the lady of the hour."

Ransom stood behind Blanc, an infuriatingly warning glare sent his girl's way. He noted the way she was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, lips still swollen, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. She looked like a sex kitten, and maybe that was the idea. He warned her to sell it after all…

"Excuse me?” Y/N looked up at the two men in the doorway. 

Blanc stepped inside the room, taking a seat on the edge of the same couch where she sat. "I've been looking for you, young lady. A lot of people are looking for you, you know Miss Y/L/N.”

“I errr…” she swallowed a little as she slowly got to her feet, her hands pulling the hem of the thermal down before she folded her arms across her chest, not in a defiant manner, but almost as if she was hugging herself “Did someone send you or…”

“No, nothing like that. You see, I heard you'd gone missing, and I knew you had a work connection to Mr. Drysdale, that, shall we say didn't go quite as planned. So when things started adding up, I thought to ask the man himself."

“Well, congratulations, this is one mystery you actually solved correctly, Sherlock. As you can see she’s here and she’s fine, and we were in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind….” Ransom folded his arms, his eyes moving from hers to Blanc, who was irritatingly completely ignoring him, his gaze focussed intently on the woman who stood in front of him.

Ransom could see him take her in fully, now seeing the situation he may have just walked in on. She looked dishevelled and was missing crucial parts of her clothing, but she had no tears in her eyes, no markings looking to be of abuse or out of the ordinary. None that were visible anyway. Blanc’s gaze then dragged over to Ransom who was bare foot in joggers and still half aroused, which he did nothing to hide as he folded his arms over his naked chest.

Ransom held Blanc’s gaze, his chin jutting out defiantly, the detective only looking away when the lady of the hour spoke, her voice quiet, as she gave a small nod. "He’s right, I’m fine."

"Then why not tell your family where you are?”

“I err…” Y/N’s right hand gripped he cuff of the sweater sleeve tightly, “I just, well, I…”

Ransom could see that she was losing it and he knew he had to intervene. He walked over to her and placed an arm around her, kissing the top of her head lightly, "It's alright, Sweetheart. I know how he can be frustrating. We're doing nothing wrong."

With that he turned his gaze to the man in front of him, not even trying to hide the sneer of contempt that was crossing his face “I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you Blanc.”

“Well, maybe Miss Y/L/N has some crayons hidden up her sleeve so to speak.” Blanc smiled innocently and Ransom felt the anger floor his system.

“You’re starting to really piss me off.” he snarled, “You barge into my home, without so much of an explanation…” his rant was stopped dead as Y/N placed her hand on his chest, palm splaying over his bare skin. Ransom swallowed at the touch of her fingers against his skin, firey hot just as they had been last night when they curled around his arms.

"Hey," she spoke and he looked down to see her giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes but one that should be enough to convince the dumbass detective who was watching them. "It's okay." She then turned to Blanc as he held his hand up, palm open, speaking to Ransom.

“I’m not trying to be frustrating Mr. Drysdale, I'm merely enquiring after Miss Y/L/N’s wellbeing."

"I'm not here under duress if that's what you're thinking.” She spoke, clearing her throat. “Hu… Ra, we have had to keep our relationship private,” she stumbled on the right identity, settling for 'we'. Clearing her throat again and settling her nerves, she continued, "Mr. Blanc, as you well know, I'm reporter and his background has been less than stellar as of late. It no doubt would not look good for either of us if it had come to light. My reputation as a journalist would have been in tatters.”

“Well, lies and deception certainly go hand in hand when it comes to Mr. Drysdale...”

Ransom rolled his eyes dramatically “Change the record, Blanc. The static is a little loud.”

Blanc completely ignored him, his attention still on her. “So you caused all this worry, because of some…” he waved his hand in front of him, gesturing between the pair of them. 

Ransom’s arm curled round her even tighter, his fingers pressing into her hip and he felt her stiffen a little before she relaxed into his side and gave a small nod.

"Like I said, it wouldn’t have gone down well with my family, or my career.”

“Ahh, yes, your job, which you quit.” Blanc looked at her. “Yes, I spoke to your boss.” He answered her unasked question. “Why would you be so worried for your reputation as a journalist, if you’re not actually a journalist anymore?”

At that she took a deep breath “I quit the paper because my boss is an asshole. His antics on Halloween were a step too far. But that doesn’t mean I have no intentions of working ever again. I'm currently taking a long overdue sabbatical.”

Blanc studied her again, almost as if he was weighing something up and she once more began to fidget and Ransom decided he’d had enough.

"Okay, I’m done being polite,” Ransom moved his arm from around his girl and stepped towards Blanc, placing himself directly between the detective and the woman. “You've interrupted out little post brunch love affair and I’m horny, so…do you need help finding the door, or can your super sleuth skills figure the way back out of it on their own?”

“Miss Y/L/N?” Blanc spoke, his eyes locked onto Ransom’s. Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw twitch, the fact that Blanc wasn’t scared of him irritated him no end.

There was a pause and then her voice came clearly from behind him as she spoke, “If you'd be so kind as to not tell my family where I am, I'd appreciate it. I prefer this time without their unwanted opinion.”  Her voice was steady, measured almost. “You can tell them that you've found me, alive and well."

Blanc knew he wasn't welcome, he had proof of life and no reason to suspect foul play. He stood, his long wool coat falling into place around him. "Well, then I guess my work is done." He brushed passed Ransom and gave a quick quip, "I'm warning you...." 

"What was that?" His girl wondered. She'd heard him. 

"Have a nice day," Blanc nodded curtly “I’ll see myself out.”  

You watched the back of the detective as he left the large living room, Ransom following him to the doorway where he stood, arms folded, watching. The sound of Blanc’s feet on the tiles of the hallway grew fainter and fainter until eventually they stopped completely.  The latch of the door sounded and you fell to the closest thing you could sit on. Your while body shook with a chill that crept into your bones but not from the cold. No, you were sick to your stomach in fear and worry. The bile of deceit rose to your throat and had you not already spewed up your breakfast it would have most likely decorated the carpet of the study.  Instead, you swallowed down the sour bile as Drysdale approached you and you glanced up at him, blinking whilst he studied you for a second, his face passive. As you held his gaze, something akin to amusement flashed in his cold blue eyes and a twisted smirk spread across his face.

“Your acting skills certainly improved there along the way, at the end you were almost award worthy.” He drawled, his hands falling to his hips. “Even Meryl Streep would be jealous.”

"Fuck you," your voice quivered.

He arched an eyebrow, an amused expression on his features “Already played that game Sweetheart, and carry on back-chatting me and you’ll be back in the basement.”

"Wh... What?"

"You pulled through in the end there. It was a rough start, but you convinced Colonel Sanders that you were here on your own."

“Colonel Sanders?” You blinked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Blanc. CSI KFC.” He replied. You were none the wiser as to what he was going on about and it must have shown on your face as he simply rolled his eyes. "Never mind...the point is, sweetheart, I'm in a good mood. And seeing as you behaved...”

"What?" Your voice was quiet, meek.

"If you shut that pretty little mouth for longer than a second, I'll explain." His tone was measured but you didn’t miss the underlying threat.

“Sorry.” Your eyes fell to the floor, your left hand worrying at your right.

“Eyes on me.” He barked and your head whipped up automatically and he smirked at you as you took a deep breath. “As I was saying, seeing as you were such a good girl, I thought I’d reward you, let you stay up here with me for the day.”

The notion shocked you. Your mouth went dry and you couldn't make sense of it. But then, the more you thought about it, the more his audacity irked you. He’d imprisoned you, used you, abused you…and now he was implying that staying in his company was a fucking reward.

“Wow, thanks…” you blurted before you could stop yourself, sarcasm lacing your tone. As soon as the words had slipped from your mouth you felt panic flood your system as he stepped towards you and reached out, his right hand curling around your throat.

"Don’t push me sweetheart.” His voice was low as his fingers squeezed the column of your neck, a reminder of how easily he could simply end it all whenever he chose. 

And just like that the softness that he had displayed with you earlier that morning was gone, and the shutters were back up. You swallowed hard, feeling the strain of your throat against his touch, his eyes now dark and full of that familiar angry lust and desire that chilled you from head to toe. Blanc had riled him, gotten underneath his skin, that was easy to see while your mouthy comments fuelled that ire. And as such, he needed an escape, an outlet.

And he was going to get it from you.

“Now on your knees and finish what you started."

[carllisle]

In honour of @notquitetwilight ’s birthday, here is the latest instalment of the Cullanos prequel, the famous incident involving Esme, Carlisle’s second wife, and a motorcycle-shaped pizza slicer. 

For those who have missed the instalments so far, see below: 

The Second Mrs Cullano - Carlisle’s wedding to Wife 2

A Taste of Boston Part I - Carlisle and Wife 3 Esme take business with the daughter they are newly reunited with to Boston

A Taste of Boston Part II - Carlisle and Esme take on a hit job while their daughter Rosalie gets to grips with this new lifestyle 

More content can be found on @notquitetwilight ‘s blog under the tag the-cullanos and on my blog @carllisle under the tag the-cullanos. 

This instalment has content warning for sex (not explicit) and violence. Don’t get us wrong, this is still shitposting. But at this point we are really, really invested. Shout to @stregoni-benefici and @carlislesscarf who are screaming in the back of the clown car that me and Juliet are steering. 

The Second Wife and the Pizza Slicer

Esme liked the rain. She liked how the streetlights reflected in the water on the pavement, the neon colours lighting up her path. It didn’t lighten her black mood. The sound of her stiletto steps were lost in the rain as she marched down the street like she owned it. Half of it she did own, not that the IRS needed to know that. There was only one shopfront she was interested in tonight, though. Ahead, the pizzeria stood dark and empty, unassuming and inconspicuous wedged between a barbers’ shop, and a meat deli. Convenient for the pizzeria to have one of their suppliers next door. Those shops were closed too but that was to be expected; it was after 1am. 

Her heart raced in anticipation as she walked through the darkness. Between the buildings was a small alleyway and she slipped down it. At the back door of the pizzeria was Tony, the long-time security guard who took most night shifts on the property, and Esme forced a smiled at him. “Hey handsome. They leave you out here without an umbrella?” 

He grinned at her, rain dripping down his bald head and onto his coat. “I left it on the subway on my way in.” 

“Carl not give you a lift?” Tony lived practically on Carlisle’s route into the pizzeria and he often picked him up when they both had to come in. Tony glanced at the sleek Mercedes that was hidden at the back of the alley and shook his head. “The mrs came in with him today.” 

The mrs. Snakes writhed in her stomach. She couldn’t bite back her spite and it wiped the smile off her face. “Is the cunt with him now?” 

“Nah. She left ‘bout an hour after they arrived. Carlisle helped them out in the kitchen tonight and she didn’t much like being left alone.” 

“Heaven fuckin forbid she make herself useful. She’s only meant to be four months pregnant, ain’t she? Not exactly time for her confinement.” 

Tony’s smile faltered. “Something like that. You got any weapons on ya?” 

Esme frowned. “What if I say no? Ya gonna pat me down?” 

“No. Won’t let you in, though. You’re always packin’.” 

“You got me there.” Esme opened her coat, taking out her two handguns - white and inlaid with mother-of-pearl - and handing them over. Tony raised his eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. Knives were taken out of each shoe along with the two throwing-stars strapped to her thigh. 

“Is that everything?” 

“You know I don’t need weapons to kill him, right? I could kill him with my bare hands.” 

“I know.” He hid her weapons in his coat carefully. “But you won’t. So I don’t worry.” 

Fury rippled through her and her eyes went wide for a moment, but he held her gaze and she let out a hard breath through her nose. He was right. “You’ve worked for us too fuckin long. You can read me too well.” But her hard face broke and she gave him a genuine, albeit brief, grin. Anger had only flared in her because he was too right. “Here,” she gave him her umbrella. “You need this more than me.” 

Tony smiled. “Thanks, Esme. In ya go.” And he pressed his thumb to the scanner on the door and let it swing open. 

She lightly punched him on the shoulder as she passed, and waited for the door to close before making her way down the corridor. Ahead were the stairs to Carlisle’s office and she ran up them quickly, anger creeping back. It had been months since she had been here last. Since Mrs Cullano announced to the world her pregnancy, actually. Esme had cut off all contact with Carlisle that day. He had broken her goddamn heart and sadness hadn’t yet set in. She was still a raging fire and she was ready to burn down anyone who came too close. But when he had called her sounding unhinged and told her to meet her here, she couldn’t tell him no, cause she knew that tone he had - it was the same one he had had when, six months ago, they had been told that ten million had gone missing. Esme had recovered it from the 15-year-old hacking prodigy who had stolen it before adding her to the payroll, but before that Carlisle had been enraged and dangerous and he needed her to hold him back. Something bad had happened. 

“Carlisle?” The door to his office was unlocked but he wasn’t inside and it was dark. On the far side of the room was a wall of bookshelves and she quickly crossed to it and pulled on one book - The Godfather by Mario Puzo - and the bookshelf swung open like a door. Carlisle had always joked how cool he thought secret doorways were and they both thought the choice of book to be the secret lever was funny. It felt like a million years ago. It felt like yesterday. Behind it was another corridor and a metal spiral staircase that led down to the final door - that only opened one way - into the restaurant below. No one was allowed to use this but Carlisle and Esme, not even Mrs Cullano. Her heels clacked on the iron and her fur coat dragged out behind her. She tossed it aside on one of the booths close to the kitchen and she caught sight of her reflection in the windows. No, I don’t want to seduce my ex boyfriend, she had told herself earlier, but her wardrobe choice said otherwise. She wore the red satin dress he had bought her for his second wedding, backless save for chains of diamonds and clinging to every curve she had, and the ring he had bought her as a sign of their commitment still kept its place on her right hand. She looked away, embarrassed at how long it had taken her to make her hair so sleek and soft, or how long it had taken to slap on her face. It was exactly how she had looked at his wedding, like she wanted to punish him for marrying that bitch. 

“Carlisle?” 

“Kitchen,” came his reply. 

She strutted through the kitchen door and tried to keep her breathing under control. After not seeing him for so long, the sight of him was overwhelming. Carlisle stood at the salad bar chopping lettuce. On the counter behind him was a fresh pizza, the slicer forgotten next to it. 

“You didn’t sound right on the phone.” 

“I ain’t right.” He looked up at her and his eyes went wide. “Oh God, Es. You look…” 

“Whaddya want?” 

His jaw clenched. “It’s her.” 

“Her?” Esme heard the spite in that one word. “Your baby bank?” 

Carlisle turned to toss the knife he was using into the sink. “Don’t call her that.” 

“What? You don’t want me calling her what she is?” 

“She ain’t.” 

Esme laughed bitterly. “She got your baby in her, ain’t she? The fuck else you want me to call her? Yummy mommy? Mother of your child? Gimme a fuckin break.” 

“Es-”

“No, don’t! You called me out here in a fuckin storm to help with your marital problems? Get outta here!”

“Es-”

“I don’t wanna hear it! You dragged me out here in the middle of the fuckin night to tell me you got problems with your cunt of a wife? The one you knocked up who’s now shouting from every fuckin rooftop that Carlisle Cullano came in her! God, it makes me sick.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with-”

“Shut up!” Esme stared at him across the kitchen. It was hard not to cry. It felt like her heart was breaking. When she had heard that Mrs Cullano was pregnant it felt like her world was collapsing. In the month and a half since then everything had gone black and white but that was what it was always like without her other half, just empty. Carlisle put colour into the world. 

“Weeks without contact and this is how we’re gonna start, huh?” His words weren’t gentle. He looked wounded. “Not even a ‘hello’?”

Esme sucked her teeth. “Hi.” 

Carlisle laughed humourlessly. “So we’ll cut the bullshit, will we? Right to it? Where the fuck have you been?” 

“On vacation.” 

“Where?” 

“Nowhere in particular. Just needed a break.”

“From what, Es? Me? What’s got you so bothered?” 

“Your kid, Carlisle! She’s having your fuckin baby!” Esme’s shout came short and furious and she threw a plate at the far wall. It smashed loudly. “D’ya know what that’s doin to me?”

He stared at her across the kitchen, mouth open and eyes wide. He looked angry. “Ain’t that what you wanted for me? To have a wife and kids, cause you knew it’s what I wanted? I did what you told me.” 

Esme threw her hands into the air. “Yeah, and?” 

“I’m not a fuckin mind reader!” He slammed his fists on the metal worktop, his voice getting louder. “‘I want you to have a wife and a family’, that’s what you said to me on the morning of my fucking wedding! I asked you to marry me on the day of my fucking wedding to her! And you turned me down again! I did what you told me to do and now you’re fucking punishing me! How’s that fair?” 

Blond hair fell into his eyes like it did when they fucked. His face was red like it was then too. Esme saw the pain in his face, the anger that matched her own. “You shoulda known.” 

“You didn’t even know. I can’t read minds and I can’t see the future and I can’t feel how you’re feelin unless you tell me!”

“Alright.” Esme stormed over to him and slammed her hand on the counter next to his. She raised her chin in a challenge. “I hate her. I hate her perfect face, her perfect fuckin body, every strand of hair on that empty fuckin head. I hate that you chose her.” 

“I didn’t!” He seemed to tower over her but she stood her ground. “I chose you! I choose you every goddamn time! But you don’t ever choose me! Do you know how many times you broken my heart?”

If it was half the number of times she had broken her own heart, Esme was sorry. She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was impossible to talk about right now. “You gonna tell me why you’re calling me out here sounding like that?” 

It looked like Carlisle wanted to shout again and his hands balled into fists either side of his salad.. “She ain’t pregnant, and if she was it wouldn’t be mine. Probably my cousin Renato’s.” 

That pulled Esme up short. There was too much to unpack. “Whaddya talkin about?” 

“She been fuckin him. For months, Es. Maybe a year.”

“Renato? But why? He looks so much like you but he’s got half the braincells and twice the idiocy. Why’s she fuckin a Dollar Tree version of you?” 

“Cause I weren’t gettin her pregnant.” He dropped his gaze. 

Esme blinked, trying to process it. Her lash extensions were heavy and made her vision go funny, so she fixed her gaze on Carlisle’s face instead. “How’d you find out about them?” 

“She kept sneaking off so I had her followed. Got plenty of photos proving it. I’ve seen way more of Renato than I’m comfortable confessing to Father Thomas, but at least he looks like me. Guess it’s kinda like watching my clone fuck my wife.” 

“That ain’t right. And why the fuck would she lie about being pregnant?” Esme’s hands were trembling. 

He sighed. “She knows I don’t love her and I think she knows I wanna leave but she would miss the money, ya know? So she wants a way to keep me tied to her.” 

Esme’s anger was bubbling beneath the surface. She hated that bitch more than ever for making Carlisle look like that. “How did ya find out about the faked pregnancy?” 

“Medical records are kept online now. Your little hacker found hers. Two weeks ago she had a negative pregnancy test at her doctors’, and another one twelve weeks ago. There was never a fuckin baby.” 

“That lying cunt. Why’d you think it’s your cousin’s if there had been one, anyway? Ain’t you hittin it raw?” 

“Yeah. But… I can’t have kids.” 

“We had one. Or did you forget?” 

Carlisle grabbed Esme’s wrist and roughly pulled her closer. “I think about her every day, Es. Every goddamn day, just like I think about you.”

“Don’t.” She tried to pull away half-heartedly, her voice angry. “I can’t.” He ran his fingers through her hair and she stumbled closer until their bodies were pressed together. Knowing the wife wasn’t pregnant had broken down one of Esme’s walls. “Why’d you say you can’t have kids?” 

“I got the snip.” 

“When?” 

“Two weeks into my first marriage.”

Esme gripped the front of his jacket in both hands. “Why?” 

He slid his hands to the small of her back and his fingers caught on the diamonds. “You look so fucking good, Es.”

She shook him lightly. “Why’d you do that?” 

Carlisle grinned half-heartedly. “Cause I knew I didn’t want no kids with no one but you.”

“I wanted to die when I heard she was knocked up.”

He stroked her hair again. “Don’t say that, Essie.”

“I mean it. I thought about it, ya know? I was gonna drive my car into the Hudson and let it drown me.”

“Hey.” Carlisle held her chin between his finger and thumb and tilted her face up to look her in the eye. “Don’t ever say that, baby. I ain’t livin in a world without ya, alright? You go, I go.”

She took his hand and kissed his palm, keeping her gaze locked with his. “You go, I go.”

“I fuckin love you, Es.” 

“I fuckin hate her.”

“Yeah, me too.” Carlisle sighed and ran his finger down her neck and torso, watching how the silk of her dress moved over her skin. “What are we gonna do?” 

“We? She’s your wife.” 

He chuckled. “My problem is your problem, ain’t it?”

Esme hit his chest again. She was still furious. “Unfortunately, yeah. Want me to kill her?” 

“Nah. I don’t want cops sniffing around ya. Someone else should probably do it.” 

“Tanya owes me a favour, what about her?” 

“Don’t trust her, Es, she’ll double cross ya soon as she’ll fuck ya.” 

She managed half a smirk. “Weren’t that long ago she fucked us. Guess we’re due for a double crossing, then. So not her. The Blacks?”

“They don’t trust us and I can’t blame em for that. We’ll think of someone.”

There was a long silence then. Esme pulled free from his arms and slowly wandered around the pizzeria kitchen. Her heels echoed over tile and steel. She was the other side of the industrial island counter and Carlisle was arranging his salad into edible art when she spoke again. “I wanna do it, Carl.”

“What?” He looked up at her with lettuce sticking out the corner of his mouth. 

“I wanna be the one.”

“I dunno if that’s the best idea.” He turned away from her to grab a slice of pizza that was on the counter behind him. 

“You married the cunt.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know she was gonna be this fuckin crazy!” Carlisle protested indignantly. He took a bite and wrinkled his nose. “Fuck. Why does my dough always turn out like shit?” 

“Cause you ain’t ever learned from the Old Country. You do it the American way.” 

“Shut the fuck up!” he laughed. “Most Italian place you ever been is the Shore!”

“That’s cause my cheap partner never took me on vacation anywhere more exotic than Miami Beach!” She strutted back over to him and took a bite from the slice. “God, it is shit. Reckon even Renato could do better.”

He laughed again and wrapped her in his arms and stroked the skin of her back. “I missed you, ya know?”

“Yeah, me too. But I mean it, Carlisle. I wanna be the one to pull the trigger.” 

Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, Carlisle kissed her neck. “You gonna shoot her?” 

It was impossible to keep her eyes open. “Maybe. I dunno. Fuck,” she sighed quietly when he bit where her neck met her shoulder. She had missed him more than words could say. “I want her gone. She betrayed you and she took you from me.” 

His kisses moved down her collarbones and to the neckline of her dress. “No one can ever take me from you, Esme. I’m yours.” When he grasped her by the waist and turned her, she knew what he wanted. He lifted her onto the counter next to the bad pizza and he kissed her mouth. She parted her lips and grinned when she tasted salad and pizza margherita on his tongue. It didn’t matter. It was him. 

After a while he sank to his knees in front of her and pushed up her red dress. “Fuck, Es. No underwear? Did you come here with an agenda?”

“Who says I wasn’t going somewhere else after here?” she asked, but her voice was shaky as he pulled her to the edge of the counter. She gripped the edge for support and the pizza slicer brushed her fingers.  

“You sleeping with someone else?” Carlisle murmured against her inner thigh. 

“Well since we stopped seeing each other, I have an opening available.” 

“No you fuckin don’t.” His blond head disappeared under the short hem of her dress and Esme wondered, in the back of her mind, if Tony would be able to hear her screams. Carlisle certainly liked her taste better than the pizza. 

Some time later they were both so lost in their passion that they didn’t hear the unlocking of the front door or the quiet steps in the restaurant. Esme’s face was buried in Carlisle’s neck as he pounded her on the counter and his eyes were closed in bliss. 

“What a fuckin surprise.” 

Both of their gazes snapped to the kitchen door that had swung open. Stood in the unflattering  industrial fluorescents stood Mrs Cullano, a pistol raised. It reminded Esme of the one she had taken to their wedding. Unreliable, difficult. Mrs Cullano was no shooter. Instinctively Carlisle shielded Esme with his body, still inside her. Esme couldn’t hold back a moan at his movement. 

“You’re dead, Platt,” Mrs Cullano hissed, her finger on the trigger. Her arm wasn’t steady. 

“Kill her and I’ll tear your fuckin throat out.” Carlisle’s voice was low and deadly. 

“And murder our baby?” 

“Give it up. There ain’t no baby. And if there was, it would be Renato’s. You think I’d let you have my kids? You’re mad.” 

Mrs Cullano’s face went red. 

“Carlisle,” Esme said quietly. She turned Carlisle’s face back to her. “She ain’t got the guts. Fuck me. Please?” It was a move of dominance to show Mrs Cullano, an outsider, that no one would ever come between them or their love. And that Carlisle would always choose Esme no matter what. He leaned down to kiss her and moved with her. 

The scream that Mrs Cullano let out haunted them both for years to come. Absolute grief and loss echoed in the kitchen, rage and delirium. When the gun went off the bullet went stray and was embedded in the wall over the stove. Without missing a beat, Esme grabbed the pizza slicer next to her and threw it with unbelievable precision. The only sound was that of the young woman’s body collapsing onto the floor, the round blade with a handle in the shape of a Harley-Davidson buried deep into her forehead. Instant death. Blood poured from the wound. Esme felt relief and pride wash over her. 

“Fuck,” Carlisle gasped, moving faster. He kissed her hard and gripped her hips and then rested their sweaty foreheads together. “That was so fucking hot. Marry me, Es? Marry me, please!”

Esme moaned and nodded, clutching his back to stop her from losing herself completely. They were both close, both more turned on by exacting revenge than they could handle. “Yes! Yes, Carl, I’ll marry you!” 

After they had finished and set their clothes right, Esme stood over the dead Mrs Cullano’s body. “Jesus Christ, what a fuckin mess. This blood is gonna take ages to clean, look, it’s gone all under the cupboards! Ugh. I don’t have the energy.” 

“What should we do with her?” 

“I dunno. She’s your fuckin wife.” 

“Was. She’s no one’s wife now, she’s fuckin dead.” 

“Well, yeah. Hey, d’ya mean what you said? To marry ya?” 

“Yeah. Did you really mean you would?” 

Esme stepped over the body and made sure not to get blood on her Jimmy Choos. “Yeah. I wanna be your wife.” 

Neither of them smiled, but they shared a long gaze. Then Carlisle pulled out his phone and quickly dialled a number. “Hey, it’s me. Get some of your guys down the pizzeria, we need some clearing up done. Yeah. Mhm. Three or four. Yeah. Platt’s with me. Ha! Yeah. Yeah, the Mrs found us. Esme put her down, though, so we need it sorted. Clean-up and removal, remember this is a working kitchen, alright? I want it clean of evidence and up to code, ya goddit? Okay. See ya in twenty.” 

Esme opened one of the cleaning cupboards and pulled out a spray and cloth. 

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Carlisle told her and he waved a hand. “They’ll be here soon for her.” 

Esme looked pointedly at the counter where he had fucked her and grinned. “I was thinking more about cleaning that up. Don’t want extra flavour in the pizza tomorrow, do ya?” Bending over, she sprayed the wet area on the metal countertop. With great satisfaction she felt him press against her backside and stroke up her back. “Ready for round two already?” 

“You fuckin bet. D’you know how much it turned me on to see you like that?” 

“Yeah. But save it. Let’s not have our first time as an engaged couple be in front of your dead wife. Bring’s a whole new meaning to ‘the body’s not even cold’, don’t it?” 

Grinning, Carlisle kissed her back. “Or when she told me she’d let me keep you ‘over her dead body’, huh? Joke’s on her.”

Esme wiped the counter down thoroughly and threw the cloth in the nearby bin. She turned and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ain’t no one tell the Surgeon what he can and cannot do. 

“Nah, no one. No one but his Heart.”