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#but more importantly that the authors of the works he ripped off get the attention they deserve

s3thwrit3sstuff · 3 months

Text

❝ you make me feel like I am clean again ❞

yandere!mob leaders x gn!reader | how you met | not proofread

warnings: graphic description of violence, guns, power imbalance (r! is part of the gang but they are a low-ranking member), yandere tendencies, mentions of drug dealings, very brief mention of r! getting felt up by someone in JH's section

masterlist ;

authors note: doing some oc writing feels lowkey daunting but I hope you guys enjoy it, I wasn't exactly sure how to format this aaaa but! I hope it isn't too confusing. I wanted to go more into depth but I suppose this serves as an introductory post to them??? IDK, I've never written this kinda thing before. * here is the better-quality post of the illustration * song on repeat: Love Song by Mariee Sioux

Kim Seo-Yun —

Seo-Yun would be unimpressed the first time she laid her eyes on you. It wouldn't be due to your looks, mannerisms, voice; she's just been hardwired that way.

Wants and needs are hard to convey when you're running one of the most dangerous businesses one could run. Drugs, gambling, skin, weapons — Seo-Yun's a busy woman.

Over time, however, she'll let her gaze linger on you.

Have you always looked so good in that colour? It really does bring out the shine in your eyes, and the suppleness of your lips. Seo-Yun's gaze is intimidating but seeing you squirm is all a part of your charm.

That's right. You're only dressing and acting this way to grab her attention, correct? Why else would she find it so hard to rip her sights from you?

Honestly, she shouldn't be making such frequent trips to the lower ring of her gang. This warehouse was meant to weed out the weakest of her guard dogs. It reeked of sweat and blood and cigarettes and cheap booze. The constant sounds of wrapped knuckles beating down on sandbags and bodies falling on thin mats gave her a headache.

Yet. She stands here on the second floor, gazing down at the sweaty men, a handful of women, and most importantly; you.

Favoritism comes slower than her interests. Seo-Yun will shove her feelings down until it bursts like a fucking volcano. All of a sudden, it's as if she's a hound that's caught the scent of their kill.

"What?" The man before you is wearing an expensive suit, luxury adorning him from the shimmering cuffs to the stitching that holds it together. "Madam Kim is requesting your transfer," he says curtly.

The transfer promotes you from doing grunt work near a polluted harbor to one of Seoul's most expensive penthouses in Gangnam.

It's jarring. She does not give you time to adjust. One moment you're setting down your duffel bag of things and the next you're in the back of a luxury car driving through Seoul's wealthiest district.

The guards (who are double your size and proudly show off their facial scars) push you toward the door of a seamstress. The very air you breathe smells like money.

When you see Seo-Yun, your eyes widen and you kneel to bow.

She muffles her amusement with a slow drag of her cigarette.

"They're very pretty, Madam Seo-Yun," a kindly old lady says from behind her. Her hands were bony and delicate, and the pin cushion she wore around her wrist looked heavy. Everything about her seemed deliberate and put together.

Despite that, despite the glamorous patterns she had on her and the jewelry hanging from her ears; Seo-Yun called for eyes on her with no more than a simple wave of her hand, flicking the ashes away from the cigarette.

"Aren't they? Such a gem."

Seo-Yun orders you to be a part of her security team. Dresses you in custom-made suits to blend in with the rest of the capable men and women. She gives you new weapons and arranges for you to have an apartment near hers. New fake IDs in store, local beat cops turning their gaze away as you smoke in alleyways with an obvious bulk under your jacket.

A gem she called you. And like a gem, she cannot keep her eyes off you.

Stares at you as if you were put on display. Relishes in the way you keep your gaze down, squaring your shoulders, straightening your posture — squirming under her gaze.

"Come inside," you freeze at her words. The other security guards stand stoically in the private entryway of her penthouse and she stands on the threshold of that obscenely large and heavy door.

"Madam?" you squeak out. She narrows her upturned eyes, like a goddess with no mood to be asked twice.

This is a nightly occurrence. It becomes a routine.

She invites you into her home, leaving the door open for you to close on your way in. She sits on the tufted leather sofa, and her grin is expectant.

You kneel. Then, you bring your palms to the floor and crawl towards her. Only stopping when your chin is on her knee and you bring your eyes to meet hers.

"Sweet thing," she'll coo. Her palm is soft and cared for, but there is the slightest bit of callousness here and there. That roughness that comes with holding a gun to someone's head.

The first time she had told you to kneel, you'd been so confused you stood there like a statue. Seo-Yun gives you a minute to let it click, and she tilts her head as you jerkily kneel on her expensive floors.

"Crawl to me."

"Sweet darling," she continues. Your eyes flutter close as she traces your cheekbones with her thumb. "So good for me, so obedient, aren't you?"

How could you not be?

In the weeks you'd been with her, your life took such a drastic turn. Well-fed, well-cared for, and pampered in little but big ways. You were the runt of the litter, a stray, she told you.

She had seen you, she said. She had seen your potential, your drive, your passion.

"I was...I just, I just needed the money, Madam," you sheepishly admit that first night, balancing your chin on her knee.

Who would choose to become the grunt of a dangerous gang? Miniscule soldiers with dreams of dying a movie-worthy death, of brotherly bonds between hardened criminals — Please. You were at the end of your rope, this was the only option before the noose.

"Money is life," Seo-Yun strokes over your cheeks. "You fought to live, climbed through the muddy filth of the pier, and here you are. In my lap."

"I see you, (Y/N)."

"Are you tired?" the shake of your head earns a firm squeeze on your jaw. Your eyes flutter open so she grins sweetly.

"Bathe with me." She lifts your chin and you stand, taking her into your arms as she tugs on the shoulder gun strap you wore, leading you along like a leash. A security guard's job does not include such tasks. You're aware. But how could you say no to the most powerful woman in Seoul?

Your relationship starts off with a clear dynamic. You belong to Seo-Yun, no ifs or buts. No matter how dubious your feelings towards her are, you cannot deny there is such a lovely prospect of being a powerful person's beloved.

Or gem. Or pet. Or...whatever it is Seo-Yun considers you as.

All you know is you are hers and she expects nothing but loyalty and excellence from you. She dresses you in the best, feeds you the best foods, your mattress is hers and therefore it is fit for a Queen.

How spoiled are you, (Y/N)?

So spoiled you do not even realise the pretty cage she's put around you. Don't realise that those pearly white gates are her own teeth as she closes her jaws; too distracted by the gifts, the love, she showers you in.

Exactly how she wants you to be. Pliant, demure, and hers.

So what if your old friends suddenly never contact you again? Or your financial dependence has suddenly been transferred to her? If you never hold a gun in your hands ever again.

"Crawl to me, baby."

And you do. And she grins as she holds your face.

"Good pet."

Kim Jeong-Hyun —

Jeong-Hyun is a peculiar man. Some would argue he's barely a man; others would chime that he's barely human. The sight of the deep scars on his body; the mutilated side of his face. His left ear was chewed off, his left eye cloudy, and a good chunk of his lips ripped off to reveal gums and teeth.

Even if he wasn't a monster; he looked it. That was enough to set people on edge. Seemingly unaware of how he plants the fear of God within people, Jeong-Hyun stares at everyone with a dark gaze that could make the devil shiver.

Unlike his older sister, who hides her emotions until they spill over the edge, he makes his interest known from the beginning.

His good eye, lighter than any brown you've ever seen; a molten hazel that flashes gold in sunlight, devours you as he stands before you.

Although Madam Seo-Yun attends the funerals of her fallen men, she does not linger for the drinking and eating. Jeong-Hyun does.

You'd excused yourself from your circle, the drinks making your body warm enough to endure the cold night air as you light up a cigarette.

The clicking of nails on the brick ground forces you to look at the whimpering dog. Mangy, fur matted, and with its stubby legs like rubber as it paws at your shoe. It was someone's pet, left on the streets. Judging from the overgrown fur, it's been a while since someone's given it any kindness.

Jeong-Hyun had just walked out for a breather (he enjoys spending time with his men, but the noises and the scent of booze could get overwhelming), a bag of meat in hand as he set his sights on feeding the local strays.

But then he sees you crouched by an alleyway, pouring some cheap kibble you bought from a nearby convenience store onto some newspaper. Jeong-Hyun's footsteps are ghostlike, you don't even notice he's there until you feel his breath whisper along your ear and when you spin he's statue-like.

"B — Boss!" He's not the boss — he's just her brother. He still outranked you (by a whole league) so, he doesn't correct you as you bow your head so far down it's between your knees.

He looks silly crouched down in his two-piece suit. You're dressed formally, though the two of you were in different financial brackets. Jeong-Hyun does not speak. The pinkish scar that runs across his neck peeks from the collar of his button-up. It has your toes curling just imagining what had caused it.

He nudges the plastic bag your way, and you cautiously take it from him. To your surprise, he squishes his eyes into crescent moons, and despite his scarred cheek lifting from behind the black surgical mask he wore he looked so...innocent.

The rounded shape of his eyes, the deep crease of his eyelid, and his brows - it all makes him look boyish.

You turn your attention to the strips of expensive beef he had gotten, feeding the poor puppy in silence.

Jeong-Hyun's interest begins with him accompanying your crew as you were tasked to make a show of a traitor. He shoves the blade your way, hilt tilted your way as he connects his gaze with you.

The leader of your crew informs him you are new. He does not even pretend to hear him.

You took the blade, the forged metal heavier than you expected it to be but not impossibly so. It seemed as though it was his favorite, a little longer than a dagger but still small enough to hide under your clothes. Weighing it on your palm, you test the balance of it before gripping it tightly and Jeong-Hyun is entranced by the casual dominance you have over it.

The man before you, on his knees with his cut lip hanging heavily and his eyes so bruised you wonder how he can still see you enough to squeak in fear; he shivers and bows desperately.

"How do you want him, boss?" You glance at him, the grip on the blade strong and confident. He narrows his eyes then closes his eyes, jerking his chin forward.

' However you see fit. '

Jeong-Hyun falls in love with your violence.

Asking for you, always. Giving you food to bring back, giving you new knives and even transferring you to his personal squad of men and women. He'd even invited you into his home. Which, apparently, was not unusual but no one had ever had the pleasure of being able to see the pack of dogs he had.

He starts hanging around you more. His favoritism is hard to mask and it causes you more issues than you'd like to admit.

"You're his little bitch now, huh?" or "His cock tastes good, (Y/N)?"

But who can say no when their boss tells them they want you to follow him around, be his shadow, do nothing more than observe boring meetings and itching for the usual vulgarity of mobsters while you're stood by the wall or behind him?

The madam is not impressed by you. Whenever she speaks to her brother, she will cast a glance filled with nothing more than mild bemusement and disgust.

"Hey, boss," he tilts his head in your direction. You're sat in a barbeque restaurant, and he's watching you intently as you flip the meat, licking his exposed teeth with an almost canine-like attribute.

"...Can I ask you a question?" Jeong-Hyun nods, tearing his eyes away to now look at you. They're almost golden, you think to yourself, the colour of his eyes is so bright.

"Why do you favour me?"

Jeong-Hyung, you come to find out, does not speak. The scar you see peeking from his high collars was apparently a wound that had gone so deep, it took the ability for him to speak comfortably. So Jeong-Hyun signs; "What does that mean?"

"Favour?" You ask and he nods.

"Well, it means, why do you...like me...?"

Jeong-Hyung blinks for a few seconds then tells you to flip the meat. The conversation seemingly ends. That is until you find yourself in his home and he has invited you to his basement.

The dogs bark from behind the doggy gate, a hallway away feeling like a stretch of land as their noises echo. In the basement, you find yourself surrounded by crusted blood and metal. He lifts a dagger and shows it to you. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, it's been weeks since you've held it, but then your brows furrow.

"You kill good. Like me, I like that. I like you," he signs while you hold the dagger. "You like me?" He nods, pulling his black mask away from his face, and grins. It's surreal to see, not exactly grotesque but an unusual sight.

"I like you," he signs.

When his enthusiasm is met with confusion, Jeong-Hyun's face contorts into worry.

He takes the dagger from your hand, places it down, then holds your hands in his. He's tall, towering easily over you as he brings your knuckles to his lips.

He has essentially muted himself. Focusing his strength on keeping your hands hostage as he walks forward until your back meets the smoothed limewash walls of his basement.

"Boss? I'm flattered, but this is a lot to take in....!"

His cloudy eye is in a perpetual squint, healed scars tugging on the skin so it looks almost uncomfortable stretched. They have so much sadness that you feel guilt sprout in you.

'Love me,' they say, 'Love me, love me, lovemelovemelovemelovemelovemeloveme'

Your relationship is dubious. The jeers from your comrades make you feel more flustered than before and Jeong-Hyun is not shy about his affections.

He holds your hands in meetings and traces the shapes of your fingers and joints.

When a snake requires a beheading, Jeong-Hyun takes off your jacket for you and hands you a weapon of his choice. The men who snicker at the sight? Jeong-Hyun is not fond of guns but he so does love it when his sister presses her Beretta to the back of their necks and makes them gasp and sputter.

Madam Seo-Yun may not like you but you matter too much to her little brother for her to allow their insubordinate to make fun of you.

Jeong-Hyun is like a touch-starved puppy. Despite his towering size, he crumbles under your touch, your gaze.

"My brother, he is naive to relationships," Seo-Yun informs you during a lunch meeting. "I noticed, Madam," you shrink under her gaze. How is it she has the same shade of eyes and hers are so, so, so cold?

"But he likes you, favours you I think is the word he used. He has never liked someone before. Not as strongly as this. I suppose I should advise you to take some caution."

"My brother's love comes with a storm of violence. It runs in the family, I'm afraid. Please, don't be frightened by his displays."

You didn't quite understand what she meant.

He'd never been violent to you. You had witnessed him kill before, torture, maim — it was not an unusual sight in your line of work.

You didn't understand until you saw it.

Another funeral, more drinks, more meat. Jeong-Hyun has you beside him, eagerly awaiting your metal chopsticks to place more grilled beef onto his plate.

No one laughs at the sight anymore, they treat you as an extension of Jeong-Hyun which, considering how he monopolies your time, you might as well be. It's rare to see you without him.

But as you got up to wash your hands — someone had spilled their drinks and your hand became sticky — an inebriated man had pressed himself against you.

"You must be a good lay if *hic* Jeong-Hyun-ssi keeps you around, riiight? C'mon, just a quickie, c'mon," "Fuck! Get away from me!"

Jeong-Hyun's hand grabs the back of the man's head, rears it backward, and slams it right into the sink. It shatters, the man yells, people around you scream; but Jeong-Hyun tightens his grip, rears his hand back, and slams him down again.

By the end of that public fiasco, the man's head was obliterated so badly, his face was no longer there. Just shredded skin, muscle, and shattered bone and brain matter.

Madam Seo-Yun's gaze on you is heavy in the car. Jeong-Hyun lumbers in, his hand covered with tissues and you immediately pull the bloody fist to your lap. Approval shines in her eyes as you apply pressure and ask if it hurts.

Well, you couldn't say she didn't warn you now, could you?

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #female yandere #male yandere

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

Text

Enterprise // Jake Seresin

Chapter Three: Darlinghurst Danger

Summary: When you get an unexpected visitor from over the state line, Jake Seresin unintentionally starts a war he isn’t sure he knows how to end and keep you protected at the same time.

Warnings: Mentions of sexy acts. Mentions of drugs, Jake Seresin x F!reader. Villain Bradley Bradshaw. Gun violence, blood, injury sustained from gun violence. Gang related themes.

Word Count: 5.2k

Author Note: I was on a roll with editing this on my break yesterday so here’s chapter three. x Literally obsessed with how this is turning out. Also praying that this works again, another post from the desktop browser.

Masterlist | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |

Silence. It was an eerie experience. In some circumstances, silence brought tranquillity and peace. It brought with it a sense of calm and the innermost ability to relax amongst the sound of nothing.

In others? It brought with it a storm so chronically destructive that a comeback was rendered near impossible. Ask any survivor of the nineteen seventy four Christmas Day cyclone that completely demolished eighty percent Darwin. In the days and weeks after tropical cyclone Tracy swallowed up Darwin as a whole—the majority of the traumatised population that once made Darwin, well, Darwin—left the city to start anew somewhere else.

When your father died it felt like a tropical cyclone had ripped through you. But in the silence that had been plaguing your mind in the week following, you knew you had to fight to survive. You couldn’t just start anew somewhere else. Not because you didn’t have the means, it was a far more pathetic excuse that kept you tethered to Fitzroy.

You didn’t know how to be anything else.

“So Widow.” Jake's hand came to rest gently on the upper part of your thigh over the silk of the ankle-length dress that he much perfected bunched up on the floor of his office. “What do I get out of this new business merger?” He hadn’t once looked at you since you left Drums Emporium. You sat in the passenger's seat quietly coming down from an adrenaline rush that felt almost like heroin rushing through your veins. Javy Machado had definitely rattled you, even if you fronted a different story to Jake–He’d done his job and done his job well. If that job had been to scare the shit out of you.

You’d thought about what it would mean to combine your business dealings with Jakes. If something wasn't controlled by your father or associated by business trade, it was owned by the Seresins or associated at best. A lot of the smaller family owned businesses around town paid your father for security and safety–hoping that if they gave over a percentage of their weekly profit the katipo would steer clear and more importantly keep the Adders at bay if they ever came slithering over from the North Side.

Contrary to popular belief you weren’t just a pretty face. You had your fathers business wit, reaching down to flick Jake's hand off your thigh as you straightened yourself up a little, you watched as the hand you’d just brushed off your thigh made its way back up to wrap around the steering wheel.

“Twenty percent of all profits made from any one of pops—“ It still didn’t feel right, calling the Katipo owned businesses your own. “I uh—“ You cleared your throat momentarily, correcting yourself. For a brief second Jake had looked at you with condolence filled eyes before he turned his attention back to the road ahead. He did feel for you, he’d been where you were right now, only he’d known all his life he’d step up and take the reins one day, lead an empire. You were kind of just thrown into it, no one expected a woman to take your fathers place. “I mean, twenty percent of all profits made by any of my operations.” You were quick to correct yourself, it was still early days in your new found position and coming to terms with all that was once your fathers was now left to you was going to take some time to fully adjust to.. “And I’ll take twenty percent of anything you and your men make outta Drums or any other club and pub you own on this side of town.” Jake's hand grew progressively tighter around the steering wheel as he shook his head, knuckles turning white with the applied pressure. He knew you were low balling him and he didn't appreciate that one bit.

“Y/n, if you think for a second I’ll settle for something as messily twenty fucking percent of your operations you’ve got another thing coming.” Jake liked you, despite the way you made his blood boil beyond belief. You were young and vibrant and willing to break rules and bring down walls just to make it in this world. He admired your willingness to walk into his office and ask for help—although he’d never say that. Asking for help was harder than anything he’d ever done before. And you chose to come to him, not anyone else. “I want fifty percent and free use of any of your men when need be.” Jake's eyes were darker than normal, seeing nothing but his opportunity to finally be in control of Fitzroy almost in the palm of his hands. Something he’d always dreamed about, gotten off to the thought of. Jake could feel himself becoming greedy, wanting everything, including but not limited to the South Side and well–you.

“Only if I get the same, Seresin.” You sassed back as you played with a single silver bullet you pulled from the gun you’d taken from Javy. Fiddling it between your fingers as you spoke, looking down at the bullet that seems too small to be able to end a life. “Fifty percent of Drums and surroundings pub revenue plus free use of any of your men in exchange for half my operations and all the men you can possibly need.” You smiled as you rattled off your final offer, turning your head to face Jake as he drove you home. Across to the South Side, the side of the city of Fitzroy Jake had no control of, but couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.

The south of Fitzroy had a nickname. Sin City to be precise. Men and Women from all walks of life would flock there to indulge in their vices, and they rarely left disappointed. Whether it be sex or alcohol you now ruled over all, every drop of alcohol served was owned and run by the Katipo and every woman of the night gave a percentage to you in return for free medical care. And of course, drugs from classic green grass to white china white heroin were available on every street corner, if you knew where to look, and if you knew what doors to knock on. Despite who answered though all those doors were now owned by no other than the Queen of Fitzroy. You.

“Deal.” Jake agreed softly, releasing his tight grip he had on the steering wheel after rolling his neck. “Fifty fifty.” He could agree to that, that was something he could work with, that was worth his time. Not that you were ever not worth his time. “Lets shake on it?” Jake released his hand from the steering wheel all together to reach out to gently thumb at your chin. Turning your head to face him once again as his thumb teased at your lower lip.

“I’d rather just fuck—“ You batted your lashes, knowing your response would annoy Jake ‘The Hangman’ Seresin enough that he’d have to hold back whatever nasty thoughts he had about you in order to keep the control he knew he had in this little merger. “I'll bend you over my desk this time just so I don't have to look at your smug ass face.” You'd be lying if the laugh that escaped from the depths of Jake's soul didn’t make you giddy. He’d always been a dick, but a dick you could easily get along with if you pushed all the crud of gang law aside. Your Romeo to his Juliet. “But still, I’d rather just fuck.” Jake looked at you for a few seconds as he turned down the secluded street his GPS had told him to take. You'd moved recently–which turned out to be the best thing you could have ever done. Away from everyone, away from the world. Your father had spared no expense.

“Can’t fuck while I’m driving can I?” Jake groaned as he adjusted himself. “And how sure are you that I won’t just fuck you over in this deal huh?” A grin washed over your face as you happily allowed Jake's thumb to slip inside your mouth momentarily, your eyes glued on his mouth as he groaned softly at the feeling of your warm mouth wrapping around his digit.

“Because I’d fuck you over first.” You replied as you leaned in further over the centre console, Jake's thumb still on the cusp of your lower lip. “I need protection from people much bigger than you Seresin, you don’t scare me—“ It was indeed a lie. Jake knew that. He scared the shit out of you, he always had. But there had to have been a side of him that didnt for you to feel like you could reach out to him when you knew you were royally fucked.

Jake scared the shit out of everyone, including himself. But he also knew he was the last of your worries at the moment, Jake Seresin was incapable of hurting you just as much as he was incapable of giving you the life you deserved. The life he knew you wanted. The one he could remember your father talking about in heavy detail during meetings with his own father.

Looking at you, Jake saw a younger version of himself, reckless and willing. He wanted to indulge in his biggest vice, you. But he also knew that doing that would be the biggest mistake you could ever make if you truly wanted out one day.

“We’ll just have to see about that, now won’t we?”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Shit, Jake–” When you and Jake arrived at your newly renovated house, you took quick notice of the fact none of the outside lights were on. “You're just teasing at this pace.” Something akin to a whine escaped as you squirmed in the passenger seat. The lights you liked to leave on a timer were off—and judging by the time, two thirty in the goddamn morning, they should have been well and truly on. “Please–” Fighting off thoughts that something could be wrong, very wrong, you tried to keep focused on the way Jake's fingers were making you feel as he slowly circled two digits around your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Fuck–i cant!” It was to no use though. “Somethings not right.” You had a fear of the dark that could be easily forgotten about when you could keep the lights illuminating the garden that surrounded your property. The dark had never been something you struggled with until you shot your first person, ever since then the dark was a place where the lives of those you'd taken could still haunt you.

Through floor to ceiling windows in the cracks of the tapestry like curtains, you saw no lights reflecting on the water flowing steadily under the miniature bridge which separated your humble abode from the rest of the town. Fuck.

A flustered mess, you kicked your feet down from the tan leather car seat you sat on and fixed yourself quickly after Jake's hand had “accidentally” made its way between your legs to tease your cunt while he drove and tried to forget about the fact you were a decade younger.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked, licking your arousal off his fingers as he drove the car over the bridge and into the gravel carport. Not sure what had startled you.

“Not sure yet, something just doesn’t seem right.” Reaching for Coyote's gun, you reloaded the clip before placing it in its rightful spot, your garter belt. “Fucking hell—“

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Jake's eyebrows raised as he parked the car, shutting off the headlights before reaching over to open the glove box. A small arsenal for handguns ranging in size and power all resting neatly on top of one another. “I haven’t heard anything about Bradshaw and his boys in a while? What if he heard the news about your dad?” Your heart sank—fuck.

“This is the exact reason I needed protection!” You hissed as you held a hair tie in between your teeth before you aggressively threw your hair up into a high ponytail. “It’s been less then a two fucking weeks and bastards are breaking in! Probably trying to knock me off before I get a chance to knock them down a few ranks.” Seething, you placed your heels back on, mumbling incoherent words to yourself although Jake smirked to himself when he caught the tail end of one of your rants. “Fucking Bradley Bradshaw, who names their kid that?”

“I’ll go through the back, keep your wits about yourself kid and don’t fucking do anything I wouldn’t alright?” Jake growled as he unlocked the safety on his own weapon of choice. His Glock 34. “You’re covered alright, you can trust me.” Jake reassured you before placing his gun in the inside pocket of his dress jacket, about to step out of the Porsche. You reached over to grip at his bicep, keeping him from leaving the safety of the car you both sat in.

Jake saw the fear in your eyes, he’d never seen you like this before, suddenly so open and vulnerable. It made you mortal like himself. Jake didn't know what to say when you were looking at him close to tears. This was why you'd come to him, wasn't it? What did you know that he didn't?

“What are you hiding?” Jake asked as softly as he could, not wanting to push you away to a point he couldn't reach you. When Jake's question was met with silence, he leaned in, taking your lips hostage with his own. Moving slowly as he reached out to tilt your chin up. It truly did come as a surprise all things considered. You’d never just kissed Jake Seresin before, not like this anyway. In his car, without having been bent over or used as a real life sex toy. “You can trust me, I've got you.” With his heart on his sleeve, Jake reminded you once more that he did in fact have your back. All it did was leave you confused. Why? Why would Jake kiss you like he did, he got nothing out of it. You had to push your own selfishness aside when the gravity of the situation dawned on you.

“If it’s Bradshaw, or just any of his men in general, I’m fucked Jake—“ You paused for a moment, you really hadn’t sealed any deals yet, only spoken of an agreement which in this town meant nothing, especially in this sort of business. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing Jake, I dont know how to do this, any of this–” You were panicking, freaking out because you were supposed to know what you were doing, you had to expect this kind of thing to happen, its why you went to Jake in the first place. But now that something was playing out in real time and not just as a figment of your imagination in a realm of possibility somewhere far far away, you didn't know what to do.

“Widow–” Jake gripped at your cheeks, squishing your cheeks together between his fingers and thumb. “Pull yourself together, collect your composure and shut the fuck up.”

Despite your existential worry, you nodded slightly before pulling away. You needed Jake to be tough with you–you didn't know how to compute anything else. Exiting the car, you walked with Jake towards the front door, both carrying. Your breathing hitched when you saw the door somewhat busted, broken and open.

“You only ever threaten to kill me, Bradshaw won’t even bother with a goddamn warning.” You weren't in the right attire for this, nor was Jake. It looked as if you were both about to go to a fancy dinner, when in actuality it was something far more morbid.

“That’s because I’m a gentleman, and have a soft spot for women who have over inflated egos.” Jake smirked as he changed his trajectory to head towards the side of the house. “Roosters just a maniac.”

Drawing your gun you took a deep breath in and a deep breath out before you entered your new home that was meant to be your fortress. You ever so graciously manoeuvred your way through the spacious living room, quickly noticing the body of your bodyguard Clyde Lawler laying bloodied on the floor amongst shattered glass and broken furniture.

“Son of a Bitch.” You whispered to yourself through gritted teeth as you crouched down beside the still and bloodied man, holding your fingers to his neck, finding no pulse when you pressed against the cool of his skin. “Fuck Clyde—“ If you werent pissed before you were certainly pissed now, Clyde had worked for your father for as long as you could remember. Barely two weeks with you and he’s dead. That had to have been a bad fucking omen if there ever was one.

“Alright fucker, where are you?” You continued further into your own house towards the kitchen, slowly but surely making sure to point your gun at anything that could have resembled a broad shouldered man.

It was however in the kitchen where you finally saw him standing there, waiting there for your arrival. With your gun quickly flying to aim between his eyes as he sat at the kitchen island smirking, cigarette lit between his fingers, the only thing of light in the house until you flicked the switch. Exposing Braldey Bradshaw for everything he was. A mad man with no remorse.

A man who you knew had played a vital role in your fathers death. You knew he was coming for you next.

“Nice to see you Widow, sorry to hear about dear old daddy.” It wasn't as condolence filled as Jake had said it before, Bradley mentioning your father just left an awfully bad taste in your mouth. “But I trust you’re taking to the title of Queen of Fitzroy quite well?” Bradley spoke with enough conviction in his tone that for a second you actually believed you wore a genuine crown. “Didn’t know he’d hand it down, thought Katipo would all but be forgotten once the king was six feet under.” Bradley flicked his ashes onto the ground before placing the cancer stick between his lips, inhaling the poison you wished would take him there on the stop. “You’re leaking kid, got men jumping ship and running for hiring ground as we speak, don't you?”

“What do you want from me Bradshaw, you're a long way from home?” Darlinghurst, at least an eight hour drive away on a good day. “I’m assuming your boys aren’t here to protect you from bullets I won't hesitate to pepper you with if you don’t get the fuck out of my house in five seconds.....” Bradley Bradshaw, king of Darlinghurst, a city much bigger than Fitzroy and in a whole other state. But as it goes, your fathers death meant Fitzroy was open for the taking, pop Jake ‘The Hangman’ Seresin off while you're at it and suddenly the city’s open season. A small fish in the grand scheme of things, but you knew Bradley had had his eye on Fitzroy ever since he’d come across your fathers path a few years ago.

You pulled the pin back before aiming your gun a little higher when you came to the realisation Bradley hadnt taken you seriously. Arms extended as far as they would go as you saw Jake's broad body ghosting through the backyard.

“I just came to talk sweetheart ain’t nothing to be afraid of, came to offer you a deal actually.” Bradley chuckled before putting the cigarette out on the kitchen island before he sighed heavily, standing from the stool he’d been parched on, taking a few wide strides your way. With every thud of his boot you flinched ever so slightly.

“Four—“ You spat shakingly. Still counting down the five seconds you’d given as a warning.

“Come work for me and my boys? I’m in need of a pretty little thing like yourself.” You didn’t know much about why people called Bradley Bradshaw, Rooster. It would be a question you’d have to remember to ask Jake later on, because right now you felt like you couldn’t breathe with Bradley standing so close and in your face. “You’ve got balls kid, I’ll give you credit for that, but with that pretty face that doesn’t matter.” His voice was low and gruff as Bradley walked even closer to you— closing whatever possible gap that had been left. “But you and I both know you won’t survive on your own sweetheart, won’t last two weeks amongst the big dogs.” As soon as Bradley had finished threatening you, a wild smirk appeared across his face—a tight arm came around your throat from behind. It had to have been one of Bradshaw's boys waiting patiently in the shadows for the opportune moment to strike. “And yeah, I did bring my boys.'' Bradley thoroughly enjoyed the way your eyes lit up like Christmas trees with shock and horror. “You're a fucking amature Widow, but you arent exactly none-leathal.”

You dropped your gun to the ground as your hands flew up the claw at the dark forearm that worked to choke you, growing tighter with every passing second, constricting your airways as you flailed. Gasping for air.

Bradley chuckled to himself, knowing this was exactly how things were going to go. Picking the gun you’d dropped up slowly from the ground, laughing before he pointed it towards an armed and ready to fire Jake Seresin. Bradley for the life of him hadnt quite put the pieces of the puzzle together, but he world–evenly, if given enough time.

“Drop the girl Bradshaw.” Jake calmly spoke as he held his gun up ready to fire. One hand still in the pocket of his slacks casually. “The fuck are you doing in Fitzroy?”

“Business, thought I’d come check out the market in Fitzroy, seeing as though little miss Widow here’s about to be the top dog, or have you already beat me to it Hangman?” Bradley questioned with a raised brow. “Bets are you have.” he had a cruel smirk, a sinister smile that made you shiver every time you heard it.

“Anything to keep the likes of you out of my city Bradshaw.” Jake spat, Rooster wore three identifiable scars on his face–courtesy of an altercation he once had with Jake. Ever since? Tensions between the pair had been far too high and all it was going to take for an all out war to begin would be one simple trigger. That trigger for Jake could very well be Braldey Bradshaw stepping into his territory just to fuck with him, or for Bradley it could very well be Jake Seresin trying to capitalise on the booming drug market amongst the current youth of today, outsourcing quality product from interstate. Darlinghurst to be specific. It hadnt taken long for Bradley to figure out who’d been buying out all his dealers. “

You couldn’t breathe as Roosters henchman choked you out, so much so your vision had begun to blur. Splattering as you gasped for air, any amount to keep you breathing. The noises akin to whimpers irritated the seemingly emotionless Darlinghurst Danger—Bradley groaned as he held the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb, frustrated with the noises escaping you.

“Payback—shut her the fuck up will you?” He ordered Payback, or Reuban Fitch Jake would later bring you up to speed with, covered your mouth with his free hand, one arm now wrapped around your throat tighter than ever—the other over your mouth. “Fuck, finally I can hear myself think!”

“She’s a kid—“ Jake reminded Bradley as he turned to face him once again, Jake never lowered his weapon from the clear shot he had at Bradshaw. All it would take to end this would be one. single. shot. But Jake knew if he shot Bradley Bradshaw he’d start an all out war. “The South Side is a drop in the ocean to you Bradshaw—”

“I’ve always wondered, Seresin, Do the carpets match the drapes with this one or is it nothing but slick city?” Bradley asked, he knew something was up the minute he saw you pull up in the drive with none other than Jake Seresin himself. “I bet she must have put out big time for you to be playing guard dog? And yet here you stand? Calling her a kid?”

“I don’t give a shit what you do to her Bradshaw but if you kill her before I stake my claim on the South Side I’ll blow your fucking brain out.” Your heart stung. Damn, Jake really didn’t give a shit after all, not even a little bit. He was just doing this to make his mark, claim his piece of the south–at least fifty percent of it anyway. “I need her, so unless you wanna have a problem with me I highly suggest you have your guy here drop her.” Jake had meant what he said, he did need you–but not for the reason you currently thought. “Before I shoot you in the fucking neck.”

On the inside Jake was panicking, but on the outside he remained as collected as he always was. Jake was playing with fire, he knew he was walking a tightrope, trying to convince Bradley that doing business with you was useless because you were a none threat to both of them. But that was a lie Bradley could smell a mile away.

“Huh.” Bradley chuckled to himself before deciding he’d had enough of Jake's garage. “So I guess if you don’t give a shit about Widow, you wouldn’t really care if I just—“ Before Jake could register what Bradley was about to do, he was turning to fire a single round through your left shoulder as Reuban dropped your almost unconscious body to the ground. Jake froze like he’d been frozen in time—everything felt like it was playing out in slow motion around him as you hit the ground. No. no it wasn't supposed to go like this.

“YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” Jake shouted as the image of you falling to the ground in a heap before him blinded him. He fired a hail of bullets into the kitchen as Rooster ducked for cover— making his way through the house towards the front door. Payback knowing Jake would be focused on his boss opted from the same way Jake had gained access, the back door. But he knew it wasn't the last time he'd see him.

Bradley haphazardly looked over his shoulder as he fired back at Jake, an all out gun fight breaking up between the two of them. A war.

“Never took you for one to take orders from a woman Seresin, can’t wait to tell the others swarming around Fitzroy just how pussy whipped you truly are!” It was a threat that meant more than Jake could comprehend at the time. “But then again what’s a King without his Queen?” Bradley fired round around towards Jake who was now crouching behind the table, watching as you laid still on the tiles covered in thick blood. He had a choice, go after Bradshaw right this second and finish a war which had only just started….

Or help you.

“Fuck—” Jake hissed at himself as he gritted his teeth. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” His hand collided against the wall in a fist as he reached for his phone, dialling the only person he knew could help. The slam of the front door brought him out of his slight trace, the sudden ceasefire of guns stilled the house as Jake jutted his head out to take a quick look around. Bradley Bradshaw was gone.

What had Jake just started?

Rushing quickly to your side, Jake's eyes went wide at the amount of blood you had already lost. “Fuck—“ In that moment, Jake came to the realisation he actually cared a hell of a lot more about you than he cared to admit to even himself. Which all things considered was a hell of a lot.

“Jake, I swear if you let me die I’ll fucking kill you.” You groaned, coughing blood as you tried to fight off unconsciousness from the lack of blood. “I’ll—I’ll ki—“

“Hey, I got you.” Jake pushed your hair from your forehead as he crouched beside you. “Just stay awake alright? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” Jake spoke as softly and as gently as you’d ever heard him, for a second you thought you’d already died. He’d never sounded so caring, so kind. Jake Seresin wasn't a kind man, but for you he'd be just about anything. A friend, a partner, a protector.

Jake gently applied pressure over your shoulder before placing the phone to his ear to listen to the dial tone. Calling the one person Jake knew could help.

“You’re gonna be alright Y/n, keep those beautiful eyes on me yeah? Don’t you go sleeping on me, we both know you're too fucking heavy to carry limp.” Teasing, Jake watched the corner of your bloodied lip turn upright, even if it was just for a split second he knew you were still there. The groan of utter agony you let out as he applied more pressure though broke his heart.

“Jesus Jake it’s 3am?” The husky voice came through the phone, forcing Jake to breathe out a sigh of relief because he knew he wasn't alone. “What could you possibly need right now?”

“Bob I need you man, it’s serious—“ Jake was breathing far too heavy into the phone for Robert Floyd to be remotely comfortable with, sitting up with a hiss in his bed, Bob turned to see how wife was still sleeping soundly beside him. He soon reached out to the bedside table that he’d sat his glasses on, placing them on the bridge of his nose. “Bring anything to fix a bullet wound to the south side, Y/n’s place.”

Bob frowned, taking his phone away from his ear for a second to read the caller ID once more. Yep. This was Jake Seresin calling, so why the fuck was he on the South Side of Fitzroy and why the hell was he with you of all people?

“What the hell? Are you good Jake? Why are you with Widow? What ar-“

“ROBERT! No time, just hurry!” Jake hung up before resting against the wall, sliding you onto his lap so he could keep pressure on your shoulder. “I’ve got you, pretty girl, gonna be alright, gonna be all okay and we’ll fix this together.” Jake, for the first time in his life, felt guilty, he had a clean shot he should have just taken it. Whispering as he stroked your head with the hand not stopping the bleeding.

“S-So much for fu-fuckin protection.” You shuttered before coughing slightly in Jake's warm embrace. Wondering just how much of what he;d said to you was true and what was just bullshit, knowing that Jake could be an utter liar when he needed to be in order to get what he wanted. You'd just fallen for his charm. Shame. On. You.

“Bob’s gonna fix you up darlin—you’ll be alright, can't get out of this that easily, you’ve got an entire Enterprise to run.” You didn’t answer, your shallow breathing almost unnoticeable as Jake leaned over you slightly to see if your eyes were still open, if you were still with him.

You weren’t.

“Widow? Open your fucking eyes!”

-------------------------------------------------

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byunbaekby · 4 years

Text

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

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

—DAY ONE.

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

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

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wants you.

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

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

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

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

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

“You’re giving it up or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying,” he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TASTE.

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

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

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

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

He hums in response, turning to look at you.

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

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

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

Does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a puff.”

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

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

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

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

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

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” is his response.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops.

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

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

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but I…”

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tease me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

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

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

Cocaine.

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

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

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

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

“So, can I have some?” You ask again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathless, you nod without words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

Luckily, neither will find out.

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

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

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

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

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

But that hadn’t happened.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST BURN.

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

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

When he wakes, you’re burning up.

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

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

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

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

It’s the cocaine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

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

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

God, he’s fucked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

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

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not alone.

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

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

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

He’s too late. Maybe much too late.

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

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

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

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

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

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re different now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

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

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

He’s learned his lesson.

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

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

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

“It’s not that, I—”

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

“... Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

“That was the last time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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starglow-xx · 3 years

Text

owning a bakery and being discovered by the ada and the port mafia (part 3)

platonic! yosano akiko x f! reader

type of writing: head canons !!

this is part of my head canon series, flour & fluff !!

tag list is open !! go to this google form and fill it out to sign up!

series synopsis: owning a bakery at 20 is tough; even more so when you have to handle members of two opposing organizations! this is your journey to meeting those fools and creating an unlikely bond with each of them. but only at the cost of your peace and sanity.

fandom: bungou stray dogs

content: fluff & platonic stuff but trigger warning!! there may be a sensitive topic for others

*getting grabbed and pulled to an alleyway! alcohol mentioned!*

please remember that yokohama isn’t the friendliest place, especially at night.

previous: part 2 : their beloved president

author’s note: same ages as last time!! (so that means everyone is one year younger than canon; that makes yosano 24)

this one is actually pretty long :0

i got info abt her likes on her wiki page (careful! there’s spoilers!)

and yosano is a queen and no one can tell me otherwise

the doctor is in the house (quite literally)

going grocery shopping was an okay chore in your opinion

it honestly depended on your mood or whatever kind of shit happens when you go shopping

cause like something always, always happens whenever you go do groceries

sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, and sometimes it’s just plain weird

one time some weirdo proposed to you in the middle of the store asking for a double suicide

he was good looking you’d admit but it’s not like you’d ever see him again

or so you thought

a n y w a y s

every so often, you’d run out of real person food in your apartment

you mostly survive off all of the leftover bakery treats and ingredients—which works out pretty well actually—but bakery supplies unfortunately also run out quite often

and also unfortunately, one time when both fukuzawa & ranpo took a visit to Sakura’s, fukuzawa argued that “no you can’t live off sweets for the rest of your life”

ranpo was scandalized and scrambled to cover your ears

you guys were at it for a while

in the end you sided with fukuzawa causing ranpo to go off about “betrayal from the people he cared most abt” or smth like that

you guys were okay again after bribing him with sweets :)

for bakery supplies you usually have them delivered bc you order them in large quantities bc ahaha no way were you gonna carry like 15-20 50 pound bags of flour no way

when days like those happen, you close up the bakery early so you aren’t walking home when it’s too dark

you scheduled it to happen every first saturday of the month

on those saturdays, you close at 5 instead of at 8

currently, you were at the grocery store looking for basic cooking ingredients such as proteins, vegetables, fruits, and most importantly, snacks

ranpo’s been rubbing off on you

the sun was starting to set and you were walking home with your two bags of groceries when shit went down

tbh you were kinda expecting it cause your grocery run was peaceful for once

but what you weren’t expecting was a wack-a-do to appear out of goddamn nowhere right when you were opening the side door to get to the staircase up to your apartment

like honestly

let a woman do her own thing

the man who grabbed you tried to covered your mouth so you couldn’t scream but you didn’t exactly make it easy for him

you kicked and thrashed around even using the grocery bags—that were somehow still in your hand—as a weapon and the man struggled but he was still bigger than you and was able to bring you to a nearby alley

he reeked of alcohol and you spotted a wedding band on his left hand

not that you cared about the detail in the moment

you kicked him in the groin and in response he let you go only to fall on broken glass that was in the alley way

using the wall to help yourself up, you grabbed a nearby wooden stick and struck him right on his back

your attacker fell and you immediately turned on your heels to escape only to fall back down on the hard cold ground once again

you lift your face up and look back to see the man holding onto your ankle

grabbing a shard of glass—cutting yourself in the process— you begin to swing it at him only for him to easily grip your wrist and stop you

you get ready try and kick him in the groin again but you’re interrupted as your attacker gets sucker punched and flies to wall

you look up to see your savior and you’re blessed to see a beautiful woman, probably not that much older than you are—she’s probably around ranpo’s age— donning a white long sleeve button up, a matching black necktie, knee length skirt, and gloves, along with tights, red heels, and a pretty butterfly clip in her short black hair

but what you really notice is her eyes

ranpo’s eyes were pretty but you like hers just a bit more

you’ve always liked the color magenta

the pretty lady holds out her hand and you take it graciously and thank her as she helps you up

as that’s happening, your attacker gets himself onto his feet and his groan catches both of your attention

he struggles to stand and the pretty lady simples saunters over to him and delivers an uppercut knocking him out cold

you’re stunned and you breathe out a “thank you” making her turn towards you

she notices the condition you’re in

bleeding scrapes on your hands, arms and legs, small rips in your clothes like your tights, blouse, and skirt, and the ruffled state of your hair and clothing

she asks if you live nearby and you tell her that you own the bakery that’s one or two buildings away

when you tell her that, it clicks in her mind that you must be the bakery girl ranpo’s been talking about and the friend fukuzawa was cat sitting for

it’s been abt two weeks since ranpo and fukuzawa first met you and since then, they’ve seen lucky in the office plenty and the boxes of your signature sweets even more

if those two trust you, she has no reason not to

she smiles at you, holds out her hand for you to shake, and introduces herself as the doctor of the armed detective agency

your eyes widen and you smile back at her shaking her hand

“ah! you must be yosano-sensei then! ranpo-san and fukuzawa-san have talked about you! it’s so nice to meet you! im (l/n) (y/n)!”

“they’ve talked about you too, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you (y/n)”

after that exchange she insisted on bringing you home to treat you wounds which you told her it wasn’t necessary

she gave you a pointed look and that was when you realized what state you were in

you sighed and weakly gave in to which she only grinned at

before leaving the alley she walks over to the unconscious man and pulls out his wallet for some sort of identification and home address as you try to see if there’s any groceries still salvageable

after texting the details to kunikida, yosano turns to you poking around the now ruined grocery bags

she simply rubs your back and tells you that the both of you could go buy more groceries together as she was meaning to get some anyways; she even said she’ll pay for you

you refused obviously but she, unknowingly, used the same tactic fukuzawa used with you

“so you’re saying you don’t need groceries?”

“...”

*cue an eyebrow raise from our resident queen*

“...you agency members don’t like making things easy for me huh.”

you gave in reluctantly and at this point you don’t even know why you try negotiating with them

and that’s only three of them

apparently, she was on the other side of the street on the way to buy groceries for the agency when she noticed different produce items on the other sidewalk leading to the alley and she went to check out what happened

ironically, the way to the grocery store from the agency makes you go past Sakura’s but she didn’t realize it until after the two of you had met

before you know it, the two of you are in your apartment kitchen as she cleans and patches up all of your wounds

as she does so the two of you have a little girl talk

you find it quite comforting bc since you opened up Sakura’s you haven’t really had the chance to connect to many people much less other women

you definitely see yosano as your cool, loving, badass older sister

she thinks you’re adorable and agrees with ranpo’s opinion

yup

that’s right

the opinion that you’re like a little kid </3

you called it a betrayal and all she did was laugh at you <//3

“awhh that’s really cool yosano-sensei!—MFPH?!?”

*squishing your cheeks the same way ranpo did* “ranpo-san was right (n/n)-chan, your cheeks are squishy!”

“?!”

after that small fiasco, the two of you talked some more and bonded over your love for flowers, japanese sweets, and much more!!

you even made a date to have a girls day to go shopping and eat out!

you’re internally squealing a bit bc it’s been a while since you’ve gone shopping

yosano notices and she giggles behind her hand not saying anything bc she knows you’ll only throw a fit

the two of you came around the topic of ranpo when lucky passed by

lucky quickly warmed up to the doctor and cozied up in her lap

“i wish ranpo-san was able to meet lucky when he came by the first time, but then again, he’d probably throw a tantrum if i don’t pay attention to him for 5 seconds”

she snorted at that and like fukuzawa, she shared stories abt the slightly older male

“ranpo-san doesn’t know how to ride a train?”

“unbelievable right?”

“for someone so intelligent i expected more from him”

“i’ll be telling that to ranpo-san, (n/n)-chan”

“wha—?! yosano-sensei please don’t!”

like ranpo, she’s also a tease </3

but you love her anyway <3

eventually, she finished patching you up and promised to treat you to a new set of clothes when the two of you go out

“you don’t need to lose a good set of clothes just because of a sleazy man (n/n)-chan! you deserve better!”

you were going to argue that the rips in your clothes were fairly small and could easily be fixed—except the tights—but you stopped in your tracks when you remembered that it was practically useless to argue against an ada member

the two of you walked to the grocery store and bought both of your needed supplies—along with some extra goodies—and then she walked you back to your place bc it was already a bit dark out

but even if it wasn’t, she would walk you anyways

besides, if anything happened to you, she’s 1000% positive that ranpo and fukuzawa are gonna flip the fuck out not that she wont cause she most definitely will

speaking of which

you were drinking a bottle of water as the two of made your way back to Sakura’s when all of a sudden

“(y/n) you do realize that i have to tell shachou and ranpo-san about what happened today right?”

you choked on your water

“yosano-sensei you can’t! if you do they’ll freak! they won’t leave me alone for at least two weeks! one if im lucky!”

“exactly the point”

you just accepted your defeat already knowing that you’d lose

but maybe you can simmer down their anger towards the bastard with sweets and lucky

you arrived at Sakura’s shortly after and after bringing groceries in, you packaged a bunch of pastries leftover from today—bc you closed early—and bc you’re well aware that ranpo doesn’t share any of the sweets you send him with

you even gave yosano her own special box filled with goodies she loves, and a thermos of fukuzawa’s favorite, your special hot honey lemon tea

other than the sweets, you prepared lucky to spend the night at fukuzawa’s

you really really hoped that doing these things would make them calm down

you shivered at the thought of what their responses would be

you felt really bad for giving yosano all these things to carry and that you were keeping her very late

she assured you that she was fine and that if someone tried to mess with her she’d kick their ass

and after exchanging numbers, the magenta eyed queen bid you a good night and walked back to the agency with lucky walking by her heels

arriving back at the agency, yosano was greeted with some concerns asking if she was alright bc she came back from her grocery run pretty late

(she usually goes in the mornings but today was pretty busy so she left in the late afternoon but now it was already dark)

she waved off the concerns and plopped a couple boxes of your signature bakery boxes at ranpo’s desk, the one for her at her own, the last few boxes in the kitchen for any other agent or clerk to grab, placed the thermos on the desk fukuzawa was by, and picked up lucky and handed him to the president

the two males were pleased with what yosano had brought them, and pleased that another agency member had the chance to meet you

fukuzawa was rubbing lucky and ranpo already snacking on treats as yosano expected

but here comes the hard part

or maybe it’s gonna amusing who knows

“i met (y/n) today.”

“we could tell.”

in goes another treat in the green eyed man’s mouth

“would you like to know how?”

“you bumped into each other, had girl talk, made plans to go out, went grocery shopping, and you brought me and shachou presents.”

“great job ranpo-san, you’re almost completely correct.”

this caught the attention of basically everyone bc they knew ranpo was never “almost completely correct”

“we ended up meeting bc she got attacked on her way home from grocery shopping, i treated her wounds, then we had girl talk and did all the other stuff”

ranpo and fukuzawa froze right in their tracks

“i sent all the info of the bastard to kunikida”

“kunikida.”

“yes shachou”

“find out everything about that man and bring it to me and ranpo”

“...yes shachou”

“and yosano”

“yes?”

“text (y/n) and tell her that her cat, tea, and pastries aren’t going to work as a bribe”

just as you finished taking a shower you sneezed

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matchamorphosis · 3 years

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐙 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒

・゜ʚɞ ゜・ 𝑎.𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ʚɞ 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦 ・゜ʚɞ ゜・

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || you’ve been testing ari’s patience and it’s up to him to put you straight— even if it’s going to be your first real punishment.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || smut with plot

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || daddy!ari levinson × little![black//woc]fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.7K — oof i’m sorry

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 18+ nsfw, ddlg lifestyle and dynamics, daddy kink, extremely bratty reader, big mean daddy!ari, punishment, cursing, spankings, pussy slapping, some steamy scenes, spilt apple juice, a ruined Care Bear’s coloring page, use of nickname: muffin//muffin cake — MINORS DNI || 18+ INTERACTION ONLY —

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || my head was spiraling out of control and I felt bratty + missed my daddy!ari nonnie so I wrote this :): planning on making much more ddlg scenarios like these because they always seem like such a hit and i have so much fun writing them! anyways I hope you cherubs enjoy this! ♡

↬ p.s || do not repost or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or plagiarize my work all together. do so and i will rip your spine from your scumy asshole and shove it down your talentless throat. ♡♡♡

it all started with a simple question.

the simplest of simple questions you know the right answer to. neverminded the fact that the supreme authority in the house, Ari Levinson, would still call you a big dumb baby if you’d answer correctly.

today was not the best day for you to endure one of your aggressively bratty tantrums he says you’re to old to commit — just as well as it wasn’t the best day for you to exclaim your snappy clever remarks he insisted you’re to little to speak of and understand.

you’re either his big girl or his little girl and no in-between’s.

today ignited something in you, lit a measly match that trailed a kerosene path he didn’t dare think fast enough to put out critically. Ari was too slow to realize the build up and now he’s facing the burning fire that’s practically charring the good nature that was usually your morally-correct actions and behavior.

today you just didn’t feel like being good.

simple as that.

however no matter what you did you wouldn’t win, not on daddy’s watch.

glossy black Mary Janes kick the air in a fiery frenzy, folded arms shielding your face as you sob into the pink fluffy play rug. it’s laying underneath your arts and crafts table and of course your thrashing petite body that’s spiraling in the tantrum.

muffled curses and melodramatic wails fill the pink playroom and the cause of this brat fit was the man at the opposite end of the table. no more than a foot away from you, thick muscled arms crossed over his navy blue polo chest. tapping his foot against the floor impatiently, waiting for your tantrum to end he holds the plastic package of goldfish grahams he took from you.

it wasn’t a good decision to ease your previous brattiness with the brownie baked cookies. of course he couldn’t help but give into your sweet tooth if that meant for you to calm down. although Ari didn’t expect you to finish all the sugary goldfish in your snack bowl in the ten minutes you were out of supervision.

additionally, he didn’t see it coming at all when he left you at that to sip from your juice box and snack on the chocolate goldfish while you colored perfectly in between the bolded lines. all so he could finish some paperwork but not until finding you ten minutes after with the whole package at the account of checking in on you.

the sight of your hand in the bag greedily grabbing the graham goldfishes and shoving them into your mouth was a damn sight to see. even when he secretly hid it in the highest and secret, kept out of eyesight corner of the pantry closet— you somehow retrieved it and smuggled it back in your playroom.

the confiscated, nearly-empty package is now in his fisted grasp. Ari cannot believe the shade of anger and disappointment breaking unknown levels of his calming limits.

words cannot describe the irritation inflaming his mind, you’re suppose to be his good little girl.

his precious little starlet who behaved and acted accordingly but instead he has a brat screaming ass up and face down into the play rug. crying her bug head off because he took your spoiling sugary snack from you that he shouldn’t have given in the first place.

rolling his eyes at the scene in front of him, his blue hues lock on your baby lotion thighs that your tiny purple argyll mini skirt reveals. cotton thigh highs adorned with purple bows at the frilly cuffs that match the small silk ones braided into your hair he helped design, capture his eye.

ever since this morning your attitude has been off and not only did it confuse Ari but it confused you to at first. until you slowly grew into liking the devious part that was hidden inside you for so long that maliciously appeared when you woke up on the naughty side of the bed.

from Ari getting you out of bed, giving you your routine bath, arranging your outfit and getting your hair ready. as well as eating breakfast, you pouted and grumbled the whole time but Ari was still so soft and patient with you. it made your heart gooey but you were craving his mean side.

so after you two got ready and started your separate chores and hobbies for the day, you were slowly working your way to anticipating Ari get mean with you. just like your magic always worked wonders, he did get mean. scolded at you when you were in the middle of reading your book, raising his voice just a slight at you that you did all your chores wrong and haven’t even completed some.

it was scary just for minute that he even had a hint of anger in his voice but damn did you enjoy the wetness in your panties at the same time when he ordered you to do them fully and correctly. until finally what he believed would be the end to your brattiness, nap time arrived.

thankful for it as he started lunch, thinking that when you’d wake up he would recognize his well mannered princess but what he didn’t expect would happen afterwards as he woke you up that you were more crankier than before.

the two of you had your lunch of toasty grilled cheese, thick tomato soup and chicken salad. you were still moody and cranky when you sat down in your pastel chair with the wooden pink painted words of princess displayed on the crest rail.

of course he looked at you as if a mountain troll was stealing his princesses throne because he didn’t recognize the pout pulling at your full glossy lips. the scrunched brows making a dramatic impression that married well with your anger inflicted face that spoiled your pretty facial features.

as much as your daddy thought you looked adorable being cranky, every little thing seemed to tick you off. you had a problem with everything that could either easily be fixed or was out of your hands.

the grilled cheese wasn’t cut in the shapes that you wanted, he placed the cheesy slices in your wrong disney princess plate, you didn’t want to eat your greeny nasty salad, you wanted another cup of sprite. which you were neglected of because ari had a limit set for you from not drinking anything more than the amount your tiny hello kitty cup provided.

and most importantly you wanted to have Lulubelle, your tangerine teddy bear, to eat at the table.

of course he fixed his first two mistakes but you knew better than to argue against and ask for anything that went against the rules. instead of putting you to a corner, he set up another option.

encouraged you to eat your greens to set a good example for your stuffies. replaced the second cup of sprite you wanted with a juice box of your choice and placed Lulubelle on one of the living room couches telling you she will wait for you to finish eating and washing your hands.

but even with those resolutions there were major bumps and outbursts.

you played with your food by smacking your spoon against the soups surface which caused little splatters of red dots across the glossy cherry oak table and grumbled under your breath as you picked off the crust of the grilled sandwich.

flicking it with the swiftness of your two inch acrylics, the pieces landing in Ari’s soup or hair.

it was as if you were set on getting on his nerves because damn right you were.

rolled your eyes and silently mimicked his mouth when he ordered you to stop. deviously giggled when the funny vein on his forehead that only bulged out when he was really mad at you was potentially going to pop out.

a smirk playing your lips when the corner of your eye caught every clench of his fist when you would hit the table leg obnoxiously as you slurped your soup. misbehaved yet did what he ordered you to when you believed his attention was back on his own food.

it was a very long lunch and as much as he thought he was going to snap at you and put you in your time out chair that was rarely used because you never ever acted like this, he left you to wash up as he cleaned up after lunch.

you would normally help him with cleaning the table or giving him any dirty dishes for him to clean when he was busy at the faucet. but he allowed you to run off into the living room and play with your stuffed bear in whatever todays make belief adventure the two of you were on.

cleaning up was easy since he only had to clean the bowls, plates and utensils the two of you ate with but it wasn’t until he started to clean the table did he notice all the soup drops against the cleaning plastic as well as the chunky pieces of lettuce, tomato, and bread crusts under the table around your chair.

Ari was close to exploding, because he taught you better then to throw food and waste it but he gave himself a breath, counted to ten and made sure to make a mental note tonight. after your special cartoon marathon, he’d have a very important talk to you about food waste and how wrong it was.

so after cleaning up and warning the two of you were going to have a talk tonight, he settled you in your playroom since it was a room away from his office. Ari never felt comfortable or secure with leaving you all alone downstairs without someone watching over you.

adjusting and nestling the baby monitor on one of your teddy bears heart strap, he placed the stuffed bear near your arts and crafts table. even if you were glaring at him for doing so, you weren’t a baby. although as usual, your daddy shushed at you and placed a kiss at your temple that made you silent as you pulled out your coloring books from your big wooden weaved basket with a grumble.

Ari knew you despised the baby monitor but he made it a priority to place it near you at all times when he wasn’t near. even if the meeting was only going to be around fifteen minutes, your daddy wasn’t going to narrow down the possibilities of something going wrong.

after settling your desired snacks when you remind him that it’s snack time, Ari settled your juice box that he already pierced the straw through the tin foiled hole and your brownie goldfish in your hello kitty snack bowl halfway. checked his watch knowing he had to attend the virtual meeting in less than a few minutes.

kneeling down at your level as you munched on the fish shaped cookies and colored in a fluffy cloud a Care Bear was sleeping on. pulled you into a hug and pressed a kiss to your temple, “Daddy is going to be working in his office princess. can you behave like a good girl until daddy’s done with his meeting?”

the smile that was on your face disappeared, you didn’t want daddy to go and leave you alone!

I mean what was more important than sitting and watching you color? have you feed him the chocolatey goldfish and draw pretty sparkly hearts and shooting stars for him?

“Daddy I don’t want you to go! can the work wait?” you whine but Ari shook his head with a sigh, standing up to your dismay. peering down at you as you glare up at him.

“no the work can’t wait, muffin. it’ll only be twenty minutes and after Daddy does the work he’ll be back here. helping you color a page from your coloring book, how does that sound?” the soft lowness of his voice didn’t leave room for you to bite back an aggression but only nod.

“yes Daddy I would really like that.” Ari smiled to himself at that, thinking that your brattiness has finally come to an end as he left your room.

oh how wrong he was when he arrived back once the meeting was over.

Ari literally caught you with your hand in the cookie jar and you didn’t even look ashamed at all. not stuttering trying to explain your faultless contribution to this crime-like action.

to add onto the shock, when he snatched the bag just full of five goldfishes and crumbs did you start to cry and spiral into you tantrum even when he said nothing yet.

now we are here five minutes later.

with Ari looking down at your still continuing tantrum but noticing it’s lessening with your kicks and whines.

the only thing he feels is disappointment.

not only were you ruining your chances of watching the annual cartoon marathon the cable TV’s going to premiere later on tonight— that he allowed you to stay up to after relentless begs and your good behavior from previous weeks before — but you completely spoiled your appetite for dinner.

your favorite meal he made specially to go along with the cartoon marathon but now watching your tantrum become even more relentless Ari is confirming that you most definitely will not participate in it. maybe even cut your day short once you complete your night routine after dinner and make you head straight to bed.

“are you done being a brat now?” Ari, you’re soft daddy bear snapped viciously.

however you’re still letting out whines and sniffs as you reveal your red teary eyes from the carpet. the sight of them makes him want to drop the bag, kneel down and scoop you in his arms. kiss your face and tell you he’s sorry that he took the cookies away from you, but he can’t.

Ari cannot let this tantrum slide and give you what you want no matter how much it hurts his heart he isn’t trying to calm you down himself in the security and warmth of his arms around his little one.

he needs to put his foot down.

and it serves him right, because once latching your eyes on your mean Daddy’s austere blues you grab your white tiger stuffie nearby. covering your tear stricken face within the faux white fur with a gritted and bratty hmph!

it was infuriating how your Daddy had to take all the things you wanted away from you. obviously you didn’t have a say in anything cause you were suppose to be his good girl but why continue to act good now when you know you’re Daddy is going to ruin the only thing that you’ve been anticipated since the beginning of December?

today approximately around eight o’clock on the dot the big people channel you were forbidden to watch from was going to premiere all your favorite holiday cartoons. The Powerpuff Girls, Scooby Doo, Charlie Brown, Looney Tunes, and the various vintage episodes of nostalgic Mickey Mouse.

if all went wrong as you went down with your ship you could watch some of the holiday issued tapes of Strawberry Shortcake and Winnie the Pooh on your vcr but it wasn’t as often you would have access to the other cartoon specials you enjoyed premiering their limited episodes at the touch of a remote and Ari knows this!

your big mean Daddy knows how much you’ve been looking forward to it but he’s probably going to instead send you off to your secluded bed in the separate room he sends you to when he was to furious to have you sleep with him in your shared big king bed after dinner.

belly full of your favorite food that’s going to stir badly in your stomach as you shift under your warm covers restless because it wouldn’t be your goddamn bedtime. only having the single company of your golden fairy nighty nightlight and the only stuffie he’d allow you to cuddle for the night.

it makes you want to explode because you know how this is going to end but you’re head is to tired to even say anything in retaliation or beg him not to reconsider.

but maybe… if you think up something quick to throw him off it’ll buy you enough time to behave and show him you could be good.

even though you screamed all the naughty no-no words Ari would have you over his lap in a second if you even thought of them. throat sore and red eyes stinging from crying so damn much and rubbing your closed eyelid fiercely against the play rug and stuffie.

a plan is concocting in your mind, nothing devious but it will have its dose of your witty pettiness and unholy brattiness.

daddy won’t suspect a thing, you thought as you stopped your sniffs and cries.

wiped your tears with the cashmere sleeve of your cropped lavender cardigan as you got up from your sprawled position. patted your argyle patterned skirt down to smooth out any wrinkles and got back to work on the arts and crafts table.

and your plan is beginning to work because it does take Ari by surprise when you get up from your pathetic little position. the purple argyle skirt now fully covering your bum, he knows you’re ignoring his stern stare when you scoot your knees back to the small crafts table.

continuing to color from your coloring book as if nothing happened.

Ari scoffs to himself, what kind of mind game were you playing on him?

“what do you think you’re doing muffin?” Ari spoke and for once you stare back at him. eyes slightly red as evidence of your crying, they’re calm now as they meet his.

“nothing Daddy, i’m just coloring,” you spoke, the crayon in your hand shading in a midnight sky. Ari continues to stare down until he takes the crayon from you— but what he doesn’t expect is that when he snatches the crayon from you he accidently knocked over your apple juice box.

the mellow yellowish liquid spills onto your crayon box, containing the limited edition colors you prized. soaking your beloved coloring tools with the sticky juice; it made your bottom lip tremble as you quickly grab the slightly soggy box. you let out a whine as you feel tears spring in your eyes.

the unintentional incident and your heartbroken state almost has Ari yet again stumbling to fix what wasn’t really his fault. leaving the room to get paper towels and a cleaning spray.

coming to terms with this, you’re surprised to find the casualty of your crayons diverting the attention away from you and onto something else.

maybe if you kept this up, eight o’clock would come and he’d have nothing else to do then allow you to have your cartoon marathon.

you thought as you tapped a single finger to your peachy cheek in thought.

all you had to do was put him in situations that would conflict him into think it was initially his fault therefore guilting him into giving you what you wanted!

then you’d be set on the living room rug with a plate of your favorite food on your lap. a stuffie at your hip and looking up at the tv as the credits for the first cartoon of the night rolled in.

quickly finding some Lysol wipes and tissues in the playroom you clean up the mess and the cardboard crayon box as Ari’s loud footsteps come closer and closer.

swiftly disposing them in the craft trash basket and settled in your cushion seat before he arrived in the doorway with his arms full of cleaning supplies. when Ari stepped back into the room he was surprised to find you already cleaned up the mess and properly sitting as you continued coloring.

twirling a braided lock of purple silk bowed hair around your finger. figuratively showing how much you were controlling those dominant Daddy instincts of his he wasn’t going to have you get your way.

you still need to come to terms of all the wrongs you committed today and if all goes well he’d decide if you could attend to that cartoon marathon. “muffin?” Ari spoke and on que your head lifts up, your pearly white smile so tender and innocent as if you weren’t messing with mind to get whatever you wanted.

meaning excuse all the trouble you got yourself into.

“yes Daddy?” voice soft and perky as you settle the crayon on the table, he catches you sitting up straighter. elbows resting on the table and arms pressing close to your chest to pronounce your plump cleavage the top three un-buttoned piece of your cardigan displayed.

the delicious sight has him licking his lips, wanting to throw you over his shoulder with the loud and rough slaps to your ass and take you to your room. throwing you on the bed and rip every little piece of clothing off of you.

—but that’s what you want him to do, you want to have him distracted from the task at hand. especially when the task is putting you in your place and marginalizing your chances of watching the night special of holiday cartoons.

“what do brats get?” that question has you dropping your eyes from his to stare blankly at the coloring book and lined arrange of crayons in front of you.

did you want to answer him correctly or did you not want to answer at all?

the options where bouncing in your head but you didn’t realize Ari’s still waiting for you to answer when you ignored the question. picking up a crayon and colored in a Care Bear as if he didn’t ask you anything at all.

“muffin are you listening to me?” Ari sighs, tone no longer the softness as a few minutes ago and no longer bearing the same patience as before.

it doesn’t match your inattentive focus, you’re still coloring and teasing him. the sleeve of the tight periwinkle cardigan slipping off your shoulder, showing more of your rich skin that Ari wants to kiss and mark with his lips.

shaking his head out of it, telling himself that he was the adult and you were the brat and he was going to— no matter how much you were going to cry — discipline you into obedience and get his well behaved muffin back.

“i’m going to count to three and if-” he’s cut off when you roll your eyes on him, catching his voice in his mouth like a frog in his throat. Ari’s conflicted entirely and pissed entirely because you’ve never rolled your eyes at him, ever.

so as you persisted to ignore Ari, scribbling one of your multi colored crayons, you have a pink one in your hand. shading in a heart and an idea shines like a lightbulb above his head.

without any warning his large hands snatch the coloring book from under your grasp. the pale purple crayon in your small hand that was once shading in Share Bears fur runs along the whole paper. the sudden climax of running colored wax against moving paper, shocking you to a gasp.

an offended wail excludes from your mouth but Ari is too pissed to feel sympathetic. getting up he holds the coloring book he bought for you during the weekend above his head. somewhat enjoying and taking pleasure as you stand up on your tippy toes and jump to retrieve it with fail.

indeed taking pleasure as he stares down at your full tits bouncing in your comfortable tube top that’s underneath the cardigan. loving your cries and whines as you beg him to give your coloring book back.

eyeing your tiny delicious figure that's far too small to reach the skyscraper height that holds your beloved Care Bears coloring book. it made Ari’s heart melt when you hugged and pressed your kisses all over his bearded face when he gifted you it some day ago but he never thought he’d enjoy taking it away from you.

right now he has to put you in your place and ignore the tightness in his pants to deal with later. “Daddy you ruined my drawing!” your sobs and whimpers proclaim, continuing to jump as your cries became louder and tears become more present.

“you didn’t answer Daddy’s question little one,” he hissed and with that your cries come to an end to just reveal a glare then a smirk.

quitting your attempts of retrieving the coloring book you turn around and walk away. a slight hypnotic flow of your hips and curves making Ari’s eyes train to the plump assets.

“what was the question again?” you sighed tiredly, encouraging the deadly glare your Daddy has on you.

a yawn overcoming you as you hovered your hand over your mouth that makes Ari scoff. glossy lips still bearing cookie crumbs at the corners you stretched, you lick them off and you bite your lip at him.

mocking him in your divine rebelliousness.

letting out little high pitched noises as you arched your back with your hands twined together above your head. again, to emphasize your cleavage, “would it just go in one ear and out the other or would you actually listen and answer like a good girl?” Ari seethed.

you stand there and register it and of course you were heading off the direction you want but maybe you can turn the tables on him. “i’ll be a good girl Daddy, I promise i’ll listen,” voice soft and assured.

Ari cocks his head to the side at that promise, quirking a brow but not breaking the stare he has on his precious angel that’s playing the devil. he’ll put that promise to the test, walking around the small yet wide arts and crafts table he finally stands in front of you.

making you heart thump louder and louder with each step he takes.

crouching down on his knees to face you at your eye level, Ari sees the devilish twinkle in your starlight eyes. waiting for him to ask the question he knows you can answer correctly.

“what do brats get?”

his stern and mean face that always makes you stutter on your own words and trip over your own feet clashes with yours.

of course you can answer correctly, you can but you can’t believe how fun and thrilling it is with not just your growing ego but the wetness growing in between your legs. soaking your lace panties when your hands lift up to trace his bulging biceps through the short sleeved polo.

“treats?”

you whisper, before your hand goes to grasp the bulge of his trousers that he lets out a pleasured hiss. before you can smirk he’s slapping your hand off his trouser covered cock.

and in a blitz of a second you’re squeaking out a squeal as Ari grabs you by your arm. dragging you to the rocking chair resting near your bookshelves of thick hardcover storybooks and sits in the cushion seat before throwing you over his lap.

whines and cries getting louder when Ari lifts up the tiny argyle skirt to reveal your ass. tummy squirming against his lap he pulls gently at your hair to lift it up.

“keep squirming and i’ll add another five to the twenty you already have,” he hisses but you still can’t believe everything has lead to this.

Daddy never gave you spankings.

never gave you physical punishments before but as much as you were despising the situation you can’t believe how your slicked core is getting wetter with each second that’s passing. with your Daddy’s large hands caressing your ass cheeks and those thick fingertips teasing your pussy’s slit.

“you’re going to count each spank I give you and after each spank I want you to thank me. no whines, no crying just ‘thank you Daddy’. do you understand me?”

Ari’s deep low voice above you rumbling your core like thunder on a dark stormy night. only leaving you to whimper in fear as you nod but were caught off guard when he landed a loud swift slap! to your ass. causing you to gasp in pain.

“yes!” you cried but squirmed when he chuckled down at you. leaving you wandering what you did wrong before he landed another spank to the same cheek. causing you to cry out and feeling the honey of your pussy drench your inner thighs.

“what was that? did you even listen to your Daddy?” he hissed as another rough spank crashed onto your ass, “what do you fuckin say?” he practically roared, leaving more tears to drop down the landscape of your dewy face.

“one! thank you daddy!” you wail pathetically, tears soaking your cheeks, you knew your Daddy is doing what was best for you but you couldn’t help but want to squirm away from his grasp.

catching you doing so he grips your neck in his grasp. “don’t you fuckin run from me now muffin, you acted like a brat so i’m gonna treat you like a fucking brat. we have one down and nineteen to go, don’t disappoint me,” Ari seethed before grasping your panties and pulling them off you.

by pulling off he ripped them at the area that covered your ass, marveling at the wetness of not just the panties but your pussy as well. “my muffin got worked up misbehaving? you get your dumb cunt wet when you disrespect Daddy’s authority?” he murmurs.

stuttering and attempting to answer the words become inaudible once your lips part at the calloused hands of Ari’s. soaked panties in his hold, he shoves them into your mouth. making you taste your own sweetness as he licks his own fingers from your honey and moans at the tangy palette.

“I thought we established no talking, you really are just a stupid little girl,” as much as his words sprung tears in your eyes you couldn’t help but feel your core burn. clenching your thighs together as result he darkly chuckles at the pathetic action.

his hands grip your thighs to forcibly split them apart, “oh muffin cake don’t distract Daddy now,” he darkly chuckles and before you now it a loud and swift slap hits your wet pussy. making you cry out in pain that’s slowly growing into pleasure.

“you’ve done enough of that for today. right now Daddy’s gonna have to punish you,” his hand that’s still at your cunt rubs it.

the slick of your wetness sounding off creating an erotic echo in the room and just like that he’s slapping your small wet pussy with his rough hand again.

“and no matter how much you cry or squirm or beg me to stop I want you to handle it like the big girl I know you can be. do you understand me?” his growl overcoming your muffled pained whimpers and moans as you feverishly nod your head up and down.

pulling the panties out of your mouth you nod your head, “yes Daddy, I understand,” you whimper after a few hiccups.

you can’t see the smirk plastered on his face but you can see his risen hand in the air from the corner of your dress up hand mirror. angled on the floor to capture the moment, shuddering when it disappears from the mirrors image you feel the rough spank at your cheek.

not as rough and angry as the first three but still enough that it stings tremendously, “two, thank you Daddy,”

“that’s what I like to hear muffin,” Ari smirks before getting back to work.

your Daddy continued to give you your deserved spankings, your ass bruised and sore by the time he was finished and was satisfied with each one you counted and thanked him for.

praised you for not squirming even when you wanted to as he covered your ass with the thin material of your skirt.

“you did so well muffin cake. handled and took your punishment like the good girl I knew you could be,” he whispered lovingly in your ear m as he carried you to both your shared bedroom to rub some soothing lotion on your sore bum.

“thank you Daddy. I-i’m so sorry I was so bad today,” you whimpered as chocked hiccups become more unbearable. eyes swelling up with tears and a little sob erupting from your mouth. Ari shushes it by taking your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“it’s okay baby, I promise everything is okay. no matter how bad you act always know, always know that Daddy still loves you. i’ll always love you muffin cake, that’s forever.” those soft blue hues lace with yours and you truly do feel at ease.

nodding your head at his soft supportive assertion, his forehead pressed to yours and your noses rubbing tenderly against each other. making you giggle and he grins as he laughs with you before setting you down on the bed.

Ari rubs the soothing cold lotion against your bum, continuing to shower you with divine praises, sweet appreciations and heart warming adorations that made your peachy cheeks sore from your never-ending smile.

afterwards he gently carries you in his arm downstairs heading to the living room. telling you how you and him were going to fix the coloring page he ruined as snuggle you face into his neck. large bunny stuffie in you locked armed connection he settles you down on the couch.

grabbing the fluffy throw blanket draped on one of the other couches he grabs it and wraps your lower half in it. giggling as he tucks it around your sides to make sure you’re nestled nice and warm, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Ari glances down to his watch with a soft smile, clutching the remote on the coffee table he turns the TV on.

smirking at your confusion when he goes on the channel that’s minutes away from airing the cartoon marathon.

“Daddy what are you doing?” your hushed voice catches his ears, Ari turns his head over his shoulder at you looking up at him with those conflicted doe eyes.

“i’m letting my muffin watch her cartoons. Daddy knows you’ve been waiting a month to watch them and daddy knows his princess deserves it,” his soft smile only but eludes your guiltiness.

“but i’ve been really bad today. b-bad girls don’t get TV time. they don’t get to watch cartoons,” you sob as tears began to fall once more but they’re quickly wiped away at Ari’s warm hands, cooing you into calming down.

“Daddy knows you’ve been bad today, but you proved to Daddy that you were good at handling your punishment. bad girls don’t get TV time, you’re right, but bad girls who take their punishments well and understand what they did wrong get TV time. because they’re no longer bad girls,” he smiles and you smile as well, leaning in for a kiss he accepts.

“there’s only a couple of minutes left before the premiere starts. Daddy’s gonna be in the kitchen starting dinner, if you need anything just call Daddy’s name out okay?” he whispers and you nod your head, shifting attentively on the couch to get into a comfortable position.

smiling to yourself as you pull your bunny plushie closer when the commercials end and the beginning credits to How The Grinch Stole Christmas starts to roll in.

you come to a solid conclusion.

no matter how you get in your bratty fits that your Daddy is going to forever love you. and no matter how stern Daddy is and how angry you are at him, you’re forever going to love him.

and no spanking or ruined drawing is ever going to change that!

♡♡♡ thank you for reading! ♡♡♡ pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this follow me to read more of my future works! ♡♡♡

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#brattycherubwrites #♡ ari levinson ♡#ari levinson × black!reader #ari levinson × woc!reader #ari levinson × reader #ari levinson smut #daddy!ari levinson #daddy!ari levinson × black!reader #daddy!ari levinson × woc!reader #daddy!ari levinson × reader #chris evans smut #chris evans × woc!reader #chris evans × black!reader #chris evans × reader #daddy!ari levinson × little!reader

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adsosfraser · 3 years

Text

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter One

Read on AO3

“Miss?” The young man lightly nudged the unconscious woman’s shoulder before him.

Claire felt the tickle of his breath on her cheek, checking for signs of life. Cool slender fingers pressed into her neck and a sigh of relief escaped his chest when the blood pounded through her veins. Her body jostled in the arms of the stranger. He adjusted himself under her shoulders to give more support to her neck before placing a firm backpack under her in his stead.

Darkness wrapped itself around Claire’s body like a vise. The echoes of forlorn and tormented screams lingered in her mind. Her body reeled from the recent trip, seeking peace amongst the waves of unconsciousness. She groaned as the burning pain in her back increased in its appetite for more flesh.

“Dinnae fash miss, I’m going to fetch ye some help. My name is Graham, Graham Munro. I’ll be right back.”

The slick grass grabbed at the man's heels, and his face burned red as he caught himself stumbling down the hillside, almost diving straight first into the dewy grass. Graham slowed his pace to allow his shoes a proper grip on the uneven hill, but broke out into a sprint as the smooth road below met him. He had hiked from Inverness that morning, so had no reliable means of transportation nearby. Graham hoped he could gather the attention of a car driving down the road, one specifically with an occupant strong enough to help him carry the woman at the foot of the stones.

Claire’s body was racked with a wave of nausea and she turned her head to the side to relieve herself of the bile within her throat. Her head split in two from the pressure within. She leaned back against the backpack under her neck and let her eyes close. She pushed back the pain, both in her heart and her body, and focused on flashes of red and blue and a lingering sensation on her lips. Claire reached up to touch her lips, but her arm didn’t allow the movement. She grimaced as the pain that started in her back inched its way towards the front of her body. Her hand rested on top where her child was but it elicited a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, not one of reassurance. She slowly and carefully brushed her fingertips along the outline of her womb, tears springing forth and she tightened her eyes in response.

She wanted to scream, to rage and curse the stones in front of her, but she barely had energy to open her eyes as it was. She wanted to grab Jamie’s head between her hands and vent her frustrations at the Scottish brute, more importantly she wanted him to wrap his arms around her and make her feel safe, but his presence and scent had since faded away in the wind. It felt like eternity between the moments she reluctantly touched the stones and had woken to a stranger’s touch.

After flailing his arms for what seemed like a quarter of an hour and feeling like an idiot during the entirety of the process, Graham finally spotted a streak of shiny black as a car rounded the corner. He started waving his arms vigorously as the car grew larger and larger in view. It slowed to a stop and shuddered as the engine turned off. A man with spectacles pressed tightly against his nose and woman with smile lines sat in the front seats, puzzled expressions at Graham’s appearance at the side of the road.

“Do you need help sir?” An American accent bled through the older man’s voice.

“Aye, there’s a lass at the foot of the stones up on that hill.” Graham squinted his eyes in the sun’s light and pointed, as the words raced out of his mouth with urgency. “I dinnae think she’s hurt terribly but I found her unconscious, thinking she was dead. I couldnae carry her myself and didn’t think it would amount to much wi’ out a car. Will ye help get her to the city?”

“Of course.” The man offered a tight lipped smile. “My wife and I were just going back to our hotel in Inverness.”

The door swung open and he gripped the sides of the car to steady his descent from the car. He limped slightly, a gift from a war king past, but kept pace with the young sprightly man before him.

“Be careful darling.” She offered her husband a small smile and crinkled her eyes.

His wife’s own condition was no better than his, with her hands twisted from the effects of arthritis, and she did not want to hinder their haste towards their destination.

The two men took their journey to the stones in stride, being careful not to slip up on the grass below them. The older man was steady in his ascent, while Graham rushed up in short bursts towards the hilltop, debating between waiting in pace with the older man and getting to the top as soon as he could. The older man made a gesture for him to go on and the confirmation made Graham rush the final stretch up towards the top.

“Miss?” Graham tried to rouse her again by shaking her shoulders.

Claire grumbled out an incoherent murmur in response. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and cheeks feeling a warm flush in her skin, but not enough yet to worry him.

Claire forced her mouth to move but it was hard to place the word. She reached weak arms up to grab the collar of his shirt and trembled to pull on it.

“What- what’s the year?” Her voice croaked.

“Dinnae owerwork yerself miss. My name is Graham Munro and yer gonna be just fine. We’ll take you to the hospital ”

“What’s the goddamn year.” The words were weak on her mouth, almost a whisper, and didn’t create the forceful emphasis Claire desired.

“Why it’s the 17th of April, 1948, what else could it be?” It was a day after the fateful battle, the one that took- no she wouldn’t think about that just yet. It had taken her that long to stir awake.

“Who won?” Claire could clearly see the man in front of her now that her eyes and mind adjusted to the reality before her.

He could be no older than sixteen, with a lanky build and a pockmarked face. His eyes somehow sparkled with the naivety of youth, not yet showing the horrors of the world reflected in their depths. Blond strands obscured his forehead and slivers of his eyes.

“Pardon me?”

Claire set her voice with all the conviction and authority she could muster and shook the collar that was painfully gripped between her hands. “Who won the Battle of Culloden?”

Silence entered the space between the two and Graham tried to hide his baffled expression.

“Did my history teacher send ye all the way out here to chastise me?” He chuckled but the humour faded from his voice as he looked at her grim face.”Well, the English of course.”

Her body fell limp at the words and she crumpled harder into herself. She clutched her arms right around stomach and let the sobs ricochet off of the stones for the world to hear her grief. Hot tears sprang forth and her head hurt even more from the strain of her lamentation. She barely felt the four hands lifting her up as she let sleep win, not able to deal with any of it. The swaying rhythm of their walking gaits lulled her into peace.

***

“Mrs. Randall.” Her body shuddered at the name.

She looked away from the doctor with unshed tears. Her eyes wandered down to the street below. So many sights of joyous families as they strolled along the pavement. She quickly whipped her head away from the sight of a man reaching into a pram before him to pick up the newborn inside of it. He threw her up in the air in his arms and beamed, pecking his wife and daughter with a quick kiss on the kiss each.

The stones had ripped away her husband, her heart, her family, her life. What more could they have taken from her to make their existence only a harbinger of pain and death? She knew. Somehow she knew. It didn’t feel right after she went through, not that anything could anymore. She subconsciously clutched the flat area of her stomach.

“Mrs. Randall it appears that ye’ve suffered a miscarriage. It’s likely the stress of recent events, the dehydration, malnourishment, and burns considered, that…” His voice nulled out as background noise in her mind.

Of course the bloody stones wouldn’t allow safe passage to the both of them. It was a foolish notion. They didn’t even know if the baby could go through the stones when they crested the hill and canons sounded far away on the battlefield. She barely even knew how the stones actually worked. Perhaps they required payment, and they saw fit to take whatever they could from her, the only thing she still had. Her baby’s voice would join the agonising chorus within the stones. She should never have been so foolish. The baby was the last piece of Jamie she had and she lost it, just like Faith. She failed. She failed Jamie. She failed both her children. She failed. She wasn’t strong enough to fight it off.

Her mind seemed to go on autopilot as the hours passed until Frank’s arrival. She originally refused his visit but the doctor insisted, multiple times. She didn’t let herself think of anything besides the rush of cars from the window, their honks, incomprehensible speech, the blurring melodies of the radio, and the squeak of the nurse’s shoes. She hated the bloody noise but it was what kept everything away and her completely falling apart again.

She caught sight of a reflection in the window that made her heart race violently. She gripped the sheets at her sides and tried to calm herself. She tried to look for any difference in Frank’s face from his ancestor’s that could calm her. He slowly approached her side and stopped a good distance from her bed.

“Claire.”

“Frank.” Claire pushed back the venom in her voice, leaving it with a neutral taste.

“I’m back.”

“And I am so grateful.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. With all my heart.”

He reached out his hand towards her arm for comfort, connection perhaps. She flinched and flashes of the deep evil crossed the forefront of her mind.

“Sorry.” Though Frank didn’t know why he was apologising for trying to comfort his wife.

She couldn’t bring herself to smile at him. Or to look into his eyes. His words mushed together into a watercolour of grey, one that Claire didn’t much care for. The only words Claire could seem to retain was something about the reverend.

#outlander fanfiction #claire fraser #craigh na dun #canon divergence #frank randall #jamie fraser #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic

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jobean12-blog · 4 years

Note

hello my love!!! I wondered if I could request something sexy and fun!! I was thinking of reader and Bucky being in a new relationship, they haven't had sex yet and he invites her to sleep over at the compound one night. Reader has like a boob sore so she can't wear a bra and sleeps in her tank top. morning after, Bucky wakes up first and sees her boob has fallen out of her top, he was trying to remain a gentleman but after seeing that he wants her? Hehe i love you and thank you for everything❤️

Morning Glory

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,412

Summary: Spending the night at Bucky’s for the first time has you very excited and a morning surprise really moves the relationship along...

Author’s Note: Thank you for requesting this love! I had fun writing it and hope it makes you happy! This is real life and happens to me all the time, even when I wear those CK bralette thingies. Never fails. Now if Bucky was in my bed....well. haha! Love you! Thank you all for reading and much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: sweet fluff, light teasing and flirting, lots of kissing, Steve and Sam being themselves, implied sexy times :)

Standing in your apartment you stare at your empty overnight bag, cursing your indecision. Bucky invited you to spend the night at his place, aka the Avengers compound, and you have no idea what to pack to wear for the night or bedtime or the next morning! You don’t normally sleep in a bra and you don’t want to just because you’re staying at his place. Rifling through your pajama drawer you find a cute blue tank top with matching boy shorts, deciding it works fine and will be comfy.

Stuffing it in the bag you search around for your toiletries, double checking you have everything you need before leaving. Bucky meets you outside and greets you with a searing kiss. It takes you a moment to catch your breath afterwards and you’re wondering how you’ll be able to control yourself when you share a bed tonight.

Bucky has been a gentleman from the moment you met and ever since you first starting dating, which wasn’t too long ago. It’s the first time you’ll be spending the whole night together and you’re feeling both excited and nervous. Of course, as soon as you’re in his presence you feel completely comfortable and happy.

The early part of your evening is spent cooking dinner together, Bucky suggesting you try to make a pizza. “Bucky, I’m not sure I can do the whole throw the dough in the air thing,” you say, staring down at the yeasty mixture. “Me neither but I’m gonna give it a try!” You giggle and step back watching as Bucky tries to pick up the sticky dough.

Once he has it in his hands, he gives you an apprehensive look before saying, “here goes nothin’!” He tries to throw it but fails when he doesn’t put enough force behind it. “Ok, here we really go,” he laughs. Bending his knees, he releases the dough. It flies just above his head, hovering for a split second before landing back on his hands and ripping.

Bucky stands in shocked silence and your hand flies over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He finally looks your way, his lips turning up into a smirk, “something you find funny, doll?” You can’t hold back any longer, bursting into a fit of giggles and pointing at him. “Oh my gosh, you should see your face!”

Bucky tries to wipe off his hands as best he can before he stalks over to you, caging you against the island with his arms. Your breath hitches at the closeness of his body and your hands instinctively reach out to smooth down his chest. “I wish I got that on camera,” you say, continuing to tease him, “and I think you have some dough in your hair.”

He leans his face close to yours, brushing the hair from your cheek, “hmmmm, I bet you do.” When his mouth meets yours you completely melt against him, a sigh falling from your lips as he parts them with his tongue. Running his thumb across your jaw he cradles your face in his hand, deepening the kiss just as a throat clears loudly behind you.

Bucky hesitantly pulls away, his eyes soft on you but then thunderous when they stare over your shoulder. “Rogers. You better have a good reason for interrupting us.” Steve raises his brows and chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest in a very Captain America way. “Hi y/n. Nice to see you again.” You give Steve a shy wave, “hi Steve, you too.”

“Actually, this time I do. I smelled something burning and figured I should check it out before the compound gets a shower.” Both you and Bucky spin to face the oven, the slight wisps of smoke starting to leak out the sides. “Oh shit,” Bucky shouts, quickly turning the oven off and alerting Friday that they have it under control. “THE COOKIES!” you yell in horror! “I can’t believe we forgot about them!”

Steve laughs first and you and Bucky can’t help but follow suit. “Well, if you didn’t have your tongues down each other throats you might have remembered,” Steve scolds before laughing again and walking off. “Ugh, I’m gonna kick him in his righteous ass,” Bucky mumbles.

Turning to you, he gathers you in his arms and says, “now, where were we,” pressing his lips to yours once again. You gently pull away just to ask, “what about dinner? And more importantly! Dessert!?” His nose scrunches as he smiles wide, “let’s just order a pizza and steal Sam’s Oreos. Yea?” You simply nod, leaning in to kiss him again.

“I heard you two were starting a fire in here!” Sam chimes from the doorway. Bucky groans, grabbing your hand and walking down the hallway without a word. “Hi y/n!” Sam says as he gives you his best smile. “Hey Sam! Good to see you!” you call out just before disappearing around the corner.

Bucky huffs as he shuts the door. “They can be such a pain in the ass sometimes!” You laugh and pull your phone from your pocket. “I’ll order the pizza; you snag the cookies and then we’ll have the rest of the night uninterrupted.” Bucky practically skips out the door when you start dialing for the pizza and only moments later you hear Sam yelling, “where the hell are you going with my Oreos?!?!”

Dinner is perfect and after eating a whole sleeve of Oreos dipped in milk you and Bucky settle in on the couch to watch a movie. Not even halfway through Bucky has you pinned to the couch, his lips devouring yours as his hands wander over your dips and curves. You moan into his mouth and he pulls away, breathing heavily when he speaks. “I want you so badly, but I want to do this the right way, you know.”

You’re barely able to manage the nod of your head, all your brain power gone with his strong body above you and his hands on your skin. You want to tell him you don’t care that you really like him and you’re ready to take the next step. But you don’t want to push him either, so you remain silent. He pulls you into his side, holding you close while you finish the movie.

It’s almost midnight and you stifle a yawn, snuggling closer into Bucky. “You ready for bed, doll?” You smile up at him, “yes, I think so.” You go into the bathroom to wash up and change. When you come out you watch as Bucky takes in your appearance, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes dark. “You’re not making this easy you know.” He plants a sweet kiss to your lips before he goes to change.

You get in bed and burrow under the covers, loving that you’re surrounded by his smell. He gets in soon after, pulling you against his chest and nuzzling his face into your neck. “I’m really glad you’re here baby girl. I love having you in my bed.” Throwing your leg over his you mumble into his chest, “me too, Buck.”

Morning arrives and you slowly wake up, the warmth of Bucky’s body still close as you stretch and yawn. You feel a slight chill at your chest, moving to pull the blanket further up your body but stopping short when you brush bare skin. Cracking open your eyes you look down and to your surprise see that your tank top did little to hold things in place while you were sleeping.

Bucky’s sharp intake of breath catches your attention and you look over to find him staring. “Morning beautiful,” he whispers, licking his lips. “Hi,” you say quietly, smirking at how hot and bothered he looks. “Sorry, I don’t usually wear a bra to sleep.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring and you can see his internal struggle.

You slowly get up, fixing your shirt and running your hand over the hardness that is evident under his boxers. “Meet me in the shower in 2?” you ask sweetly, lightly brushing your lips to his. He practically falls out of the bed, the sheets tangled around his legs as he stumbles forward. “Fuck yes, doll. I can’t wait.” You saunter to the bathroom, knowing full well half your ass cheek is hanging out of your boy shorts. Bucky’s low growl carries across the room, your smile triumphant just as you turn on the shower.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @azurika-writes @buckys-broody-muffin @book-dragon-13 @bugsbucky @bucky-on-my-mind @devynsdiary @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @imgaril-lindru @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @loricameback @jewels2876 @littleredstarfish @littledarlinhavefaithinme @mushyjellybeans @metal-armed-cuddly-dork @marvelgirl7 @marvelandotherfandomimagines @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @scarletsoldierrr @the-wayward-robot @when-the-hell-is-bucky

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel #steve rogers #sam wilson #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader fluff

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gubes-sweaters · 3 years

Text

Never Be the Same

Authors Note: Before you read this please don't kill me it's left off on a cliffhanger on purpose and I will write a second part soon. Also I write about what happened in Mexico (spoiler alert if you haven't seen season 15) I know that Lindsay didn't actually do anything (Cat mentions it in the episode date night) but at the time Spencer didn't know so I wrote it as such.

Content warning: arguing, light smut, brief mention of physical and sexual assault, spoilers for season 12+.

Word count: 1.6k

It's been officially three months since Spencer has been home from prison. I know things will never be the same and I don't expect him to be the person he once was, but he's been incredibly distant. Between being manhandled by fellow inmates in prison and feeling violated after what Lindsey Vaughn did in Mexico I can understand why he's been so distant. Most people don't see Spencer as a cuddly person, but that's only because they aren't in a relationship with him. Most people think Spencer is completely averse to human touch, but once he gets close to you he has no problem with it. In fact, when I met Spencer he was so attention and touch starved that he practically followed me around like a puppy for the first couple of months we started dating.

Normally we would wake up together in the morning when he was home and I would cook breakfast while he would stand behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist swaying back-and-forth to music. He would also often plant kissed up and down my neck, side of my face, and the crown of my head. If he was still home by the time lunch came around we would still be right next to each other either being on the couch watching Doctor Who or snuggling up and reading books together. Spencer was always a bit of a homebody only because he spent so much time away from home on cases. When he was finally home he didn't wanna leave until he had to.

Now most mornings when I wake up Spencer is facing away from me. I wake up only to make breakfast separate from him, sometimes we eat together sometimes we don't. Now we kind of just live separate lives. Sometimes I even make excuses to leave the apartment because I don't feel welcomed in there. I want this to change, I need this to change.

It's not for my own selfish reasons well not completely, but I know if I let this continue Spencer and I aren't going to last much longer. He will push himself away further and further until he's in a rut that he can't come out of. I miss him and I miss us. I decided this morning to try and convince him to go out to dinner with me tonight. Today he doesn't have any classes to teach and he's still on his sabbatical, so he has no excuse as to why he couldn't when it comes to being busy. That leads me to where we are right now, a typical Sunday morning and I am making breakfast while he’s in the living room planning for his next lecture.

"So how do you feel about maybe going out to eat tonight?" I asked while setting a plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes right in front of him. I take a seat next to him on the couch waiting for his response.

"Oh... uh... yeah, sure I don't see why not." He says still engrossed in his papers. He flips through them so fast that he doesn't even fully pay attention to what he agreed to do tonight.

I put my hand on the file that he's reading before closing it and pulling it away. I then push his plate in front of him and ask him once again if he wants to go out tonight. All he can do is look at me like he's staring at a brick wall. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times like a fish out of water before just avoiding the question and starts to eat his breakfast.

"It’s just that we haven't done anything since you've been back home. If you don't wanna go out that's fine, we can have a movie night or anything I just want to spend time with you. I don't want you to push yourself away from me like I know you're doing right now. Your lecture can wait and you have a bit of time until you can be reinstated to the BAU. Take a little time for me and you please." I beg of him knowing he probably won't be able to resist the puppy dog eyes I'm giving him.

"Ok, yeah you're right I need a break from work for a minute. I don't really feel like leaving the house I think I'm too anxious to leave right now, but a movie night with takeout does sound really good."

I'll take it, I mean he agreed to at least have a movie night with me. I also don't want to have an argument over what were doing. I also don't want to push him too far. It's a step forward, but little does he know I have a little bit more planned than that.

-time skip-

For some reason, we decided to watch Rocky Horror Picture Show first, and Spencer decided to get pizza for dinner. Like I said right now I'm gonna take whatever I can get from this. As we're about halfway through the movie and completely through the pizza I realize we're sitting on opposite ends of the couch. We look a little less like a couple that's been together for four years and more like two awkward teenagers having to watch a movie with either one of our parents. I slowly start to scoot closer and closer to him before I'm glued to his side. After a while, he relaxes into my touch and wraps his arms around my shoulder. I start to plant kisses on his neck and jawline. Once I find that spot on his neck I'm so familiar with it doesn't take him but a couple of seconds to become putty in my hands.

He suddenly grabs my jaw and kisses me furiously. He kisses me with so much vigor and passion, that same passion I've missed too much. Before I even fully comprehend what's going on he's already carried me to our bedroom. He plops my body on the bed with such force that my body bounces in place a couple of times.

Spencer crawls over me and begins sucking on every inch of my neck and collar bones that he can easily get to. After becoming frustrated by the lack of canvas for him, he tugs at the bottom of my shirt a bit before looking at me silently asking for permission. I nod a lift my torso up ever so slightly and lift my arms over my head so he can take my shirt off. He continues marking me until he retracts his head back to see what he did. When I was expecting him to share the same enthusiasm as I had his face dropped. I squinted at him trying to ask if everything's alright without outright saying it. For a couple of moments that were filled with tension, he continues to just stare at me. He's not even looking at my eyes he's just looking at the marks he left. When his eyes started to the water I became nervous and I wanted to know what's going on. I reached out to touch him and he completely retracted before backing up off the bed. He still didn't say anything while he quickly, but very calmly gathered his keys, wallet, and shoes before walking out.

The entire time I was calling out to him wondering what's going on once I got my shirt back on.

"Spence... hey Spence what's going on?" I say while following him out the door. This time I make sure to grab him and when I did I was met with nothing but unbridled rage. With tears in his eyes and a disgusted look on his face, he ripped his forearm from out of my grasp.

"I don't want to talk to you right now! Isn't that fucking obvious why do you think I'm walking away? Don't even think about following me! I don't want you to talk to me, I don't want your sympathy or help, and most importantly right now I don't want you!" He shouts at me before stomping down the hall.

Two concerned neighbors peeked their heads at the door as he went down the hall. All I could do is stand there in horror and confusion. I mean Spencer and I have argued, but all couples do. That wasn't even an argument I don't even know what to call it. Most importantly he has never even raised his voice at me. Normally when Spencer is mad he's calm, and he talks to you with a disappointed almost sad tone rather than an angry one. I don't know who that was because that wasn't my boyfriend.

I slump myself against the door and curl my knees into my chest before letting out heavy sobs. My shoulders rack as my brain tries to adjust to the whiplash of emotions. I cry until I can't anymore and at this point I'm just letting out hiccups while trying to control my breathing. After a while, I don't even have the energy to cry. After sitting numbly on the floor staring at a random corner of the room I pick myself up and just go through the motions to get ready for bed. I can't even call Spencer because he left his phone, so I don't even try and bother worrying about him. After I shower I lay in our bed with still-damp hair. I don't know where he is or when he's coming home but my body is basically shutting down while I'm worrying about where he's at. My eyes are closing against my own will. I'm just hoping I'll wake up next to my boyfriend's curly hair tickling me like most mornings.

Taglist: @rexorangecouny @haylaansmi

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds #spencer reid smut

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whitesparrows97 · 4 years

Text

Heartstring Melodies – Part 3

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (feat. Jeon Jungkook x Reader)

Genre: Soulmate AU, College AU, fuckboy!Yoongi

Summary: Min Yoongi, the fuckboy of the whole college and the guy all girls fall for, should be your soulmate? You don’t believe that, you don’t want to believe that. Therefore, you and your best friend make a pact: She pretends to be you and gets together with Yoongi. Nothing can go wrong with that, right?

Warnings: Tiny little bit of smut and a little bit of angst

Word Count: 3.3K

Author’s note: Hello! This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I hope you like it anyway! I would be very happy about any kind of feedback and I hope you all are and stay healthy! See you soon! (Also is anyone even reading this? I feel like most people just scroll over this part)

Previous / Next

Chapter three: «Hearts are made to be broken.» – o.w.

“Okay,”… “Uh-huh,”… “I’m glad,”… “Oh, how nice” – out of these short sentences your part of the conversation consisted in the next two hours. You had gone straight home, just like Jin had told you. You hadn’t even managed to take off your shoes when your phone had rung from Liv’s call. Since then you had to listen to her talk about how great Yoongi was.

The first five minutes you had been feeling sick in the pit of your stomach. To be shown it so obviously that Yoongi wasn’t as bad as you thought, affected you more than you wanted to admit. The look with which he had looked at Liv had come back to your memory and it had taken everything of your willpower to banish this image from your thoughts.

Afterwards you had tried to block out Liv’s voice completely. You wanted to be happy that the plan had worked so well – maybe a little too well. But every time you felt the sting in your heart, you tried to remember that it had been your own idea. So you couldn’t complain. Not when Liv sounded so happy…

“I deserve a ‘thank you’ from you, by the way,” Liv pulled you out of your thoughts.

Confused, you frowned and rolled over to your other side on your bed. “How come?”

“Jungkook?”, she asked, as if it was obvious what she was alluding to.

“What about him?”

Liv snorted on the other side of the line. “Didn’t he text you? He said he was going to do it straight away.”

“Oh, yes, he did,” you quickly clarified. You thought back to the short message he had sent you, which you had ignored so far. You were grateful that he had intervened when Taehyung had pressured you. But you did not know exactly what he wanted from you now. If he expected a thank you or even something in return, he could wait a long time.

“Well? What did he say? And more importantly, what did you reply?” You could practically see Liv waiting for you to give her all the juicy details.

“All he said was that you gave him my phone number, but I haven’t replied yet.”

Liv sighed annoyed. “Why not? Y/N, have you seen Jungkook?”

You shrugged your shoulders, even though Liv couldn’t see that. “Yeah, so?”

“So? He’s so handsome!”

“I wonder what Yoongi would say if he knew you fancied his best friend.”

“Since when did Min Yoongi become just Yoongi?” Liv asked without responding to your comment. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized that you had just called him by his first name. And Liv also seemed to notice the change. “Is there a problem?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine when you heard Liv’s voice. Normally you’d think Liv was just checking to see if everything was okay. But something about her voice and the way she phrased it made you think differently. “No, everything’s fine. I’ve just had a long day and everything went wrong in the lab as well,” you tried to make an excuse.

“Then don’t keep Jungkook waiting any longer. I’m sure he can cheer you up,” Liv said and was back to her old self. If you were sitting across from each other, you’d probably see her wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You were about to respond when a sound told you that you got another call. You briefly took the phone off your ear to see who the caller was, but it was a number you didn’t know. Immediately you could guess who it was.

“Hey, Liv, I think Jungkook is calling me right now,” you apologized and Liv squealed at your statement.

“Then I won’t try to stop you. And don’t forget, you are Liv!” she yelled into the phone and hung up. Before Jungkook could hang up as well, you answered the phone, albeit a bit hesitantly.

“Hello?”

“Hey Liv?”

It sounded strange, not right (which it wasn’t) to hear the name of your best friend addressed to you. But you’d better get used to it from now on. The sooner, the better.

“Yes, that’s me,” you said.

“Hey, this is Jungkook,” he said, even though you recognized his voice immediately anyway. “I don’t want to bother you but I wanted to apologize for Taehyung’s behavior earlier.”

“Wow, they must be good friends if you have to apologize for them,” you returned dryly. You straightened up in your bed; you felt that the conversation could not be conducted comfortably lying down.

You heard Jungkook laugh softly. “Actually they are quite okay. But sometimes Taehyung doesn’t know when the fun is over.”

“Hm,” you just said. After a short silence you added, “Well, you didn’t do anything wrong. On the contrary.”

“Yes, about that…” Jungkook was suddenly calm and you were about to ask what he wanted to say when he continued, “this may come a bit unexpected, but I thought you were really cute earlier and wanted to ask if you would like to do something together the next few days.”

Surprised, you clasped your cell phone, which almost slipped out of your fingers. You hadn’t expected that. Did Jeon Jungkook ask you out? Or was that one of his tricks to make fun of you later in his small group of friends?

Actually, Jungkook hadn’t made you feel like he would be the type of person to take advantage of girls in any way. But maybe that was exactly his strategy. You wouldn’t drop your protective barrier yet. “What would you like to do?” you asked tentatively. You knew that tomorrow night was a huge party organized by none other than Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin. If Jungkook wanted to drag you there, you knew where you stood with him.

Jungkook cleared his throat before he spoke and you didn’t know if you were imagining the nervousness in his voice. “I had perhaps thought about – well, I asked Y/N what you were studying and I thought whether you might like to go to the Oceanographic Museum. I saw on their website that they even have turtles.”

You couldn’t help yourself. With Jungkook’s enthusiasm and innocence, a smile spread across your face. You also felt relief spilling out of you. You might even have been a little impressed that he seemed to care so much. Liv’s rhapsodies of Yoongi went through your head again and unconsciously you brushed over the black lines under your breast with your free hand.

“Okay,” you agreed without really thinking about what exactly your agreement meant, “Why not? When will you be free?”

Perhaps some distraction would help you fill the void in your heart. The deep hole known as unfulfilled desire that ripped open your chest.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

When you stood in front of the building where your apartment was the next afternoon, you were oddly calm. Normally you were always more than excited before dates, but today there was a pleasant peace within you. The summery dress you were wearing was gently caressing your thighs when a light breeze made you shiver. Maybe you should take a jacket after all?

You heard someone clearing their throat behind you and you turned around. In front of you stood Jungkook and you had to pull yourself together so that your jaw wouldn’t drop at the sight of him. He was wearing a black denim jacket, black skinny jeans and a matching baseball cap. You hadn’t paid much attention to him yesterday, so it was only now that you realized how right Liv had been.

Why couldn’t Jungkook’s name be above your heart?

Wow. Not even ten seconds on a date and your mind already wandered to another man. You put a smile on your face and looked at Jungkook. You were surprised when he gave you a quick hug. His scent overwhelmed you and enveloped you like a second warm embrace. Too quickly he released you again.

“How are you? How was your day?” he asked as you both slowly walked towards the bus stop that took you to the museum.

“Fine,” you replied surprised. You hadn’t heard that question from anyone in a long time. That someone was interested enough in you to want to know how your day was, was new to you. But not unpleasant. “I’m glad I got through the lectures, though. Professor Leblanc has the ability to make an hour and a half of lectures feel like at least five hours.”

Jungkook laughed softly and you watched him kick a small pebble from the path into the short shorn grass by the wayside. “Is it that old guy with the crazy moustache who always looks like he’s about to keel over because of the way he bends forward?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” you confirmed and laughed. You had arrived at the bus stop and were relieved to find that you were the only ones waiting for the bus. It was Friday afternoon and you were afraid you’d be leaving right at rush hour. But apparently you were lucky.

You and Jungkook were making small talk when the bus went around the corner a few minutes later. The bus was also pleasantly empty and Jungkook indicated with his hand that you should go ahead. “Thank you,” you said quietly and sat down at the window. When Jungkook dropped beside you, his leg bumped against yours. You felt the warmth radiating from his body, which was pressed directly against you.

“What are you studying? I know practically nothing about you,” you tried to distract yourself from his muscle-packed thigh, which was more than clearly visible through his tight jeans.

“Oh, I’m studying media production, so everything that has to do with film and photography,” he explained to you, “that’s why I was able to help Yoongi with his project. Have you seen the video? It turned out pretty amazing, if I say so myself,” he added with a little smile.

You tried to supress the brief shock that hit you when you heard the name from Jungkook’s mouth. You just shook your head, your throat was too tight to speak.

“Wait, I’ll show you,” said Jungkook and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He typed in a few things and a moment later he held the phone out to you so that you had a good view of the screen.

Jungkook turned down the volume, even though there were hardly any people sitting around you anyway. Nevertheless you could hear the piano and the lovely melody more than clearly, which came through the speakers. The phone faded before your eyes as your whole body seemed to focus on just one thing: the music, the sounds that were carried to your ears.

The name under your breast burned and nervously you wiped your sweaty palms on the fabric of your dress. Your heart beat in the same rhythm as the melody, which was almost repressed by the loud rush of your blood in your ears.

“What do you think?” Jungkook asked after a few seconds and his voice pulled you back into the here and now. The loud roar of the bus engine, the landscape that passed you quickly, and Jungkook looking at you with anticipation.

“Wow, this is really good,” you said, even though you didn’t mean the video. But Jungkook seemed satisfied with it. He pressed pause and put his phone back in his pocket. It was as if the string of a violin snapped in two and only the unpleasant silence remained.

“Thank you,” he said and threw a smile at you. “Maybe you would like to stand in front of the camera sometime? I have a semester project and I’m still looking for a model.”

“Model?” you asked in disbelief, almost choking on your own spit. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“Oh, bullshit,” he contradicted you, “I think you’d be perfect.” He looked deep into your eyes, his brown eyes almost piercing yours. The gaze was so intense, so full of emotion that you had to avert your gaze after a few seconds.

You were happy that the next station was the station where you had to get off. You couldn’t stand it any longer to sit next to him and watch his gaze glide towards you every few seconds.

When you arrived at the museum, you breathed a sigh of relief. Jungkook seemed to be more than excited about the museum’s various exhibitions. You actually came to the museum often. The peace and quiet brought you down when things got busy at university. The different aquariums, in which the most diverse colorful fish swam or the impressive coral reefs, which offered habitat to thousands of organisms, greeted you like an old friend as you strolled through the almost empty corridors.

“Wow,” Jungkook was amazed when you stopped in front of a huge aquarium. The glass took up the entire wall and offered an incredible view of all kinds of fish. “Look,” he suddenly said, pointing to a stingray that swam past you. “Oh, I wish I’d brought my camera.” He sighed as you watched him looking with big brown eyes at the fish.

“I’m sure there are no cameras allowed here,” you said and nodded towards the sign with a camera symbol crossed out with a thick red line.

“Too bad, would have been a great location to film.” He gave you a quick glance that you couldn’t place. You didn’t have time to worry about it though, because Jungkook suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you further to the next aquarium. You looked surprised at your intertwined fingers and had to smile. His thumb stroked reassuringly over the back of your hand and a pleasant warmth flowed through your body.

“Oh, look, there’s Nemo,” he said and you too looked at the orange, white striped fish, which was hiding in an anemone, so that only its head was sticking out.

The tentacles of the sea anemone moved gently through the light current of the water, so that you could occasionally catch a glimpse of the little clownfish. “Actually, this is not the same species as Nemo,” you explained, pointing to the fish’s pattern. “See the black lines around the white markings?” Jungkook nodded as he listened to you. “Nemo is an Amphiprion Ocellaris, while our little friend here is an Amphiprion Percula.”

Jungkook gave you a side glance and you just saw him stifle that grin before he turned his back on you and walked to the next aquarium.

“What?” you asked, hearing a slight laugh even in your voice.

“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly reassured you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a smart ass,” you apologized slightly flustered. Immediately Jungkook turned to you at your tone of voice.

“No, that’s not how you sounded at all. On the contrary,” he said and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, “that’s actually really hot that you know so much.”

You felt the heat rise up your cheeks when he said that and had to avert your gaze.

“Is there an outside area?” asked Jungkook and you were happy when he changed the subject.

You nodded at his question. “Actually, yes, but it’s under reconstruction. But I saw the ice cream stand was still open.” You left the unspoken question hanging in the air and Jungkook already pulled you towards the doors.

The last warm rays of sunshine broke through the treetops and lit the path from campus back to your apartment. The other students who rushed past you gave you nothing more than a quick glance to the side. You walked past the building where the laboratories were located and immediately thought of Seokjin who had been there for you yesterday. The next time you saw him, you would definitely thank him again thoroughly. You gave him special credit for not digging any further when he had seen how stressed you were.

You and Jungkook came to a halt in front of the automatic glass doors at the entrance of your building. His fingers were still intertwined with yours, but he had stopped running his thumb across the back of your hand. You missed the feeling. It had been something to focus on and distract you from the impending goodbye.

“I had a very nice day…” he began and turned his gaze to the ground for a moment before he looked up again. “I would be happy if we could do this again soon.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you returned thoughtfully and stared amusedly at the slight disappointment in his eyes. “I think this might be a bit monotonous for you when we go back to the museum. Exhibitions don’t change that often,” you added, grinning at him.

Jungkook pulled his hand out of yours and looked at you playfully affected. “You are… I have no words.” He continued to look at you in amazement and shook his head.

“Sorry,” you apologised and your grin diminished to an apologetic smile, “but I would be very happy if we could do something again in the next few days.”

Jungkook returned your smile at your confession. “Cool,” he just returned and now it was your turn to laugh.

“Cool?” you repeated amused by his choice of words.

“Maybe even very cool,” he remarked before his gaze fluttered down to your lips. Your breath faltered as Jungkook put one hand on your cheek and stroked it gently. His gaze searched for yours as if asking for permission. Unconsciously, you nodded slightly and saw the corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitching upwards before closing your eyes.

One blink of an eye later, you felt his soft lips on yours.

You felt his firm yet tender grip around your waist as he pulled you closer and combed his fingers through your hair.

And what you felt most of all was the glaring heat emanating from the thin, black lines engraved on your skin.

You opened your mouth and allowed Jungkook’s tongue to enter and didn’t want to think of the dark-haired man whose name matched that very tattoo.

You pressed yourself harder against Jungkook and let your hands slide under his denim jacket to run them over his trained back muscles. He sighed into the kiss and swallowed your tongue with his. You didn’t want to think about his face when Liv had told him she was his soulmate.

You kissed Jungkook more demandingly, bit his lip slightly, which made him moan a little and you repressed all thoughts of Min Yoongi and that you wished he was the one kissing you right now.

“Fuck,” Jungkook moaned and broke away from you. He leaned his forehead against yours while the two of you struggled for breath. His hot breath hit your face at irregular intervals while he searched for the right words. “You… you are incredible,” he added and gave you a short kiss on the tip of your nose before he completely detached himself from you.

He smiled at you as you said goodbye to him. He promised you that you would see each other again soon and you knew that everyone in your situation would jump for joy. You turned around again when you walked through the glass doors and saw Jungkook still standing in the same place. When your eyes met, he grinned and waved to you once more.

You still ignored the burning in your chest as you smiled back at him and turned around as inconspicuously fast as possible. And what you didn’t want to think about either was that you hadn’t felt anything when Jungkook kissed you.

————————

Tag list:

@loveyoongles @missseoulite @mymainaccountlol @stillcopingxx @boywithtofucheekies @betysotelo18 @wrecklesseuphoria @welcometothecity @teresaisla @kaheryn

#yoongi x reader #bts soulmate au #bts smut #bangtanarmynet #fuckboy!yoongi #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts college au #bts imagine

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thatfanficstuff · 4 years

Text

Impossible - Chapter 9

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: Canon typical stuff

A/N: Look it’s a chapter! How exciting. I really like this chapter. I don’t know why. Enjoy!

***

You snagged a change of clothes from Eric’s office on your way to the showers in the back hall. You made quick work of washing Longshadow off you and down the drain. When you stepped out, you dried off and slid on a pair of Eric’s sweats along with one of the shirts he kept at the bar for emergencies. Thankfully, there was elastic at the bottom of the sweats so they pooled at your ankle. The man was entirely too tall. Your shoes were trashed as well, so you dumped them and everything else in the trash so Pam could dispose of it all.

You padded down the hall and back into the main part of the bar. Eric and Pam were talking with Bill and Sookie while Ginger scrubbed at the mess on the floor, gagging as she did so. “Why are you making her do that? Call the cleaners.”

They all looked in your direction when you spoke. Eric’s eyes trailed down the length of you and back up as a lazy smile spread across his face.

You rolled your eyes and rocked on your feet as Sookie threw her arms around your neck. “Y/N! Thank you so much. I think he would have killed me if you hadn’t done something.”

“I think you’re probably right.” A glance over her shoulder showed Ginger still gagging and scrubbing. “Seriously, Eric.”

He sighed. “Pam.” He sounded so annoyed. Bastard.

“Ginger, enough,” Pam commanded.

“Oh, thank fuck,” the waitress said as she pushed herself up from the floor and staggered off.

“I don’t like people in my business,” Eric said looking at you.

“I fail to see what difference it makes,” Bill piped up. “It’s not as if word won’t spread once you report Longshadow’s death to the Authority.”

Eric’s gaze snapped to the other vampire.

Bill’s eyes narrowed and he sauntered forward a step, an amused expression playing with his lips. “You were intending to report this incident to the Authority were you not? It would be extraordinarily irresponsible of a Sheriff of your stature to do otherwise.”

“Of course, I intend to inform the Authority.” The tone in Eric’s voice said that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Bill smiled and gave a short nod. “Good. As you know I will have to submit my own report of what happened here. I would hate for that to be the first they heard of it. That could cause so many problems.”

The two vampires just stared at each other for a long moment while the rest of you looked on. Finally, Bill broke the silence. “Sookie, let’s go.”

Your friend gave you a confused frown and another quick hug. “I’ll see you later, Y/N. Thanks again.”

As soon as they were gone, Eric was by your side. He grasped your arm and looked back at Pam. “Take care of this.” Then he whisked you into his office.

You leaned against his desk as you watched him pace the floor.

“I will not have you harmed. Not because of this. I will kill Bill Compton if I have to.”

You stepped in front of him to stop his pacing and laid your hand against his cheek. “This is not a problem. Submit your report and let Bill Compton stew in his frustration.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N. I fear the Magister will see you dead for this. And as your mate I will perish alongside you.”

You stood on your toes and he leaned down to meet your lips. “Trust me, Eric.”

***

The night of the tribunal was crisp though you were the only one present that felt it. The Magister held court from the back of an old El Camino. His minion had just finished ripping the fangs from a vampire that fed from another’s claimed human and he glanced at his notes. He straightened slightly and his gaze darted around the gathered crowd, though he failed to spot you from your location off to the side. “Eric Northman, Sheriff of area 5,” he announced and your mate stepped forward.

You and Pam trailed a step behind and the Magister’s gaze settled on you. The corner of his mouth curled in a small smile though his eyes seemed troubled. Probably wondering how he was going to get you out of your latest bout of trouble without revealing to everyone present just who you were. Movement on the other side of the clearing caught your eye. You were unsurprised to see Bill step forward as well. Dumbass.

“Speak,” the Magister ordered, looking at you.

“Magister, if I may?” Bill spoke up.

Eric stepped forward and you grabbed his hand. He glanced at you, but you simply shook your head. With a sigh, he stepped back, linking your hands more firmly together. The gesture did not go unnoticed by the Magister who smirked and arched a brow in your direction.

“And you are?” he asked Bill.

“Bill Compton.”

“Ah. Mr. Compton. You filed your own report did you not?”

“I did.”

“And was there a reason you did not trust your sheriff to make his own report?”

Bill was oblivious to the tone in the older vampire’s voice. The Magister was a stickler for hierarchy and rules. He wasn’t pleased that Bill had attempted to go over Eric’s head to get you in trouble.

“I believed that his feelings for this human would keep him from reporting she killed Longshadow, your honor.”

“A human should be killed for murdering one of our kind,” the Magister stated.

A sound of agreement went up from the group around you.

He raised a hand for quiet. However, humans are outside of my concern. Yet, I am willing to pass judgement on this case. What should that tell you, Mr. Compton?”

Bill frowned as he looked between you and the man that asked the question. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It means I’m not human, dipshit,” you spoke up. Laughter went up around you and Eric squeezed your hand as a reminder to behave. “I know he’s been told that at least once.” The Magister’s full attention was now on you. He motioned you to step forward and you released Eric’s hand to do so.

“State your name.”

You rolled your eyes though you doubted anyone but the Magister noticed. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Are you responsible for the death of the one called Longshadow?”

“I am. Longshadow was stealing from our business.” You gestured to the two vampires behind you. It wasn’t the reason you killed him, but it was the reason that would get you off the hook.

“The bar belongs to Eric, not her,” Bill added, starting to look desperate for someone to pay attention to him.

Eric moved to stand beside you. “Y/N is my mate. A fact of which Mr. Compton was also aware.”

The Magister leaned forward in his seat as a murmur went up from the crowd.

“I had no reason to believe his claim was serious,” Bill argued.

Eric’s spine straightened and he took another step forward. “On the contrary, he had no reason to think otherwise.”

The Magister slammed his cane down to bring an end to the bickering. “Mate or not, I think it’s clear what must be done here.” You had an insane desire to reach over and smack the little smirk off Bill’s face. The Magister’s next words took care of it for you. “Mr. Compton, your insubordination and complete disregard for the governing structure of our kind has caused undo hardship to your sheriff. And more importantly, it has wasted my time.” He leaned back in his seat. “To keep from wasting any more of it, I will allow Mr. Northman to dictate your punishment. You will abide by his edict. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Magister,” Bill forced out between clenched teeth.

“That concludes our tribunal this evening,” the Magister announced as he stood. “Mr. Northman, a moment, please. Bring your mate.”

“Of course.” Eric turned to Pam. “Escort Bill home. Make sure he behaves until I get there.”

The two of you were escorted to a limo. You climbed into the back and the Magister instructed his driver to go before putting the partition up. His gaze shifted between the two of you before settling on you. “You might have warned me.”

“And what fun would that be?”

The corner of his mouth curled in a smile as he gave a little shake of his head. “I see you haven’t changed.”

“It’s good to see you, Alonso.”

Eric’s hand flexed as he grasped the edge of the seat between you. You pretended not to notice.

Alonso’s gaze slid to your mate. “Jorge Alonso de San Diego at your service. You may call me Magister.”

A muscle twitched in Eric’s cheek. “Of course, Magister.”

“Really?” you asked.

Alonso looked at you. “Does your father know about this yet?”

You shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. “In a manner of speaking.”

He arched a brow but said nothing as he continued to stare you down.

You sighed. “He is aware that Eric and I are together. We haven’t had time to discuss the details. I’ve been busy.”

“Of course,” Alonso said as he reached into his pocket. He withdrew his phone and tossed it to you. You caught it and tossed it back.

“I’ll call him. Later.”

“You’re out of time, Y/N. Word of this will travel,” he said as he gestured between you and Eric.

“I am very much aware of that. I will call him before the sun rises.”

“See that you do.” He reached over and opened the door, indicating the conversation was over.

Eric gave a nod. “Magister.” He slid from the vehicle, standing just outside with his hand extended to help you.

You leaned forward and kissed Alonso’s cheek before you stepped out of the car. You stopped Eric when he would have shut the door and bent down to see your old friend. “It was good to see you regardless of the circumstances. Next time you are in Shreveport I owe you dinner.”

“You also owe me a chess game if I remember correctly.”

You grinned at him. “That I do. Goodbye, Alonso.” After shutting the door, you stepped back and watched the car pull away.

“You are on a first name basis with the Magister,” Eric said.

It wasn’t a question so you didn’t respond. You turned to face him as you crossed your arms over your chest.

His gaze moved over your face as if he was seeing you for the first time. “You told me once that your father worked for the Authority. I assumed him to be an assistant. A researcher perhaps.”

You said nothing and shifted your weight on your feet.

He closed the distance between you and grasped your upper arms as if afraid you’d run away before he spoke again. “Exactly who is your father, Y/N?”

#eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfiction #true blood fanfiction #series #impossible

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glitxhwayventeen · 3 years

Text

Ghostin

Seungkwan: Chapter 1 (Jealous)

Characters: Seungkwan x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, blood mentions, genocide, runaways, death mentions, mental illness, loved one loss, torture, violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Please note that this chapter is very heavy in violence and in torture. I tried to tone it down as best as I could, but it’s probably still pretty bad for some people. So PLEASE don’t read if it could upset you. Also, I recommend listening to Jealous by Labrinth. It was a really good song that fit this chapter’s mood.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀

Ghosting Master List

Chapter 1: Jealous

You had mixed feelings about this whole “imprinting” thing. I mean, your feelings for Seungkwan, you came to know, were incredibly strong and hard to ignore. But on the other hand, you had another mate. He took care of you and protected you. You still thought about him everyday. You still dreamed about him every night. You missed him more than anything in this world, but now, you had another mate and you weren’t sure what to do.

He offered you his room to stay in while you healed. At least, that’s what he told you, he was really hoping you’d just stay with them from now on. Though, given that you still seemed very skeptical of it, he wasn’t gonna push it. You, being tired of sleeping outside in the cold on the forest floor, agreed and thanked him. But you felt bad, it was his room after all and you didn’t know how long it would take you to heal. You knew he was your mate, everyone did, and so, despite your misgivings, you told him he could stay in the bed with you so long as he kept his hands to himself. And he never ever wanted to put you in a bad place or make you uncomfortable, so of course he obliged with no problem. He had never really done anything like that before so he didn’t really mind.

You were both sleeping in his bed, you on the left and him on the right closest to the door protectively, when you suddenly started whining. Immediately, Seungkwan’s eyes darted open and his attention went straight to you, disregarding his sleepiness completely. You were still out cold, but your face was moving, like it was in pain and the sounds you were making such painful sounding noises. He swore to you he wouldn’t touch you without your permission, but here you were crying in your sleep. How was he supposed to just let his mate cry and not do anything about it? So he picked you up gently and wrapped his arms around your small body, holding you close to his chest so you could heart his heart beat. Your tired form moved your hand to his chest instinctively, and right as your hand made contact with his skin, suddenly all his surrounding changed.

He was now in the middle of some sort of village square, watching something. The town didn’t look like the one they went to, the symbols on their flags were different, and the colors of the buildings weren’t the usual gray he was used to. There were unfamiliar people all around him. And they were speaking and murmuring in a different language, it sounded like Chinese based on what he’s heard from Minghao and Jun when they had spoken to each other in the past, but he wasn’t 100% sure. He thought maybe he had suddenly fell asleep, but the colors and sounds were far too vibrant to be a dream to him. He could smell and hear every little thing going on. This couldn’t be a dream, could it?

And In the center of all the commotion, there was a taller man tied to a wooden pole with a few people with weapons scattered around him. It felt like he knew the tall man for some reason. He could sense he was in trouble and Seungkwan wanted to help, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. He could feel the man’s fears and his anger.

“For such heinous crimes against our country” a man projected to the crowd, “this man is sentenced to the slowest, most painful death possible. Death By A Thousand Cuts!”

As the man let out the last part, the people around him cheered with joy. That sounded terrible. Why would they enjoy watching that? More importantly, why would they ever DO that to someone? He was so confused, it felt like his head was full of concrete, it made his head feel like it would to topple over at the slightest possible movement. The man was struggling, not wanting the silver sword to be grazed on his body, but the ropes tied his hands behind his back. He could do nothing. The man looked around. Soon after scanning his surroundings, he halted his actions, almost as if he had seen something in the crowd that changed his mind about fighting.

Seungkwan wanted to go. He wanted to run as he saw the blade get closer to the man’s body. He couldn’t help but squirm in his spot as it made the first cut, he could hear the sizzling sound from the man’s skin. He must’ve been a wolf too.

“Just tell us where the other one is and we’ll let you die quickly dog!” The man holding the sword yelled. “Just give the other up and you’ll be free” Other one? Other wolf?

Seungkwan had to get out of there. But, as his fight or flight instincts kicked in, he recognized a face in the sea of people. It was you.

You looked slightly different than the you he was holding in his room moments ago. You had a scarf wrapped around your head, hiding your hair and you were dressed in very plain looking clothes. And your face looked… somehow younger, even though if he were to look at the you he was holding, you’d probably physically still look the same. It was an aura that you have off, it as innocent in this place whereas at home, it was more tired and fragile. Almost like you were trying to not stand out among the people.

Still, Seungkwan could always find you. You were his mate. And You were looking at the man captured in the middle of the square with watery eyes. You were shaking. He didn’t understand what was happening or why he was here, but he remembered you telling the pack something about your powers. You had told them you could always feel what the people around you were feeling, so he chalked it up to the man in the square being the one that wanted to cry and you were just feeding off his energy.

But when Seungkwan turned his attention back to the wooden pole, he noticed that the man now had a stone cold face, like he wouldn’t give his murderers the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He no longer felt any feeling really coming from the man other than concern. It couldn’t be from him.

When he found your figure again, you were silently crying into your hands. He felt his heart breaking as he watched you stand there with your tears falling down your face and to the ground below you. You weren’t making a sound. You seemed too afraid to. A voice started booming in his head, though no one around him seemed affected or to have been hearing it.

“It’ll be alright my love, you’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me” it said with a slight wince at the end, just in time for another lash to have been struck on the male attached to the stake.

Your tears turned into full on sobs with every word he heard. And that’s when it hit him: you were the one who was being spoken to. This was in your head, this was your dream, your memory. It was why you were whining in your sleep. This was a nightmare or a horrible memory and you had somehow managed to pull him into it and show him everything you were feeling and seeing. But why?

Lash after lash was given to the man. His skin bleeding and bubbling at the silver caused wounds. He didn’t even look human at this point, he was a cut up bruised mess. More kind words were given between the voice’s whines.

“I love you.” Slice “Don’t forget about me.” Slice “They’ll never find you.” Slice “I won’t let them.” the voice spoke again, in a deeper male voice. “I told them nothing.” Lash “And I never will.” Lash Lash “This isn’t your fault.” Lash “I dont want you to stay and watch me die.” the voice quivered as you let out a loud cry and turned your back away from the man on trial.

And it clicked again: the man on the stake was the one speaking, and he was speaking to you. He was trying to comfort you as he was dying. He was trying his very best to protect you with every last word he had. Just as Seungkwan would if he were in that situation. And he was a wolf. Was… was he your mate?

“Last chance wolf!” Screamed the torturer, “Just tell us what we need to know and this will all be over!”

“Please tell them where I am. PLEASE! They’ll stop this torture!” Your sweet voice let out in Seungkwan’s head in a pleading manner.

“No. I won’t tell them anything. I love you. Keep yourself safe okay? Try to be happy after I’m gone my love. You deserve all the happiness in the world. And I know that you’ll find happiness again some day” the voice said one last time before one final slash of his throat made it fall silent.

“No.” You softly let out loud, tears stained your cheeks as you started shaking you head. “No.”

From here, the villagers started attacking the wolf’s body, in the most vile ways possible. You ran, probably not wanting to see your mate in such a state, probably from heartbreak. Seungkwan wasn’t sure. He didn’t understand. You had another mate? But you never told him that. Why wouldn’t you tell him that? He tried to catch up with your running form, but you were too quick, and before he knew it, you were gone. He was so disoriented, his heart hurt, his head was spinning, his feet were burning. What just happened?

Suddenly, he was ripped away from the village and found himself back in his bed with you in his arms. You had woken up and in doing so you brought him back with you. You quickly realized where you were and though part of you wanted to stay in Seungkwan’s warm arms, you jumped out of them out of respect for your past mate and the memory of him that was still fresh in your mind.

“What- what are you doing??” You questioned him, grabbing the blanket closer to your body while wiping your tears away, hoping he wouldn’t notice they were there to begin with.

“You… you were crying in your sleep. I was just trying to help you. But then I-” he tried to explain himself before you rudely interrupted him.

“But then what?? I told you I didn’t want you to touch me and I meant it!” You snapped, “You had no right!”

“I know. I’m sorry! I just thought that holding you would help but I didn’t know you were dreaming of that- that memory!” He defended, trying his absolute best to get you to see that he meant no harm to you.

You stayed silent for a moment in thought. That memory? Does that mean he knew what you were dreaming? Did it happen again?

“… What do you mean that memory?” You quizzed, praying to any god that was listening that he didn’t actually know what had happened.

“I dont know. I just know that one minute I was pulling you on my lap to calm you down and the next I was watching some poor guy get killed by an angry mob. I dont know how I saw it, but I did” he spoke softly in a quite traumatized voice.

“You mean you saw it too?” You asked meekly, shocked that you had shown him in your sleep without realizing.

“Yeah. I thought it was just a really bad nightmare at first, but it felt too… REAL to be a nightmare. I figured it must have been a memory of yours… I don’t know how I saw it…” he trailed on, looking down at his hands and playing with his nails, too scared to look you in the eyes.

“… I did it” You responded, “I showed you”

“You can do that?” He questions gently, not wanting to upset you.

“Not by choice. It’s just… sometimes when someone’s around me and I touch them, I can share what’s in my head with them. I must have done it in my sleep. It’s why I told you not to touch me!” You punctuated the seriousness of your statement by pointing you index finger to his chest. “But you went against my wishes anyways.”

Seungkwan looked to the finger attached to his chest, then to your face. You looked so tired. You looked so sad and depressed. You were trying to look tough, but he was your mate, he knew how much you were really hurting.

“I know. I’m sorry. But I was just trying to help you. I didn’t know” He said while looking deep into your icy blue eyes. Why did he have to be so kind when you were trying to be angry?

You let out a defeated sigh and continued “Yeah Seungkwan, I know. I just… I didn’t want you to see anything I see in my sleep. And out of all the things you could’ve seen, that was one of the worst.” You looked down, wanting to hold back any tears that were now burning your eyes as much as you could.

“Who- … Who was that?” Seungkwan asked in a whisper, barely loud enough for you to register what he said.

“That was… Cyrus. He was my mate…” You whimpered out, nearly tearing Seungkwan’s heart in two.

“Oh… Is that- is that what happened to him?” He wondered aloud, attempting to hide the hurt in his voice.

“Yeah… a long time ago… he died protecting me.” You cried as you put your hands over your eyes and sobbed into them.

Seungkwan quickly pulled you back onto his lap and into his chest, rocking you tenderly in an effort to bring your sadness to a halt.

Seeing you so hurt cracked him, but knowing you were so hurt over your mate is what broke him. He hated that he felt that way. Was he seriously gonna be Jealous over your DEAD mate when you were still a complete wreck over his dead? What’s wrong with him? It was his job to protect and love you, even if it meant hurting himself in the process. And that was exactly what he was gonna do. Even if it killed him to.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N). I can’t even imagine how horrible that must be for you” he hushed out, wanting nothing more than to kiss your pain away.

“It’s not your fault. He died a long time ago. I’m just… I’m just not okay. He was the only person in the world who loved and took care of me, and it cost him his life” you cry into Seungkwan’s chest. “I didn’t mean to come off as cold and distant to you. I just- I just didn’t know what else to do. It’s just unfair for you to have to deal with me being sad over him when I still love him.”

Seungkwan had to suppress a growl that wanted to make its way to his mouth. It hurt like hell that you just admitted that you loved someone else. You were his. But, as much as it got under his skin that you were still in love with him, he knew it wasn’t your fault. If you were to die, he’d be the same way. He’d just have to get over his stupid primal possessive instincts and help you as best he could.

(Updated 7/28)

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt au #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan

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neo-culture-mafia · 4 years

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무서운 평온

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이제노 Lee Jeno

If I were to know what I knew now...I would've gotten out with the rest of the boys when I had the chance.

The seven months we were back under Taeyong's care, nothing but hell and heartbreak is what the rest of the Junior Forces and I experienced. We were housed, clothed, and treated like nothing had ever happened, but the three empty chairs that plagued the dining table was a painful reminder that life was full of pickers-and-choosers.

"No. Renjun. You can't take Benadryl for diarrhea." "I wasn't asking for me! One of my students asked!" Renjun said as he was following me down the school corridor. "Oh?" I laughed as I could see smoke coming out of his ears. "Sup' nerds." Jaemin walked up smoothly as he flicked my glasses. "Hello, you social reject. Up to mischief, I presume?" I asked as Jaemin could only roll his eyes. "For your information Professor Bozo, I'm actually up to some very secret business." We could see Jaemin's eyebrows wiggling. His eyebrows would disappear as quickly as they showed up behind the rims of his sunglasses.

"And what is this 'very secret business'? Solving world hunger?" I asked with a humorous chuckle, but I could tell he was getting pissed off as his arms crossed over his chest. "You can always start smaller with a specific country. Like, China," Renjun suggested, "there are so many starving people in China, but, more importantly, there is a starving Chinese person right here. So, I'll be heading off first." Renjun concluded and walked away with a wave towards the cafeteria.

"He has a point-" "I'm going to convince Taeyong to let Mark and y/n back in." Jaemin deadpanned. It felt as if the passing students were tuning into the conversation at the mention of those forbidden names.

"Come with me now." I gripped the top of Jaemin's arm and pulled him down the hall to my classroom, where no students sat yet. "Ugh. You can at least ask me out to dinner first. Jaemin chuckled as I shut the door with a bang.

Jaemin took a seat on my desk as he stretched a couple of rubber bands on his fingers and hands. "What the hell are you saying, Jae." My voice was in a whisper in fear of anyone hearing this conversation.

"I was going through Mark's discharge papers." Jaemin pulled out a packet of paper that was hiding in the inside of his jacket. "Don't worry. It's a copy. Not the actual document, you neat-freak." As Jaemin unfolded the individual papers, I realized he had been doing his homework.

"It says here that, 'Due to the unwillingness to follow orders given by Hierarchy, Lee Taeyong, that was given to the elite soldier, Lee Minhyung. Minhyung has been dishonorably discharged from the Neo Culture Mafia clan as the Management Coordinator of the Junior Forces subdivision and all subdivisions thereof." Jaemin's smile made me uneasy as I was having a hard time following where he was going with this. Jaemin reached in his pocket to grab the cherry suckers he had been snacking on since we returned to the family.

"y/n wanted me to stop." Jaemin reasoned. "But, y/n's not here anymore." Chenle fought as he was abruptly punched on the upper arm. "Well, I am. And I'm going to honor her wish for me to stop." Jaemin said, shoving the 5th lollipop in his mouth for the first night...the withdrawals not setting in yet.

"So? He was discharged." I concluded. "Turn to the first page and read his work title." Jaemin's eyes disappeared by his cheeks as his growing grin set an uneasiness in my stomach. I took the first page and flipped it, so it was laying on it's back.

이름: Lee Minhyung

D.O.B: 1999년 08월 02일

일자리: Management Coordinator of Junior Forces Subdivision; Promoted - Head Supervisor of Junior Forces; Elite Soldier

"...I'm still not following your train of thought," I confessed, and he rolled his eyes, flipping the pages once again.

"Mark was discharged as the Management Coordinator of the Junior Forces subdivision blah blah blah. In reality, that wasn't his position at the time of his discharge." The lightbulb went off in my head, "He was technically discharged for the wrong position. A position he wasn't in when the papers were authorized." Jaemin finished, and I felt like jumping for joy.

"What about y/n?" I asked, and he grabbed another packet. Hers wasn't messed up. It was filled out correctly. I sighed as my eyes ran over the black ink and saw nothing but the correct answers.

I turned to the authorization pages and saw that only Taeyong signed it when I knew that it had to be Taeyong and the Underbosses. There was still only one signature meaning that it would be voided once brought to the elite's attention. "Is the actual authorization page? You didn't alter it or anything?" I asked in a hurry as I saw that we only had 15 minutes left before class. "Yeah, it's just copied. I didn't touch anything, why?" He asked, confused.

"You. You're absolutely amazing." I said, pinching his cheeks roughly. I grabbed the papers and started running. "Out of my way!" I yelled as I sprinted down the hall with Jaemin hot on my tail.

They were going to be coming home.

I screeched and almost fell as I rounded to hall corner to go into the soldier offices. I slammed the wooden doors open and was looking for the man I could guilt into helping us.

There he sat, a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. "Johnny-hyung!" I yelled, and everyone stared at me.

"You didn't sign these papers!" My voice was getting louder, and I could feel the tears prick the sides of my eyes. "Then bring them here, I'll sign 'em right now-" "No. They're already authorized. They're y/n and Mark's discharge papers." Doyoung dropped his food, and Taeil choked on his coffee.

"Mark was discharged in the wrong position. Also, both of their papers weren't correctly authorized. It is missing both the underbosses signatures." I took a breath looking at both Johnny and Taeil. They only looked at each other.

"It's been 90 days since they've been relieved from duty, meaning that no changes can be made to these documents, and they are as they stand." I held the papers up to my face making sure I wasn't making a complete fool of myself.

"They've had 7 months of non-described inactive duty, meaning that...they don't exist, basically." I pieced together. Once an elite soldier went 6 months without an authorized hiatus, titles would be revoked from the elite as they would become m.i.a.

I turned around as I spoke, looking at all the elites and teachers. Everyone looked shocked. I could see Chenle, Renjun, and Jisung sitting at their desks at the back of the room. Their expressions were unreadable.

I turned to Johnny again.

"Technically, they were never kicked out," I concluded. Johnny turned to Taeil, who sat next to him. "I thought you signed the papers for me." He asked as Taeil shook his head, 'no.'. "Taeyong said you signed them for me," Taeil confessed. They knew that they fucked up.

I had them exactly where I wanted them.

"Johnny." I started walking closer, one foot in front of the other. This was it.

"Remember when we returned without Hyuck? You confided that you were the one to shut the tunnel's door? And, you told me as I took the oath to become the new supervisor of the Junior Forces: 'I would do anything to try and make up for what I did.' ?" I looked down at the papers and went to my desk that sat 5 feet away. I tossed the messed up discharge papers towards Johnny and Taeil and made a b-line for my own desk.

I opened the old wooden drawer and grabbed my own authorization papers. It was a copy that I held. Taeyong held the official documents, but this would get the point across.

"Well, I know what you can do." I nodded.

"My order is that once the Junior Forces track down and retrieve Mark and y/n," I took a breath, grabbing my supervision authentication.

"You recruit Lee Minhyung to take my position as Supervisor of the Junior Forces."

"Jeno. Stop." I heard Jungwoo call out for me from his nearby desk.

"As Lee Jeno, the Head Supervisor of the Junior Forces Subdivision, I resign my title by the turnover of the position. You will swear in Lee Minhyung and y/l/n y/n by the end of the month." And, with that, I took my title papers in my hands and gripped the stack of paper roughly.

"No-" rrriiipppp

I dropped the ripped paper in my trashcan and kicked it to the center of the aisle. I grabbed some matches from my desk and lit one. I dropped it, and I walked out of the office with a small blaze leaving my mark.

I walked down the hall just in time for the class bell to ring.

I took my time walking to my class. The killed and missing soldier memorial sat next to the auditorium, where we would read a complete list of all those killed and missing at the end of each month.

Donghyuck's picture hung in the middle in the 'Hierarch' section. All the other junior soldier's pictures were formal and well displayed. Yet, the Junior Forces didn't want to remember Hyuck as something he wasn't. So, we all went through our phones and found the most appropriate photo that would capture his personality and well.

A picture that Jaemin took was hung in its place. A laughing Donghyuck greeted all who looked at the memorial. It's who he really was. Laughing and spreading brightness wherever he went.

"I miss you, dude." I sighed.

"I'll bring back Mark and y/n. I promise." I bid my farewell and walked down the hall towards my class, ready to start the day with my students.

I knew deep down that this was only the calm before the storm.

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cameoamalthea · 4 years

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I think it's interesting how many people were wanting Jester to leave Artagan and go with the Moonweaver (who is awesome btw). I can't properly convey how relieved I am that didn't happen and that their already strong bond was made stronger and they both grew from it. Because that is how good relationships work and people are capable of changing for the better. Finding new faith worked for Fjord, but I don't believe it would have worked for Jester the same way. What they have can't be replaced.

If Artagan was forcibly taken from Jester it would have been traumatizing for Jester.

What the Mighty Nein, and perhaps a portion of the fandom, don’t understand is that Jester is a depressed lonely person who hides it. She puts on a mask of always happy and fine, it’s ok. She’s not ok and they don’t see it. Jester is also afraid of being alone, which plays into her fear of being disliked and abandoned.

Whether or not anyone else likes Artagan, Jester LOVES him and she has some serious attachment issues so just ripping him away from her would be super harmful.

There’s a scene in C2E19 where the party sees a shack and wants to investigate it. Jester suggests turning Frumpkin into a bird to go check it out since it’s like a mile away. Caleb does not like the idea, but then playfully says for you Fjord I will do it. Jester responds by being dramatic and pouting about him shooting her down but being willing to do it for Fjord.

LAURA: Can Frumpkin be a bird?

LIAM: (reluctantly) Yeah.

TALIESIN: For a bit.

TRAVIS: I want to check out the shack.

LIAM: All right. For you, Fjord, I will make Frumpkin a bird.

LAURA: Not for me, though. Caleb hates me.

SAM: We could just walk over there. It's a hassle to turn him into a bird.

TRAVIS: Yeah. Keep your cat.

LIAM: You are more sensitive than I would have imagined.

LAURA: I want people to like me.

Caleb is extremely observant and although this is a light, playful scene, says something that cuts really close. “You are more sensitive than I would have imagined.” She’s being over the top and dramatic, he criticizes her, and since what she was joking about what is actually some real insecurity she kind of deflates, her voice gets real small and she says “I want people to like me.”

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment made harder to catch by the fact everyone is talking at once and Laura is eating pizza (role-playing with your mouth full - this is not to shame her for eating, she is entitled to that pizza, but it might make it harder to pick up on the moment). However, I think this touches upon something important.

Jester is in fact extremely insecure about being liked, and you see this with her relationship with the Traveler. Worrying that he might not like her now that she has other friends at first, and constantly needing reassurance that she’s the most important.

There’s a brilliant thread on reddit that sums up Jester’s character as follows:

“She's a people-pleaser because she's afraid to lose people. She grew up with the only 'low resource' being people - caring, loving, laughing people. She had her mother, who definitely loves her, but that was it. Most children have scores of people, and other children! to play with. Jester didn't.

And she's afraid to lose that, at any cost. Even realizing she was manipulated, keeping Artagen is more important than standing up for herself or showing her disappointment, because she can't lose him.

Onto - Artagen. What we know:

He's openly admitted to being manipulative and selfish

More importantly: he's openly admitted to never wanting to be bored and never wanting to 'get into emotions'

This REALLY matters. Why?

Because Jester is afraid of losing everyone so she can't be what those people don't want.

Jester can't be upset in front of Artagen because he might get bored with all of her emotions and leave.

It's crazy important for her to be his favorite because, as she is helping him leave all of his followers (her biggest fear) he keeps saying he won't leave her.”

Jester has pretty serious abandonment issues. Children need the attention and support of a caregiver. RedditTotalWar made a great point on that reddit thread: “A significant withdrawal of attention is often enough to cause a child to develop abandonment issues. Children don't have the capacity to realize that some things aren't about them since they are the centers of their own universe.” So the fact Jester’s mother, who clearly loves her and is a good person, did not always have time for her and required Jester to keep her existence secret is damaging.

Note, this is not to suggest that Marrion is a bad person or was intentionally abusive. You don’t have to be a monster to hurt a child. Disney example: In Tangled, Mother Gothel isolated Rapunzel and was an abuser who just wanted to use her. In Frozen, Anna’s Mother and Father isolated Anna out of a desire to do what they thought was best for their other daughter Elsa and to protect Anna from what they saw as the threat posed by Elsa’s magic. Anna’s parents were not intentionally abusive and loved their children, but Anna was still neglected and isolated and harmed by their actions.

To Jester, the message she got growing up was ‘Momma loves me, but she’s busy and I can’t get in the way and no one can know I exist’ which could easily be taken as ‘Momma loves me, but I’m not the most important thing to her’ or even ‘Momma loves me, but my existence makes her life harder, so maybe I’m not completely lovable since I’m a problem’.

And while you may think, if she was that worried why would she act out and play pranks and cause trouble, the fact is that children who are insecure about being loved may self-sabotage with caregivers. You see a high rate of disruption in foster children right before adoption because the child starts exhibiting behaviors. Perhaps faced with the fear of, maybe my parental won’t love me if I cause trouble, it feels safer just deliberately causing trouble because then at least you’re the one in control rather than walking on eggshells terrified that messing up could mean abandonment.

The fact that Jester’s prank on Lord Sharp resulted in her having to leave the only home she’s ever known and never come back under threat of death and that her Mother could not (or in her mind, would not?) protect her may have made her abandonment issues a lot worse.

Jester is terrified of being left alone, of being abandoned. Taking away the one person who has been a constant in her life and who she has felt safe with all at once would not be good. As Laura said on her playlist “he’s always been the one person she could show her insecurities to” and losing that stable, trusted person would hurt.

I don’t think her relationship with Artagan is entirely healthy (it’s not healthy for a child to grow up with only one other friend and her attachment to him extreme and also he’s a selfish, manipulative Archfey - I don’t think Artagan thinks this relationship is entirely healthy). However, I do not think it would have been better for her to have him ripped away like that. Especially given the fact that the whole Moonweaver thing was her idea and she would likely blame herself for what happened.

How devastating would that be for someone with Jester’s level of insecurity?

The Mighty Nein, and again a portion of the fandom, may have preferred it if Jester broke up with Artagan and moved on or found a new god. Fjord’s relationship with Uk’otoa (Uk’atoa) was toxic and abusive, so the Mighty Nein are very wary of that sort of relationship. Fjord if projecting and thinks that any relationship with a powerful being that isn’t a god is dangerous.

The truth is Jester’s relationship with Artagan isn’t really like one of cleric and god. It’s more like a personal relationship where he happens to give her divine powers.

LAURA: I take a bite of my caramel apple, and I go walking down.

MATT: You hear a crunch sound and your handshakes for a second and you look down and a mysterious secondary bite was taken out of the apple.

LAURA: (gasp) I lick the spot.

(groaning)

SAM: You're making out with your god? Gross.

MATT: They have a special relationship.

A special relationship indeed, Matt. It’s intimate, she talks to him about her crushes and asks him for advice on boys then casually confesses love to him.

LAURA: You're not jealous, are you?

MATT: "No."

LAURA: You'll always be my number one love.

MATT: "I know.”

Fjord is an orphan who was looking for parental figures. Vandren was a mentor and father figure, and it was through Vandren that Fjord gained his connection to Uk’otoa. The Wild Mother felt Motherly to Fjord and in Talks Travis said that when Matt first described the feeling his thoughts were on like have I found my Mother somehow. To Fjord religion is a divine parent, an authority figure who provides guidance and direction, and in the case of the Wild Mother love and support for him.

Jester has never seen the Traveler as a ‘dad figure’. He’s just her best friend and based on her behavior towards him and jealousy towards his other followers, and the number of love songs on Laura’s playlist, I’m pretty convinced that Jester is IN LOVE with him.

(I don’t know if that feeling is required. Given they grew up together with him in the form of another child and the fact Artagan is actually ancient, I think he sees her more like a little sister. This might be why he was so confused when she grabbed his face and leaned in like she was about to kiss him despite the fact that like she’s flat out told him that he’s her number one love and requires constant reassurance that she’s his favorite and acts like a schoolgirl with a very obvious crush)

And again, all of this may not be healthy or ideal for Jester. She might get hurt. However, I think in order to grow the relationship has to run it’s course no matter what happens. Artagan not only acted completely selflessly by kicking her off of him rather than face the possibility that she’d have to choose between him and or friends or be banished with him but like - he apologized to her.

An actual, real, non-manipulative apology. He admitted he was manipulative and he’s sorry and when she tries to play it off as it’s fine, he says he doesn’t want to defend himself. He’s sorry.

That’s growth.

#artagan #jester lavorre #Critical role spoilers #critical role #critical role meta #meta #essays #Anonymous

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sinsbymanka · 3 years

Note

ooh for the femslash feb prompts- f!aeducan/f!brosca. sfw,your choice between 'Trust me, you don’t want to meet my family' or 'You’re right. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just making it up as I go along.'

Thank you friend! I've never written an Aeducan/Brosca before. Both of those work SO WELL for this pairing but I went for your first prompt: "Trust me, you don't want to meet my family." I’m submitting this for @dadrunkwriting!

Title: To Fall on Her Sword Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 1523 Relationships: Female Aeducan/Female Brosca (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), Warden Brosca (Dragon Age), Warden Aeducan - Freeform, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Post-Betrayal, The Aeducans are f’ed up, Brosca has had enough, Arguing, Kissing, Orzammar Culture and Customs, Femslash February Summary: Natia Brosca knew that letter Gorim Saelac gave Sereda Aeducan was gonna cause problems. She just didn't expect the problem to be Sereda gaining a bit of a death wish. And, by the Ancestors, Natia has saved Sereda's life enough that if anyone is going to kill the princess, it's gonna be Natia.

Read on AO3

Natia knew that letter was gonna be trouble the second that warrior handed it over to Sereda.

Not that she could read it even if she got her grubby hands on it. Natia’s reading lessons were only brief moments snatched by the fire at night with Sereda, which meant she was just beginning to recognize the shapes of letters on signs in Denerim. She couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what they meant.

But there were other things Natia understood very well. She recognized the shocked relief on the warrior’s bearded face when he saw Sereda’s blonde braids. She knew the emotion choking his voice meant he was on the verge of tears when he fell to his knees in the marketplace before their exiled princess. She even recognized the way he stumbled to his feet, it meant a wound hadn’t properly healed and now never would.

She saw the way Sereda reached for him greedily, the way her eyes flashed with concern when he tripped on his aching joints.

More importantly she knew the parchment he handed over, rolled into a tight little tube, was the creamy, expensive kind that cost the same as a full meal in Dust Town. The expression on his face spoke volumes, none of it good. The wax sealing it shut had the crest of Orzammar embossed within it.

...And Natia knew that the tiny tremor in Sereda’s fingers was the only hint of emotion the princess would show as she took the paper and tucked it away with a brisk thank you.

If that was the last of it, Natia would be happy. But Natia also knew it wasn’t going to be the last of it. She just didn’t know exactly what kinda trouble it was gonna cause until they had Denerim at their backs and were heading deep into the Brecilian Forest.

Natia didn’t realize that Sereda had lost her damn mind.

The princess fought like a warrior, Natia always appreciated that about her. Ancestors, it had been the reason she threw her lot in with an exiled royal rather than risk imprisonment. Sereda had confessed once that she’d been meant to lead her father’s army, and Natia could see it. In another world, she’d have been a warrior queen fit for the ballads.

In this world, however, Sereda was a pain in the ass that was going to get Natia killed.

Sereda threw herself into battle with no thought for strategy. Her warhammer swung into one wolfman’s ugly maw, shield bashed into another. She didn’t pay the slightest attention to the monsters flanking her. She just drove onward in relentless, foolish pursuit of blood.

If Natia wasn’t there, Sereda would be dead. Again.

But nobody was gonna pin a medal on her Duster chest for keeping the Kinslayer alive. They probably wouldn’t even do it if she managed to help end the Blight and save all these surfacers. Sereda Aeducan could afford to go out in a blaze of glory - they’ll remember her regardless.

Natia Brosca didn’t have that luxury. So when the last wolf dropped, she turned her ire to the Princess.

She’d lost her helm somewhere, Stone knew where, and her blonde braids were askew. There was blood running down her cheek, but Sereda’s blue eyes burned with desperation.

Natia knew that look too. It was the look some of the Dusters got in their eyes when they’d made up their mind to find their last fight.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Natia asked.

“There were werewolves.” Sereda picked up her helmet and looked at the dented metal critically, pointedly not looking at Natia. “Now there aren’t. Problem solved.”

“Come here,” Wynne ordered Sereda, exasperated. “Your head wound needs tending.”

“Let her keep it,” Natia declared hotly. “She’s in such a damn hurry to get herself killed, may as well not waste the healing.”

“Natia,” Wynne scolded.

Notably, Sereda didn’t deny it. She simply glared at Natia across the battlefield. Not to be deterred, Natia glared back. The silence stretched between them until Sten finally broke it.

“Asala-taar,” he rumbled. “That is what my people call it. The urge to give up because the battle is too much. We cannot afford such an ailment now.”

We can’t afford it in you.

Sereda with her quick mind. Sereda who knew what to do, how to talk to these nobles, Sereda who was indomitable. If Natia lost her, she may as well walk up to the next darkspawn and kindly ask him to finish the job that the Joining had started because there was no way they could do it without her.

No way Natia could go on without her.

Wynne’s hands reached for Sereda and she flinched away. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Natia challenged.

“I’m fine!” Sereda used her best princess voice. It rang off the trees with regal authority, silenced both Wynne and Sten in a moment.

Natia simply drew herself up to her full height and leveled her dagger in Sereda’s direction before whispering one word. “Bullshit.”

Sereda cursed under her breath and turned on her heel, vanishing into the trees despite Wynne’s sputtering protests. Sten growled in his own language and Natia moved without thinking.

“Stay here!” she called behind her, flying after Sereda’s retreat.

She did not lose this stubborn princess to the Deep Roads. Natia would not lose her here.

“Can I not have a moment’s peace?” Sereda called over her shoulder, sliding down the riverbank until her boots sunk in the mud. Natia clammored down after her easily, unencumbered by her leathers.

Her quick fingers twisted into Sereda’s chainmail and tugged. “What was in the letter?”

“What letter?” Sereda asked through clenched teeth.

“The one that made you decide to sodding end it all!”

Sereda whipped out her grip and turned, glaring at Natia. She could see herself reflected in those clear eyes, all frazzled orange hair and reddening face. “It is none of your business.”

“I saved your life twice, I’m sorta attached to it.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Well I did!” Natia yelled, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I’ll be the one that decides when it ends, thank you very much. So come out with it. What did your loyal knight give you?”

“My loyal- Gorim?” Sereda asked, momentarily perplexed.

“Yes! The one that looks like he’d throw himself on his blighted sword for you.” Natia sighed, exasperated. She understood that much better than she particularly wanted to. Sereda had that damn effect on people.

“Gorim was my Second. Before-”

The pain that crossed Sereda’s face was raw. Violent. Before. Before Sereda was banished, before they called her Kinslayer, before she almost died in the Deep Roads.

Before she picked the Grey Wardens, before she would ever have looked twice at Natia Brosca or the brand on her cheek.

“My father’s dead,” Sereda said quietly. “I’ll never see him again. The last time he saw me, he sentenced me to death.”

“So you wanna finish the job in his honor?” Natia asked. “He was a shite father. Lots of people have shite fathers, Sereda. You don’t have to please him, especially not now.”

“He knew I was innocent.”

That surprised her. Sereda reached up to her breastplate, touched the space over her heart. Natia wondered if that was where the damning letter was stashed. Sereda’s voice grew hoarse, but she kept talking. “He knew I was innocent, that I didn’t kill Trian, and he exiled me anyway to avoid the scandal.”

...well, lots of people did have shite fathers. But Sereda’s father was truly the king of shite.

“He ruined his only daughter’s whole life to avoid a scandal?” she asked dumbly.

Tears popped into Sereda’s bright blue eyes, but they didn’t fall. She nodded. “There’s no king now. He’s dead, but they won’t make Bhelen king. The other candidate, Harrowmont, doesn't have enough support. There’s no King, the throne is empty, my father is dead, and I am…”

She trailed off helplessly and lifted her arms.

“Better off,” Natia declared, crossing the distance between them to run her gloved fingers over Sereda’s bloodstained cheeks. “You’re better off. You don’t belong to them, not anymore.”

Sereda was hers now, and Orzammar could rip her from Natia’s cold, dead fingers.

“We have to go back, Natia,” Sereda whispered, tipping her face to nuzzle into the cool leather while her eyes closed. “I have to go back.”

They did. They both did. “I’ll be with you. I’ll be your new Second, watch.”

Sereda smiled. “Maybe I can meet your family.”

That startled a laugh from Natia’s chest. The beautiful, perfect Sereda Aeducan in her former hovel across from her drunk mother and ferociously cunning sister? It was too absurd. “Trust me, you don’t want to meet my family.”

“Why not?” Sereda asked glumly. “They can’t be worse than mine.”

Natia took Sereda’s chin in her fingers and guided it to her lips. “Not true,” she murmured softly, “I’m your family now. And I’m pretty sodding great.”

The smile underneath Natia’s lips when they crashed together tasted like sweet, sweet victory.

#manka writes #da drunk writing circle #dragon age #female aeducan #female brosca #female aeducan/female brosca #dragon age origins #femslash february

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tommysparker · 4 years

Text

Man In Leather

Harrison Osterfield x Fem!Reader

A/N: Woah, two fics in a row? Crazy I know. Anyways, here is the LONG awaited fic! I’m sorry it took so long to write, but here it is. Black&White CH.2 will be the main focus of my writing until I get it done, so stay tuned for whenever the hell that comes out. Till then, enjoy :)

Warnings: smut, couple no-no words, Harrison going commando in leather pants, fluff at the end and a bit of pining, kind of Grease!AU, hints of sub!haz, bad porn with an even worse plot

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The music was loud, the people were drunk, and you were hanging around the snack table while scanning the room, solo cup filled with death juice in hand. Totally normal Friday night.

Your friends had left to go mingle, but not before encouraging you to find someone to get busy with, someone to get your mind off of him.

Your mind wandered at the thought of him. Taken back to the summer nights on the beach, the sound of waves crashing against rocks as you cuddled on the bench-swing. Those late nights and early mornings filled with passion and intimacy…only to be ripped away when autumn decided to fall.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Y/n Y/L/N,” a british accent sang over the music.

You turned your head to see the infamous Tom Holland, with Greg Birks and a boy you didn't recognize standing behind him.

“Tommy, long time no see,” you smiled. Tom had been a close friend of yours growing up, but grew apart under...unfortunate circumstances. “Thought you were too cool to hangout at shitshows like this?”

Tom laughed, “Only you would call one of the biggest parties on the block a “shitshow” darling. I’m actually here because a certain person wanted to see you,” his eyes glanced back at the guy standing next to Greg.

The boy stepped forward, and you nearly fainted right there after one look.

Harrison James Fucking Osterfield...in leather pants.

The blue-eyed boy stood composed, but on the inside you knew he was nervous. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, which was new. Who were you kidding, everything about the person that stood in front of you was new.

Last time you saw Harrison, he was wearing a cream-coloured sweater and sweatpants, hair messy and glasses pushed up on the bridge of his nose. And now, a year later, here he was. Except this time decked out in a leather jacket and white-tee, pants that honestly did not look comfortable, hair gelled back and eyes illuminated by the flashing lights.

It took a few seconds for the initial shock to wear off before you collected yourself. “H-Haz I-...I didn’t recognize you, um, you look good.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering. Get it together Y/L/N.

Harrison smiled, taking in your appearance while his mind went back to the time you spent together. No matter what you were, or weren’t, wearing, you always looked incredible from his perspective. “Hi Y/n…”

Tom took one glance between you two before pulling on Greg’s arm. “We’ll let you two catch up,” he not-so-subtly winked at Haz before soon being swallowed by the crowd of pissed partiers

The air suddenly became stiff once it was just you and him, neither of you knowing what to say next. Harrison fiddled with the silver ring on his finger, something you quickly took notice of.

“That’s new...I mean, well everything about you is new. What happened to Haz who wore knit-jumpers and spec?” You questioned, genuinely curious how and more importantly why the sudden transformation from ‘library nerd’ to ‘biker gang’.

He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. “Yeah well, the boys thought it was time for a makeover...d-do you like it?” He studied your face, hoping for a positive reaction.

You took in his attire again, except this time with more focus on how the material hugged his legs and arms tightly, and how the white-tee really brought out his eyes in the dim light, and how fucking sexy he looks with his hair gelled back like that. Oh yeah, you definitely like it.

A wave of confidence flooded your body as you grabbed the sides of his face and crashed your lips onto his. Haz, startled at first but quickly came back to his senses, kissed back almost immediately. The familiar feeling of your lips moulding with his brought back so many memories.

Stolen kisses before bed, hands all over each other, you pushing him onto the bed, holding his arms up and--

You were the first to pull away, breathing slightly heavier and a small smile forming at the corner of your mouth. “let me show you how much I love it.” You whispered in his ear, placing a gentle kiss at the edge before taking his hand and maneuvering your way to the upstairs rooms. Luckily for you, the owner of the house was a friend of a friend, so you had no problem finding a place with a decent sized bed.

Harrison followed you eagerly, more recollections passing through his mind as he felt his pants become tighter than they already were. The whole journey up the stairs was a mess between quick kisses and tripping over one another, but a remaining constant was his hand laced into yours, without any objections.

Once you both stumbled into the empty room and closed the door, Harrison pulled you into a needy make-out session. Your back was pressed against the wall while your hands wandered beneath the leather jacket, feeling his toned muscle through the thin shirt. Meanwhile, the blue-eyed boy gripped your hips, squeezing the love-handles gently causing a light hum to emit from your vocal cords. His fingers gently tugged at the hem of your shirt, and that’s when you knew it was time. The music from downstairs drowned out from both your awareness, in that moment the only thing you could focus on was each other and the burning desire that was cutting the tension in the room.

Hesitantly, you pushed Harrison off of you, not missing the soft whine he let out and the slightly hurt expression he wore on his face. It, however, was quickly replaced with a smile when crossed your arms over and pulled your top off slowly. His eyes drank in every part of your torso, thinking how someone like him ever got the chance to score someone like you.

Little did he know, you were thinking the same thing.

Once your shirt was tossed aimlessly across the room, you swiftly recaptured his lips with yours and carefully guided yourselves to the bed. Harrison followed your lead, walking backwards until his legs hit the frame and he fell on to the mattress.

Unfazed, you climbed on top of him, like a predator about to pounce on its prey. Your body hovered over his, breathing in sync as you straddled his waist. His hands went to grab your waist again, however they were quickly pushed above his head and into the duvet. Naturally, he didn’t expect anything less, and the dark look in your eyes only excited him further.

“You gonna be a good boy for me, Hazzy?” You asked, smirking when you felt something twitch against your core. Seriously, who let this man wear these pants?

The boy beneath you nodded. He knew how this worked. You were always in control, always the top, even when you weren’t. No matter how many times he’s gone down on you, it’s you who always has the authority. He wanted to be good for you, to please you like no one but him could. He wanted more than a summer fling or casual hook-up, he wanted you to be his. Only fitting seeing as, though you may not have realized it, he was already yours.

The whole reason he asked Tom to help him change his ‘style’ was to get you to take interest in him again. You were always on his mind and he needed to do everything in his power to win you back in his life, even if that meant playing dress up in order to look more appealing.

Harrison was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling your lips on his neck, hot kisses trailing up and down his throat. The sensation alone was enough to grab the attention of the little guy.

You smiled slyly as you left marks on his neck, biting and sucking on the spots you knew would gain the most reaction. The blue-eyed boy let out breathy moans beneath you, hands switching from resting on the bed, your waist, your thighs, finally settling on cupping your breasts through your bra. You sat up as he squeezed the material gently, reaching around to unclip the undergarment while Harrison struggled to take the jacket off.

Harrison heard you chuckle in amusement, blushing lightly as he finally managed to free his arm from the gripping sleeve. He didn’t hesitate to follow up by removing his shirt from the equation, which was much easier considering he was smart for once and put on a loose-fitting tee to give himself some breathing room.

You stared shamelessly at the now-shirtless man in front of you, and all-be-damned if the greek gods didn’t bless him overnight with that gorgeous build. Holy shit, is the only thing you could think of as your fingers grazed over his torso, fingers tracing every ab and indent.

Harrison squirmed under you, hips bucking up ever so slightly. He was slowly starting to get desperate and really needed any form of friction, so he took to grabbing your waist and grinding up into you, letting out a small sigh at the relief.

You gasped quietly at the sudden sensation, instinctively moving your hips in sync so you were moving in unison, the sounds of small moans filling the room. You resumed your previous actions, planting your lips on different areas on the boy’s throat, slowly moving further down to his collarbone, a.k.a the sweet spot.

Harrison mewled when he felt your teeth graze against the area, nipping and licking some of his most sensitive places. His hips moved faster while the grip on you tightened as he tried to get you to do the same. However, this apparently wasn’t the ideal.

You grabbed his wrists, pushing them into the mattress above his head. You adored how he willingly let you do this, even though he could easily turn the tables with the amount of muscle the boy packed, he still continued to submit to your needs. “Getting needy, baby boy?”

He nodded his head quickly, shifting beneath you. “Pants off, now.”

“Not with that attitude,” you teased, letting go of his hands and moving your own down to his belt.

Harrison rolled his eyes, a smile forming on his clean-shaven face. “Please will you take off my pants before they’re too tight to move in?”

You grinned, “Atta boy.”

Hooking your fingers under the waistband, slowly pulling down the piece of clothing, Haz lifting his hips to aid the process. You struggled a bit, whacking yourself in the head with your arm more than once, earning a couple giggles from both parties, before finally getting past the -ahem- obstacle that prevented you from removing the material.

Harrison audibly sighed in relief, happy to be free from his restraints.

And to your surprise, his cock slapped against his lower-stomach, red and already leaking from the head. “Going commando, handsome? You dirty boy.”

The flustered boy could only smile coyly, “In my defence, it was the easiest way to put those bloody things on.”

“That’s fair,” you replied as you wrapped your hand around the swollen member and stroked it lightly.

Haz let out a shaky breath, head leaning back as his eyes fell shut. Memories flashed before his eyes.

Your mouth on his cock, moving your head up and down swiftly while he writhed beneath you. You held eye-contact, mischievous and confidence powering your every move.

The feeling of your thighs shaking against his shoulders as he ate you out like it was the last meal he’d ever have, small whimpers coming from above while he rubbed his thumb against your clit.

His hold on your ass as you rode him, kneading the flesh and overall desperate for something to hold on to. Your breasts bouncing in front of his eyes, a hand on his chest while the other gripped his hip.

The sound of soft drawn out moans filling his ears. The feel of constantly being right on the edge, your walls squeezing him perfectly, his muscles twitching. Both backs arched in unison, a silent cry being released into the air as you both flew into total bliss.

In real time, his body was reacting to the thoughts, as if he was really experiencing each scenario. Before he knew it, Harrison’s moans grew louder as he approached his climax, he looked down at you and immediately flung his head back into the pillow, the sight of you being too much to handle.

Your tongue circled his tip, one hand pumping vigorously while the other massaged his balls. His cock twitched against your touch, but before it could reach it’s breaking point you eased up, retracting any stimulation provided and watched in amusement as Haz whined.

“Oh come on! I was so close…”

“I know,” You said while sitting up. “You didn’t think I would let you cum so soon, did you?”

Harrison shook his head slowly, blue eyes dark with lust as he watched you shimmy out of your bottoms. He took in your image, every piece of you being painted in his mind like a beautiful muse. Every stretch mark, every battle scar, your body was like a drug he was addicted to.

You straddled his waist, this time bare skin against bare skin, grinding against him. You moaned every time your clit caught against his tip. Leaning down, your mouth explored every part of his torso, tongue circling his nipples before sliding up and tracing his collarbone, your lips leaving love bites in its wake. The sight of him under you, all marked up was enough to put an end to your own game. Afterall, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were teasing him.

Harrison, as if sensing what was about to happen next, held your hips and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Th-there’s condoms in my pocket...either my jacket or pants, don’t remember.”

“Seems to me like you planned this,” You said as you got up and started searching through the discarded clothing.

The boy blushed, “Well I knew you would be here so... thought might as well take the chance,” he shrugged, subtly eyeing your ass when you bent over to pick up his jacket.

You hummed in response, smiling when you found the small square packet. You were about to put the leather down, but instead decided to put it on. You shivered a bit when the cold material touched your skin, turning around to see Harrison gaping at your new look.

“You...look really hot in that.”

You chuckled, climbing back on top and tearing the plastic away with your teeth. “According to you, I look hot in everything.”

“I’m not wrong though,” He grinned, biting his lip as he felt the latex slide down his cock. It wasn’t always ideal, but better safe than sorry.

In one swift motion, you connected like two puzzle pieces, a perfect fit. His tip nudging that spot inside you without even trying. You both let out a sigh at the familiar feeling, not moving, just letting the memory of sex on the beachhouse balcony pass through your minds, all the moments of enjoying each others presence in pure bliss.

Your own bodies betray the wishful thinking of staying in the moment. You clench around him and he moans lightly, and a simple sound like that was all you needed to set off that fire boiling inside your core.

You raise your hips until only the head of his cock is in and sink back down on his length, setting a passionate yet frantic pace, your heart wanting to feel every second but your brain forcing your body to tend to its pleasurable needs.

The room feels silent, save for sounds that follow your actions. Neither of you hear the people downstairs, nor can you feel the vibrations of the music blasting through speakers. You only hear each other’s moans, feel each other’s touch.

It goes by in a blur. At one point his mouth was on your breast, your hand was on his throat, both of you lost in the time spent together.

After all was done, you both laid in the other’s embrace, his hand playing with your hair while you traced shapes on his naked chest, the warm leather jacket increasing the sense of security you felt around him.

“You know…” You spoke suddenly, breaking the otherwise comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you, “You don’t have to change your clothes just to get me into you.”

Harrison tensed a little, unsure where this conversation was headed. “Yeah…? I-I guess I just figured since you were into the whole ‘Greaser’ look more...if I was like that then...maybe you’d...uh...go out with me? For real this time.”

You smiled, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on his now-swollen lips. “You div, if you asked months ago you would’ve known I don’t care about what kind of pants you wear. I just want the Harrison I had last summer…”

The blue-eyed boy smiled back, “Then you have him...you’ve always had him, darling.”

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Happy Birthday Harrison!!

All: @greenorangevioletgrass @allegra-writes @soraitmnt @worldoftom @farfromparker @angel-spidey @parkerpeter24 @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @the-panwitch @rebekkah4766 @hollandsamor @spideygirl2003 @theactualprincessofeverything @halfblood-princess-505 @the-crazy-fanfictionist

Harrison Osterfield: @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison x reader #harrison x y/n #harrison osterfield fanfic #grease!au #sub!haz #sub!harrison osterfield #sub!harrison #rae writes sometimes

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