#Also I feel like Cross would be the sort to stand there shivering and still insist he wasn't cold | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohblitz0 · 1 year

Text

sugar - agent whiskey

pairing: jack ‘agent whiskey’ daniels x fem reader

summary: basically porn with a teeny tiny bit of plot. guys this is my first time really writing some smut so lmk what you guys think!

word count: 3.5k

warnings: maybe a bit ooc?? idk. (18+) smut u filthy animals. unprotected p in v. (wrap it before you tap it!) language, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, bondage and I think that's it?

Your life had been pretty mundane before you were lucky enough to get a stable job at a company called Statesman. Statesman was a company that sold the finest whiskey in the United States and just so happened to be an undercover spy organization. Life wasn’t so dull anymore. How you found yourself here was a long story but even if hard to admit– there was some pretty eye candy at your disposal.

Your job wasn’t too tricky. You had plenty of things to do like paperwork, let's see... More paperwork– some combat training which was fun and then dealing with Mr. Agent Whiskey. You’d be lying if you said you hated it but nobody had to know how you truly felt about the matter. You liked to keep that your little secret. After all, Jack didn’t need his ego flattered anymore than it already was. The constant smirking and cockiness that basically evaporated off of him was a lot to handle at first but you got used to it– even enjoyed it. You couldn’t help it after spending so many hours with the man, you eventually developed some affection for him. The constant flirting, the damned pet names, and that handsome face were enough to reel you in. You also admired how hard working he was, all those late nights spent together investigating for missions, you saw how he took pride in his work.

Speaking of late nights at the office.

Your fingers rubbed at your temple trying to soothe the dull ache that would soon become a migraine if you didn’t take a break from reading and sorting out so much paperwork. The sun had set a long time ago but you were still there. Trying to prepare for tomorrow's assignment. You weren’t alone, Jack had stayed behind as well. You could see his office clearly, the light still on, just across from where your desk was on the outside. During regular shift hours, when the building was full of life, you would exchange many words with him but on nights like these both of you were as quiet as a mouse. Sighing, you looked at your now empty coffee cup and contemplated asking Jack if he would like a cup on your way to make yourself one. You felt silly for being shy all of the sudden, you’ve known him for quite a while now but simple acts like this seemed far more intimate?

“You got this,” you murmured quietly as you grabbed your cup and slowly walked towards his office. You could see his shadow sitting on his desk through the privacy-stained glass and your heart skipped a bit. Once you made it to his door you knocked softly before entering.

“Come in.” you heard the muffle of that sweet southern drawl before opening his door and standing on the threshold with a small smile. God�� he looked handsome. His cowboy hat was set aside on his desk, hair slightly disheveled but still as handsome as ever.

“Still here, darlin’?” he said with a cat-like grin, a small chuckle following after as he leaned back into his chair, arms crossed. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eye gave you once over before licking his lips. You nodded with a small laugh, fingers grasping your mug tightly, taking a step inside his office now.

“Was wonderin’ if you’d like a cup as well? I don’t know about you but I needed a pick-me-up.”

He hummed before getting up from his seat, walking around and towards you. He gently grasped your mug from your hands, you could feel his warmth just by the brush of his fingers and it sent a shiver down your spine. As he grabbed the mug he leaned back against his desk before setting it down. There was a small puzzled look on your face, lips slightly parted in loss of words before he filled the silent void for you.

“How about we just take a breather, you and me? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” his voice sounded as gentle as ever, but you felt some tension in the air now. Maybe, it was because you didn’t know if you should sit down or not, you felt glued to your spot.

“Sounds... Sounds fine,” you murmured almost breathlessly, maybe it was the fatigue taking over, your normal bubbly personality dying down and what was left was just bashfulness. You clasped your fingers together, a small smile on your face, your eyes diverting from his for a moment, seeing his whip and lasso still attached to his hip. You wondered why he still had those on, the day was over and this was definitely not a combat situation. You might have been staring too long because the husk of that southern accent awoke you from your thoughts.

“Like what you see, baby?”

A small scoff left your lips, “Cocky as ever aren’t you–” your words were soon caught in your throat as you felt him grasp your wrist and pull you into him. Perfectly fitting between his legs, his free hand grasping your chin gently. You felt heat rise upon your cheeks from this newfound proximity, your feet trying to pull you back but failing due to Jack pulling you right back in.

“What the hell!”

“Is that any way to talk to your superior?” His voice was deep and strong. This wasn’t the sweet, playful voice you had been used to. This was different. You felt intimidated and shocked, and you felt that familiar warmth spread inside you. This was so out of the blue, you still couldn't fully register what had happened. Lips parting, words on the tip of your tongue but failing to come out. Of course, Jack was your superior, you were his right hand but the dynamic was always playful, and he was rarely ever stern with you. Your quietness wasn’t appreciated as his hand moved from the gentle grasp of your chin down to the side of your neck, forcefully pulling you closer to him. Your nose was almost touching his as he spoke.

“Do I need to repeat myself, sugar?”

“No– No.” you stammered out weakly, eyes staring into his own, trying to understand where this all came from. “No, what?” His voice was sharp, and mean, and it made you shiver.

“No, sir.”

He hummed in approval, both of his hands moving to grasp both of your hands gently. The contrast between rough and gentle demeanor was driving you insane– you loved it. He stood up off his desk, hands still holding yours as he stared down at you. “Tell me to stop.” He whispered, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort, reluctance, disgust, anything. He was asking for permission and it made you feel safe. He felt safe. Of course, that was the bare minimum but it meant the world to you, especially coming from someone you had admiration for. A smile formed on your face before you spoke.

“It’s okay Jack.” You whispered, body subconsciously leaning towards him more, feeling his warmth and wanting more. You could smell his scent, aroma filled with his cologne, smoke, and whiskey. It was addicting. He nodded, humming in satisfaction before he abruptly swung you around. Now you were in front of his desk and him behind you.

“Hm, I don’t think it’s okay at all, darlin’. Every day I come to work, here you are all dolled up and I’m just dying to have a taste.” His hand pushed at your back, your hands flying forward bracing yourself against the desk. Sliding his hand further down, pressing against your spine making you press your body fully onto the desk. Your cheek flushed against the wood, hands flat on the surface. Your chest heaved, feeling your breath pick up, you could feel yourself already soaking wet for him.

“And these dresses? Oh, babydoll.” He said with a ‘tsk’ hand grasping the ends of your dress and hiking it up. You were definitely glad you wore some cute underwear today. You heard a small groan behind you, trying to tilt your head to see him but failing because of his hand that had trailed down to keep you in place. A whimper slipped past your lips as you felt his hand cup your sex. His thumb pressed against the folds, feeling your arousal coat your underwear. Your thighs closed in on his hand from the blissful feeling. A rough ‘No’ was heard from behind you, his knee pressing between your legs and spreading them apart to gain more access.

His body leaned over your own, his other hand pressed beside your head now bracing himself above you. His fingers moved your panties aside, fingers generously circling around that spot you needed the most attention from. He alternates between a slow pace, to fast, to slow, and it is beginning to drive you insane. Tears brimming your eyes, eyes lashes wet, you're pretty sure your mascara was running down your face. A complete mess under his touch. Then suddenly you felt a finger pressed inside you, filling up that empty ache.

“Mm, please…” you gasped out almost pathetically, already drunk on his simple touches.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. You’ve been so good after all.”

Another finger was added. Then another. Three thick fingers filled you almost too perfectly. There was a slight tinge of pressure but you invited the pain. You couldn’t help but circle your hips around his fingers, adjusting to the feeling of being so full of him. It was just his fingers and it had you unfolding before him already. All you could hear was your heavy panting, small whimpers of pleasure, and his sultry voice in the quiet building. This was your place of work, where you now had a man plunging his fingers inside your pussy at a delicious pace. Now every time you’d walk in for work, you’d remember that feeling and the thought made you even wetter.

You began to feel that pleasurable release build up inside of you, your eyes were beginning to flutter closed before you felt your hair being tugged, craning your face to look upon the man before you.

“Eyes on me, sugar.” His voice rasped, his lips ghosting over your jaw before kissing it gently. Your eyes stayed open after that, trying your best to remain eye contact as he thrust his fingers at a rapid pace now. You mewled at the feeling, that delicious build-up was near and your walls clenched around his fingers tightly. All you could really focus on was the feeling, the wet noises of your arousal, and his deep voice littering you with praise.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

“Look at you. Such a pretty little mess from just my fingers, huh?”

“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar.” And then you felt it hit you, your legs shook and your thighs desperately wanted to press together from the overwhelming feeling but were unable to because of Jack’s knee keeping you spread open for him. His name tumbled from your lips, a small whimper following as your hips circled and rode out your high.

He pulled away slowly, his fingers leaving your wet hole, as he stood up towering over your body. You slowly turned yourself around, knees wobbling, as you leaned up against his desk. Your eyes couldn't help but wander down and see the large bulge straining against his tight denim jeans. You watched as one of his hands, you guessed the one that was just in you– fingers glistening with reminisce of your release, grasped his belt buckle and began to undo it swiftly.

“Hm, I think you're ready for real fun now, darlin’.” He said, a devilish grin gracing his face as he walked back to his desk chair. You noticed he was still holding his belt, his whip still attached to it. You followed suit as you heard him tell you– “Come here.” in a gentle tone. Your legs felt so weak, still shaken from your last orgasm but your arousal was still there. You wanted more– needed more.

He looked undeniably sexy sitting before you. Thick thighs spread wide for you allowing you to stand between them. “Take it off, sweetheart.” He said, eyeing your dress as he went for his tie loosening it. Your hands pulled your dress off, leaving you in your undergarments. Your chest heaved up and down from your soft breaths, fingers grasping the back of your bra as you unclasped it boldly. It was silly how heat filled your cheeks as your chest was now bare before his eyes after what just happened minutes before. Now fully naked before him after pulling your last garment off you stepped closer to Jack. His arm wrapped around your waist pulling you to straddle his lap, the roughness of his jeans scraping against your warm skin.

Your eyes stared back at his brown ones, a small smile grazing your lips as your delicate fingers grasped his face. Noses brushed against each other as a small giggle left your lips making a smile etched on his face. Finally, your lips met his soft ones in a gentle kiss. His mustache tickles your upper lip but you didn't mind one bit. Foreheads pressed together as the kiss broke, breathing each other in as you caressed his jaw sweetly.

“To answer your question from earlier– I do like what I see,” you murmured upon his lips, pressing them against his once more for another quick kiss. He chuckled, one that was deep and rumbled in his chest. Biting your lip to contain yet another smile from that sweet sound.

“Such a good girl, huh?” his hand pressing into the small of your back, pushing you closer to his body if it was even possible. Your eyes fell curious on his other hand that still grasped his belt. Holding it in front of you, his other hand now grasping your wrists together, you had an idea where this was going and weren't mad about it one bit. Your heartbeat quickened as he began to wrap the belt around your wrists tightly. “So good.” His murmured praise made your cheeks flush and your cunt drip arousal down your legs. Once the belt was secure, your eyes fell down as you watched him pull his cock free from his jeans.

Fuck. He was huge. How was he even hiding that thing in his pants? It was long and the girth was thick. His hand stroked his length a couple times, thumb grazing his tip that leaked pre-cum. He saw that surprised look on your face, making him grin and a small chuckle leaves his lips. You noticed he held his whip still, now setting it on his desk. “Maybe, we'll use that next time.” You heard him murmur which perked up your ears. Thinking about the next time made your heart flutter.

“You gonna take it like the good girl you are, hm?” So enthralled by him, your parted lips failed to answer him as you watched him begin to push his tip inside you. Suddenly you felt a sting along your ass from him slapping it, the skin beginning to turn red from the impact. A loud gasp left your lips from the action, your bound hands resting along one of his shoulders trying to find purchase.

“Answer when I talk to you, darlin’. Understood?” He said, his voice rough as he plunged the rest of himself inside you.

“Fuck! Yes.. I’ll be good!” You whimpered out from the sudden fullness. It was like the wind got knocked out of you. Your walls clenched around his cock tightly, trying to get used to this new feeling. His hands rested on your hips, rocking them back and forth slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once the small sting began to vanish and was now filled with mostly undying pleasure, your pace began to pick up.

Your bound wrists went over his hand, fingers grasping the nape of his neck as you rutted your hips into him. His lips attacked the side of your neck as you swayed your hips against him, moaning and panting his name like a song.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he grunted, his hot breath fanning over your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers still grasped your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips helping you keep your steady pace. “Doing so well, taking all of me. Knew you could do it. That sweet cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” And it truly felt like it did, it fit so well inside you, snug, and hit all the right places.

That familiar sound of your wetness and skin connecting on skin filled the room along with heavy breathing and Jack’s foul mouth.

“Yes! Mm.. just for you.” You moaned, hips stuttering as you felt that heat pool into your core, that delicious build-up close once more. Your chin was able to rest on top of his head from this angle and you rutted into him. His face was pressed into your breasts, lips latching onto one of your lips, sucking and kissing the soft flesh. His hands gripped your hips roughly, stalling your movements before he lifted his own and started thrusting into your hole at a killing pace. A scream left your lips, a shriek from the sudden brutal pace as you held onto him. Your walls began to clench around him, your orgasm almost reaching its peak.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“God, yes... Please.”

“I’m close, baby. Come with me, sweetheart–” he grunted as he continued his brutal pace. You whined his name, like a plea, as you pressed yourself back down on him, circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Your walls clenched down on him like a vice grip as you came, mewling in bliss as your head fell against his shoulder. Your thighs shook as your body slumped into his. His hips began to stutter and with a few more hard thrusts his seed filled your swollen hole. His hands guided your hips in a lazy circle against his cock, riding out his high, the actions made you cry out from the sensitivity.

“I know, sugar. Sh, I got ya.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. The two of you stayed like this for a few minutes. His cock is still buried inside you as he unravels your wrists. The skin was red and swollen but you didn’t care. You liked that he marked you in some way. He placed gentle kisses along your face as he moved your hair away from your face.

“Did so well for me. Like you always do,” he whispered against your lips before connecting them with your own in a lazy but sweet kiss. And that phrase had so much meaning to it. You have always been by his side since you got hired here. Every mission, every wound was tended to, the hardships and all that shitty paperwork. You were there. And after tonight, the two of you changed. A fire was ignited and those shied feelings now were in the open.

────────────

Of course, this would happen to you. After last night you went home, of course fully satisfied, and slept like a fucking baby halfway through your important briefing for the next mission that you were supposed to be preparing for the night before. You were in a frantic mess all morning, hurrying to get ready and grab all your shit before bolting out the door and driving to work. Your mind was still in a haze from the night before and your cheeks flushed as you stepped into the building and headed toward the elevator. The top floor is where the magic happens. Literally.

You took a deep breath before exhaling, trying to ease your anxiety from being late and elevate the embarrassment you felt for being late. It wasn’t like you. But of course, one single touch from that goddamn agent that you are spiraling. You decided that you’d put the blame on the handsome man. After all, he did fuck you till you were seeing stars.

As you walked in, a fellow coworker eyed you with a knowing look. ‘You’re in for it’ her face said as he nodded towards the briefing room where now only Jack Daniels himself sat. You sighed, walking in and shutting the door behind you. Setting your folder down on the table you clasped your hands in front of you, finding it hard to look at him at this point. Before you could get a word out, that familiar southern drawl filled the air.

“Tsk, and I thought you were a good girl? Looks like that reward got to your head, sugar.” He chuckled with a shake of his head, grinning at the way your cheeks turned red. A little embarrassed that your coworkers were right outside as he said those words.

“Jack— I'm sorry really—“ you began to say before he shook his head once more with a whistle. His figure stood up from his seat as he began to stalk over you like prey.

“Y’know actions speak louder than words, beautiful. I’m gonna need you to show me just how sorry you are, baby.” He finished as he stood in front of you now, toe to toe, a finger grasping your chin. At that moment you truly realized just how different things would be.

#pedro pascal #pedro x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey #kingsmen secret service #kingsmen golden circle #smut #tlou smut #joel miller

947 notes · View notes

chimcess · 5 months

Text

→ Chapter 3.5: When She Sees Me Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff Word Count: 1.8k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Park Jimin is the man who's in love with her, and when their worlds collide in tragedy, he must decide if he is willing to put his old life aside to make a new one. Warnings: Jimin POV, Kissing, talks of sexual feelings (not exlipict), I love this man with my whole heart, just a boy in love, takes place at the end of chapter three of the main storyline, THAT scene, FLUFF, This was so much fun to write, to be in wolf Jimin's head... the dream. Disclaimer: While you don't have to read any of the series to understand what's going on, it won't make a ton of sense. I highly recommend reading this in conjunction with the original work, Trees That Wheep. A/N: On the first day of Christmas Lex gave to thee... Jimin's P-O-V. Thanks so much to everyone who participated in the poll I held. Hope this meets expectations despite her being on the shorter side. Happy holidays and stay safe.

|| Chapter 3 || Masterlist ||

“Yours must be very interesting.”

I shook my head, “Not really. Mostly the angsty ramblings of a teenager. Nothing more.”

I sounded convincing enough. I heard Jimin shuffling around but refused to look his way. Deciding that I was done for the night, I began closing and stacking the grimoires I had taken out. I will sort through them later. Glancing at the walls, I could not tell what time it was but knew it had to be close to sunset. I needed to get to my room soon.

Going to turn, strong arms found themselves resting on either side of my waist. Shocked, I turned my head to find Jimin standing directly behind me. His chest pressed against my shoulder as I turned to face him. He had never been so close to me before.

Jimin’s POV

Her chest felt soft against me, and I struggled to keep my nerve. Walking over here had been impulsive, my feet moving before I was able to think it over but having her between my arms made the potential embarrassment worth it. She looked so lovely in the candlelight and whatever she had been reading caused her shoulders to tense uncomfortably.

Her eyes were wide, confused, and could not find a point of my face to stop on. I could hear her heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings and her scent made me force a groan back. She was so sweet, like vanilla, with an almost bitter aftertaste. I would compare it to whiskey but that was too strong. Tobacco, cotton, and vanilla came to mind.

“Jimin?”

She was so gentle when she said my name. Caressing it as if it were a precious secret. I leaned into her, wanting to hear her heart beating closer still. Drunk off of her presence, I found myself talking.

“Can I tell you something?” I whispered, just as softly as she had said my name.

Our chests touched and I moved my hands behind her back. Wrapping around her, I forced my hands onto the table. I was itching to hold her tightly but I was afraid of what might happen. Placing one hand on top of the other, I felt myself trembling. We had never been so close, and only in my dreams did I think this possible. Bridd refused to look at me, her breathing as heavy as my own causing me great pleasure.

“Y/N,” I called to her, hoping she could hear all the ways I loved her within it. “Can I?”

Eyes locking, I had to grip my fingers to keep them on the table. I could smell the faintest trace of her arousal and it took all of my self-control to ignore it. She shivered against me and I knew she was feeling the same electricity that I was. I could hear her swallow, something I found oddly arousing, and she nodded.

Something was crossed tonight. The lines I had meticulously placed between us for years had come crumbling down ever since the day I came here with Hoseok. There was something about watching her walk around her home, her feet unable to stay still, while she worked that had struck me. Feeling her eyes on me, knowing that she wanted to watch me just as much as I wanted to watch her, unleashed this animal. The more primal part of my personality wanted to shout at Hoseok to leave us alone so I could take what was mine. The other side, the man, wished to sit and listen to her talk about the knives she loved to make, to ask her all of the questions I had been dying to have answered, and watch the way her eyes lit up. Realizing that we would never go back to a time before this, I decided to be upfront.

“I enjoy your company,” I had to tell her.

She nodded, dazed. Her eyes did not leave my own and she searched, ever the curious girl, for something. I had long ago stopped trying to figure her out. Instead, I hoped that she would tell me. I wanted her to want me to know her. With that in mind, I decided to destroy the walls between us.

“I like being close to you. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” She replied breathlessly, needily.

I leaned into her, drawing closer. Her eyes were hooded, heavy, and the lust within them brought me to my knees. She wanted me so badly, the smell of it clinging to the air adding another layer to her familiar smell. It reminded me of sea salt. I swallowed thickly and leaned in closer. Not tonight, I told myself, the grip on my left hand painful now. I could wait for that. I had been waiting for her for so long.

“Do you want me to stop?” I whispered, so close to her lips that I could feel the ghost of them against mine.

I felt her hesitate. This was nothing new. Bridd had always kept her emotions for me on a tightly controlled leash. It had bothered me for a long time until I realized that she might have thought them foolish. I had never announced myself or made an effort to get closer to her. My own fears made me weak, but to have denied her this made me feel half a man. How could I have ever taken this choice from her? From us? Foolish.

“No,” She said, her eyes already closing.

It would take less than a second of a second to lean forward. Such a small, inconsequential gap in time. A blink and it was gone. Nothing. However, as I leaned in I knew this small space would be burned into my mind. The anticipation, the way my heart sang and my hands trembled. Our lips brushed and my knees went numb.

Kissing her was unlike anything I had ever experienced. She was so soft, so warm, and frail beneath me as I struggled to keep myself at her eye level. Bridd sighed, her hands finding home on my chest, and I could no longer keep myself off of her. Wrapping her in an embrace, I wanted to cry from joy. Everything that I had ever wanted, wondered, and fantasized paled in comparison. None of it did this moment justice. With her hands twitching against me, her lips chapped, mouth dry, and breathing into my mouth each time we pulled away, I was certain I had never done something so right in my whole life.

She finally started pulling away, and I opened my eyes to watch her. She was so beautiful. Her eyes were glazed and not even half way opened. Staring at her, the candle light making the beads on her top shine prettily, all I could imagine to say was that I loved her. Instead, I bent over even more and nuzzled my nose into her hairline.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, already thinking about kissing her again.

She, again, nodded, before leaning into me once more. Tiptoeing to reach my face, hands traveling from my chest to my shoulders, her eyes closing. Cupping her face, so small and delicate beneath my hands, I pulled her to my eagerly waiting lips. She grinned against me as I tangled my fingers in her hair.

Suddenly, I felt her tongue licking at my lower lip and the delicate balance I had been desperately trying to keep since I approached her tipped. With a strangled groan, I opened my mouth to hers and slid a hand from her hair to her hips. Sucking her tongue, I picked her up off of the floor and lifted her onto the desk she had been occupied with all night. I did not even think before my leg was forcing hers apart and making space for the rest of me.

Her hands gripped my shirt tightly and I wished she would go back to twitching against my chest. She felt more solid there, more real. Her mouth was wet and hot as we kissed, her tongue hesitant and shy while I knew I was being more aggressive than she was used to. Thoughts of her kissing another made me uncomfortable, so I kissed her even harsher to remove whatever they may have left behind.

Then she was shoving me away, ripping her lips from mine as she struggled to catch her breath. I took a few steps back, unsure what the problem could be. One look at her, however, and I was sure. The change was coming.

“Go,” She choked, scrambling off of the desk.

A loud piercing scream called me to action. As much as I hated leaving her in moments like this, I knew it made her uncomfortable to have me around. Her comfort would always trump my own needs and wants- that I was sure. Running up the cellar steps, I threw open the little door and threw myself onto the living room floor. Closing the door, the tortured screams of my love were muffled.

My heart shattered as I listened to her, but I knew it would not last long. A few feet away, Taehyung slept soundly. I envied his ability to do that. Ever since I got here, I had found sleeping restless. With Bridd so close yet so far away it was impossible to relax.

A large, toothy grin overtook me. I would never sleep without her again. I would try my hardest to be sure of that. Her lips lingered on my own, tingling and swollen, and I never wanted the feeling to fade. I would make sure I always felt this way, every day, for the rest of our lives.

I could see it now, living here with her. We would cook dinner together, eat together, sleep together. For Yule we would put up a tree. For Litha I would tend her garden while she watched me from the window. We would have children, beautiful children that looked like her, and love them the way they deserved to be loved. My family would learn to live with my choices and my pack would always be my own, but I needed to be where my heart was.

As her screaming turned to throaty croaks, I was settled. I would put my heart on my sleeve. For her, I would beg. What should have been said the second my wolf threatened to rip apart anybody who stood between us in that cave. When I nursed her back to health as she lay half-alive in her bed afterward. All of the times I had seen her since. Every dream, nightmare, and fantasy in between.

Tonight, I would tell her that she was my mate. Tonight, we would never part again. Tonight, I would love her and hope she would let me. Tonight, and every night, I would fight to make her see that no one has ever loved another the way I love her.

@greezenini@adventures-in-bookland@kthstrawberryshortcake-main@zae007live@jimin-neverout@nikkiordonez12@canarystwin@yamekomz@chimthicc@michiiedreamer@amorieus@mima795@yunki-yunki-yunki

56 notes · View notes

hyubcore · 2 years

Text

little wonders / mark lee fanfiction

on paper, mark lee seems like the perfect boy; he’s charming, kind, caring, and cute. you see no flaws as you get to know him over the summer when he moves in across the street.

however, he fails to let you know that he’s dying before you start to fall for him.

wc: 17473

tags/warnings: gender neutral reader x mark lee, angst, romance, fluff, terminal illness, mcd, sad ending, read this to feel something i guess

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. i am not affiliated with sm entertainment or any members of nct. this is for entertainment purposes only. it is also not my intent to romanticize any illnesses, i apologize if i offend any readers in any way; please read with caution as this story is not for the faint of heart.

Who is he?

The first wonder occurs at your doorstep.

He stands tall, short, straight dirty-blonde hair covering his head, a black t-shirt along with tattered jeans covering his body. You don’t need to get any closer to notice something about him is different from the others surrounding him. Just by the way he moves, the way he stands—there’s something within him that brings him down. You want to know what it is. You want to know who he is.

You watch him as he slowly unpacks the boxes from the moving truck that sit in the driveway. Another woman, petite in size, and affectionate towards the man, helps him as he tries to lift each box out of the vehicle and into the house. There are moments where he sits on the driveway, taking in slow breaths, leaning against the house. He tilts his head back with his eyes shut. You wonder.

Who is he?

The first wonder is answered when he knocks on your door that very night. Seeing his face up close changes all the things that had been running through your head regarding him before. He has gentle, bright eyes that causes a tightening in your chest, for their brilliance is too much to bear all at once. Not only that, but the small smirk that forms upon his lips as you open the door. You suddenly can’t breathe.

“Hi,” is all he says. He has a raspy and deep voice, one that you would be okay with listening to for forever. “I’m supposed to give these to you.”

He hands over a plate of hotteok. The sweet scent of the dessert makes your stomach grumble. You hesitate to accept the plate, but reach over to grab it once the man in front of you coughs subtly. He smiles bigger as you examine the treats.

“Thank you,” you tell him. He nods. Your chest tightens even more as you watch him.

“I’m Mark, I’m living right across the street. you hope you enjoy the hotteok.” His voice is even raspier, but you still like it. He coughs again before leaving the front porch. As he walks away, your dog begins to bark. You pick him up before you wave to the man—Mark—but he doesn’t see you.

What is he doing?

The second wonder crosses your mind when you see Mark laying outside in the complete darkness, arms and legs stretched, no shirt on his body, looking up at the stars. He doesn’t move at all. As you watch from your bedroom window, your curiosity only grows more unbearable.

It’s late enough for you to get into trouble, but something about the cold draft that comes through your window every so often tells you to force Mark inside. You make your way down the stairs, and once you reach the final step, you grab your jacket from the coat hanger by the door and walk outside. You’re right; it is cold, too cold to be laying in the grass with no sort of coverage.

As you slowly walk across the street, you hug your arms to keep warm. Your nose already feels stuffy and your ears red from the chill. Not only does the cold air make you shiver, but the pure and utter silence that enveloped the atmosphere around you was rather frightening.

“Mark?” you speak. Your voice is piercing in the silence of the night. Mark doesn’t move for a moment, until he finally lifts himself up on his forearms. “Are you okay?”

He shifts in his spot, looking over at you. You can tell he’s in a daze, and you suspect he might be high, especially after he coughs a few times.

“I had an argument with my dad. I came out here to get some air. Sorry I worried you.”

You purse your lips, then sit down next to him. “It’s okay, I just noticed from my window. You looked pretty comfortable.” You both chuckle.

“Yeah, I used to do this a lot back home too. My dad and I aren’t necessarily best friends.”

You feel awkward, immediately being dished out to, however, you also feel comfortable sitting there with Mark. Even considering the fact that you can barely see his face, the sound of his gritty voice in the dense air brought you a sense of safety, despite the topic of conversation. You don’t want to push, but you also don’t want to ignore him.

“I’m sorry to hear,” you say instead.

“It’s okay. You should try it sometime—just go outside and stare at the sky. It’s best at night, there’s no cars or screaming children or anything.” Mark looks up as he speaks, setting his eye on the orion constellation above the two of you. “See the three dots there? That’s Orion. You learn a lot about the universe when you stare at it all the time.”

You chuckle, looking up to where Mark points. You clearly see what he’s referencing—it’s just about the only form that makes sense in the endless mixture of stars and galaxies. “I see it,” you say quietly. He smiles at you, and you smile back, then you both look up again. You wonder what’s up there, if it really is just particles of dust, being born and dying in just seconds, or if there was some life beyond humanity.

“You think there’s anything else out there?” you ask. “Like, life, I guess.” You immediately regret your question; it’s way too deep and philosophical for your first conversation; but Mark’s already looking at you deeply, likely wondering what goes on behind your eyes to ask such a question upon only meeting two days before.

“No,” Mark answers. “Even if there is, it doesn’t concern us as of right now. So I just ignore it.”

You nod, and Mark looks back up. You know then, he’s lying. He knows there’s something else out there.

When will I hear him sing?

Months pass, and ever since the first night it happened, you find Mark sitting outside every night. You wonder each time if it’s truly because he’s fighting with his father, or if he actually just enjoyed being outside at night. During the day, though, you’d see him in the same spot, writing in a little notebook.

The first time you notice him writing, you pretend to just be taking the dog out, but really, you want to say hi to Mark. He looks up at you immediately, and you wave, and he immediately puts the notebook to his side. You walk over, and he smiles at you brightly. Seeing him feels different from the last time you saw him, which was in the darkness of the late night. Now, you see all his features, his comforting eyes and smile.

“Are you okay with dogs?” you ask as you approach the lawn. Mark nods, opening his arms to your pet, and you let go of the leash for him to love on Mark. The wholesome sight sends a warmth through your chest.

“What’s his name?” Mark asks.

“Chewie,” you reply. “My dad likes Star Wars a lot.”

Mark laughs as he scratches behind Chewie’s ears. “Your dad is cool. So are you, Chewie.”

You chuckle at Mark’s baby voice he uses toward Chewie. You sit down next to him, and Chewie immediately sits in your lap comfortably. Mark reaches over to pet him, and you suddenly get nervous, having his hand so close to you. You look down and admire it; it seems so weird in the moment, to be admiring something as random as his hands, but the way his fingers were sculpted was like high art; you thought for a moment, maybe Mark isn’t real. You wonder who, or what, put him on this earth, right next to you. You feel lucky.

There are also periods of time where Mark’s never be outside, even when there are clear and sunny skies. That surprised you the most. Before, he could be outside for hours, whether it be raining, freezing, or way too windy to even keep the notebook on the ground. It had worried you, for the outdoors seemed to be his favorite place, it seemed to be his safe space.

Several weeks pass, and you feel worried for some reason. You don’t know him too well, but it feels like those scenarios where the coffee shop worker always sees the same old man, then the old man suddenly stops coming to get his daily cup of jo and muffin, and you just know the outcome yet never do anything to find the truth; you hope Mark is alive; deep down, you know he is, but part of him isn’t. He’s not outside anymore where he feels safe.

You decide to make hotteok one day. You bake with your mother as you watch reruns of your favorite crime show on TV. The baking process is a lot more difficult than you anticipated, but you power through it, and you think about the smile you’ll see on Mark’s face when you give him the plate of treats.

Once you finish, you run across the street and knock on the door, unable to keep still from excitement. Your spirits are crushed a little when Mark doesn’t answer the door. It’s his mother, and you realize then you’ve never introduced yourself to her.

You greet her kindly, and she smiles warmly back at you.

“I made hotteok for you guys,” you say sweetly. “I’m sure it won’t be as great as yours, but I wanted to do something nice. Is Mark home?”

The smile on her face suddenly fades as she reaches out for the plate. “Yeah, yes—he’s just been a little sick, is all. Want me to get him for you?”

Before you can answer her, Mark appears behind her, and immediately notices the smell of the hotteok. “You made some?” he asks. You nod and smile at him, and he smiles back, holding your eyes in his gaze for a moment. Your insides suddenly feel like jelly.

“Are you doing okay?” you ask, concern evident in your voice. Mark nods, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, just a little cold. I’m okay,” he replies. You smile, and his mother walks away with the hotteok.

“Well, I’m about to take Chewie on a walk, if you want to join. If you need to rest though—”

“I’d love to,” Mark interrupts. You weren’t planning to take Chewie on a walk, but there in Mark’s presence, you needed an excuse to be around him longer. His appearance is like a drug; once you look at him, there’s no looking away.

The two of you make your way down the sidewalk of the neighborhood, Chewie leading the way. The grass is a vibrant green, some houses decorated with flower gardens at their fronts. The sight entirely brings more happiness to the atmosphere.

You eventually reach a local park where there’s a wide field of grass, along with benches here and there. You find one beneath a tree to give some shade. You pick up a stick for Chewie as you claim your seat.

Mark sits while you take Chewie off his leash. You throw the stick, and he runs far from you, fur bouncing as he sprints. He eventually comes running back with the stick in his mouth, and once he reaches you, he jumps on Mark’s legs. Mark pets Chewie as he lets out a bark of glee. You smile at the sight.

“What have you been doing the past few weeks?” you ask, starting a conversation. Mark sighs as he looks out at the view of the grass and the trees before us.

“Nothing important,” he replies. You throw the stick for Chewie again. “Watched a lot of true crime podcasts, that’s for sure.”

You both chuckle softly.

“Also figuring out stuff for school. I might be going to university in the fall,” he informs. You nod, crossing your arms as a cool breeze comes through. Mark notices, and unzips his jacket. “Are you cold? You can—”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want you getting sick again,” you laugh, putting a hand on Mark’s arm. He freezes under your touch, and you suddenly freeze too. “So what are you going to study?”

Mark looks up. “Music. Songwriting, performing, and composing.”

You’re surprised at his answer, however, it finally starts to make sense. He was probably writing lyrics in his notebook all those days out on the lawn. “That’s amazing,” you reply. “It takes courage to do that stuff professionally. I’m excited for you.”

Knowing Mark has a passion for music immediately interests you. You suddenly wonder about all the lyrics he’s written and all the melodies and chord progressions he writes along with those poetic lines. You wonder about the stories behind these songs. You wonder about it all.

But most of all, you wonder, when will you hear him sing?

Do I like him?

Weeks pass, and it becomes routine for you and Mark to take Chewie on a walk every morning. There’s some mornings where he’s still sleeping, or he’s just not feeling up to the trek; but either way, it’s something to look forward to every night as you lay your head against your pillow. The summer was uneventful, up until Mark came into town.

It’s just another summer evening, and Mark texts you he was going to take me somewhere. You wondered what that somewhere was. Despite getting to know each other more and more over the past several weeks, you didn’t have any clue where he may be taking you. Either way, you dressed nicely, hoping to impress him a little more than usual.

You’re rather surprised when Mark drives you into the town. It’s quite busy, and so you wonder exactly why he’s brought you here, but either way, an excitement bubbles up inside you.

You walk the streets of the town, beneath the somewhat-dark night sky, moon shining bright thanks to the cloudless sky. Mark walks slowly, sure to look at every window of the small shops, nodding and smiling to every vendor along the sidewalk.

“Why exactly are we here?” you ask under a laugh. Mark doesn’t answer for a while.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be here long.”

You finally come to a stop, and it’s at a set up station, selling some sort of treats. The scent that fills your nose is rather familiar.

“Hotteok,” Mark cheers as he looks at me with a grin. You smile at him, then you both begin to laugh. He leads you closer to the stand. You impatiently wait as he pays for the food, your stomach growing more hungry, anticipation thriving. The scent reminds you of the moment you first met Mark up close; the fresh sight of his bright eyes, his marvelous smile; the first time you ever wondered about him.

You think about it, and sure, before that day, you wondered about Mark; people like Mark. Boys you thought didn’t exist. Boys who cared about your interests, your life story, your favorite foods; and boys that were cute. Mark is all of those things, it just seems too good to be true.

Mark completes the payment before handing you the snack. You immediately delve in, savoring the taste of the sweet treat. Mark guides the way back to the car, but asks you at each storefront if you want to go inside. You end up going into one small shop, which was a bookstore. In high school, you loved to read. You were always finishing exams early just so you could read an extra chapter of the novel you had in your backpack, and people may have judged you for reading in the library during lunch instead of sitting with friends, but you didn’t care. Books were your comfort.

You find a signed copy of your favorite book, and Mark notices your excitement.

“This is my favorite book of all time,” you inform him as he stands next to you. “But look.” You point to the signature, smiling excitedly. Mark holds out a hand, gesturing for you to hand it over, and you do exactly so. However, your heart begins to race as Mark speed-walks to the cash register.

“Mark, are you—”

“Shh,” he replies. You shove him on the shoulder, and he chuckles as he pulls out his wallet.

“Stop it, you don’t—”

“Yes, I do. I want to.”

You roll your eyes as you groan. The lady behind the counter hands Mark the receipt, which he immediately crumples up and puts into his pocket before handing you the book. You’re speechless, and you smile small, evidently flustered by Mark’s gesture.

“Mark, that was too nice. Thank you, truly,” you say sincerely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “Gifts are my love language, in a way.”

Love language. Is he in love with you? You can’t help but wonder.

“Where to next?” you ask once you reach the car, sitting in the passenger seat. Mark starts the engine before answering.

“My beach.”

“Your beach?” you ask with a small chuckle.

“Yes. It’s all mine.” Mark looks over at you, and you smile.

You drive down the main roads which soon turn into back roads, and you then realize why Mark had said my beach. The sands and water are completely secluded from the rest of the area. There’s no possible way anybody else could ever find it without taking a good 10 minute hike, but Mark knows exactly where to drive to avoid the thick forest that separates it from the rest of town.

Mark leads as you progress closer to the trillions of soft granules lining the beach. He seems to know this place inside and out.

He coughs. “I’ve been coming here a lot lately. The beach is more calm than anywhere else.”

You nod. You both find a spot in the center of the shore, which is a good distance away from the water. You can still feel slight mists as the tides roll in, though. The sensation, combined with the calmness of the night and Mark’s presence, is intoxicating, in a way,

“It’s nice,” you comment. You look around, and to your right is a large, rocky cliff. There are several rocks lining the bottom of it, the trail ending once it reaches the water. Behind you are the patches of dry grass. And to your left is the mound of sand combined with the meadow.

“Any updates on your music?” you ask Mark.

“Writing. Playing. It’s all the same,” Mark answers without enthusiasm. “How about you? What have you been up to?”

“Well, I’ve been worrying about you.”

Mark stays quiet. So do you. Except you're doing the thing that you always do, which is admire his being right beside you. You examine the way he stares at the waters before the two of you. His eyes are squinted, studying each foamy wave that crashes onto the shore, measuring the height and time difference of each swell; watching the moon as its reflection on the water grows brighter as the sky grows darker.

He finally stops his examination on the landscape and looks towards you.

“You brought the book,” Mark notes.

“I brought the book.” You laugh.

“Read me your favorite part,” Mark commands, and on instinct, you flip to the very last page.

“Maybe he is that flower that suddenly bloomed on the rhododendron bush I thought had died long ago; maybe he is that cloud, that wave, that rain, that mist. It isn’t only that he died, or how he died; it is what he died believing. And so I try to be kind to everything I see, and in everything I see, I see him.”

You both sit in silence for a moment after you close the book. Mark looks out at the water, and when you turn your head towards him, he looks down at his lap.

“Sorry if it’s depressing,” you apologize. “It’s just…it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Mark interjects. “But you spoiled the ending.”

You both burst into a harmonious laughter. You jokingly smack yourself on the forehead. “I didn’t know you’d want to read it!”

Mark shakes his head. “You can read it to me. We can come here every weekend and you can just…read. I don’t know.”

You sit quiet for a moment as you imagine his idea; your heart races, your stomach becomes filled with butterflies, and you can’t help but let a foolish smile grow upon your lips. “Yeah, we can do that,” you answer. “Might take a while. This is a big book.”

Mark takes the book from your hands, flipping through the pages, stopping every few seconds.

“We can do it,” he says, the small, sincere smile still visible upon his lips.

“Okay,” you say.

Am I in love?

The first time you go to read on the beach, you sit far apart, and Mark stares out at the water as you speak. He sits silent, letting you flip the pages and giving you water when your mouth gets dry from speaking. When you get too tired to talk, you put the book down and just watch the water.

After the first time, you sit closer and closer each visit, until once you get to the third part of the book, Mark puts his arm around you and keeps you close, looking over your shoulder at the pages, reading along with you. You get tired again, and Mark takes the book from your hands and continues reading.

“You’re a lawyer. You’re the chair of the litigation department at Rosen Pritchard and Klein. You love your job; you work hard at it. You’re a mathematician. You’re a logician. You’ve tried to teach me, again and again. You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.” Mark closes the book after that paragraph. He sets the book next to him, and he looks over at you and smiles.

“Who are you, Mark?” you ask. “If that paragraph was about you, what would it say?”

Mark remains quiet for a moment, and you can tell he’s thinking. He stares down at his feet as he digs his toes in the sand. “You’re a musician. You love your craft; you work hard at it. You’re a songwriter. You’re a writer, in general. You write about the world and yourself and all the little things it brings. You struggle, but you keep trying. You think you want to give up, but you don’t. You’re always you.”

You smile, and you grab Mark’s hand. “What about you?”

You think hard. “I don’t know what I am.”

Mark puts a hand on your arm, caressing the surface of your skin. “You’re you, and you’re beautiful, kind, and compassionate. And funny, too. And beautiful, if I didn’t say it already.”

You shove your face in your hands, blushing hard, heart pounding, stomach flipping and turning. “Mark,” you groan.

You look up, and Mark licks his lips before biting down on his lower lip, the ends of his mouth curling up just slightly. You become entranced by the sight of him, so evidently enthralled by your presence, and you wonder. Is this what it feels like? You had never been in love, you’ve never been loved, not in the way people are supposed to be loved. Your parents loved you, but no one you weren't related to had ever been in love with you. At least not to your knowledge. Who knows, maybe Mark was in love with you the entire time, and you just didn’t know, until now.

You think for a moment, he’s going to kiss me, and you think maybe you should insist instead, since it feels like forever where his lips aren’t on yours. Instead, you stay frozen, and Mark just looks into your eyes, intoxicating you with his glare. He doesn’t kiss you; instead, he pulls you closer, until you’re resting your head in his lap, looking up at him and the stars. The billions of lights and galaxies up there. You can’t find Orion’s belt, or any of the other constellations Mark begins to point out—but you see Mark, and he sees you—and that’s enough.

Is this what love feels like?

Mark asks you out the next week after taking you out for hotteok and shopping. You figured that was a date, but Mark didn’t say so, until he specifically asked this time, Can I take you out on a date?

You go to the beach again, but this time he brings a picnic basket filled with various treats and snacks. He also brings a bottle of champagne, even despite both of you being underage. You never loved the taste of champagne, but you sip on the glass Mark pours for you anyway.

“White or red wine?” Mark asks as you take a sip from your flute. You chuckle as you set it down on top of the picnic basket.

“This is champagne, right?” you laugh. “But I like red, typically. My family has never been a white wine drinking family, so I haven’t had it too much.”

Mark nods as he takes a bite of a strawberry macaron. “Good to know.” He reaches out the macaron towards you, and you happily finish off the last bite. The sweet, fruity flavors on your tongue bring a smile to your face, and Mark smiles too as he notices your growing grin. Your heart skips a beat when he winks at you. He hands you another macaron, and you take a sniff of it as you’re unsure of the flavor.

“Café latte,” Mark comments. “My favorite.”

You take a bite, and you immediately understand why it’s his favorite. “This is amazing,” you comment. Mark chuckles.

“I know. That was the last one.”

You immediately hand over what's left of the macaron, and Mark declines. You shove it in his personal space, until he’s scooting away from you, and you grab his face and shove the treat in his mouth. He tries to fight you off, but fails, and you end up in his lap, arms on either side of his body. There’s suddenly a silence between you two that you can’t escape, but you don’t really mind it; Mark is the most comfortable space you’ve ever been in, and you’re glad he chooses to spend his precious time with you. You want to tell him this, however, you feel it’s too corny or sappy, and you know Mark might just laugh at you.

“Thanks for that,” Mark says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you look up at him. He looks at you longingly, and your heart starts to ache. You want to touch his face so badly, but you respect the fact that Mark likely doesn’t want that; and even if he does, it’s too early to be touching him so lovingly. You know you like Mark, maybe you’re even in love with him. But you don’t want to rush things. Even if you both had numbered days, even if the world was ending in just a week, you wanted to feel every joyful emotion that came with falling for someone, especially someone like Mark; you wanted to enjoy every special moment; you didn’t want to fall in all at once.

Mark taps the cover of your book, and you pick it up, opening up to where you left the bookmark. You only mark one passage this evening; “Why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship? Why wasn’t it even better? It was two people who remained together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.”

Is this the end?

You and Mark don’t read for almost two weeks. It’s almost August, and you know life for Mark is probably becoming more hectic as he prepares for school, so you try not to bother him. However, those two weeks, not texting or calling or going to the beach, were some of the most painful days you had ever lived. Part of you wanted to go over to his house, just knock on the door or throw rocks at his window, just to remind him you were thinking about him; but your pride got the better of you, and you kept your distance.

Until one weekend, you decide to knock on his door, just to make sure everything is okay; the intrusive thoughts remind you of the dark coffee-shop-old-man scenario. You need to make sure Mark’s alive.

“Hi,” you speak, holding on tight to the towels beneath your arm. Mark slowly blinks, most likely awaiting an explanation as to why you're standing before him. He looks tired; his hair is unbrushed, there’s a little stubble on his face, and he’s still in his pajamas. He coughs before wiping his eyes. “I’m going to the beach. Your beach, if you want to join me.”

Before you know it, Mark is in your car. You’re both quiet, and you try to focus on the music playing from your phone, humming along at some lines. Mark stares out the window. You try to reach over for his hand, and he lets you hold it, but he doesn’t reciprocate much.

“I’m sorry for kind of ghosting,” he says before clearing his throat. “Life hasn’t been easy lately. I just couldn’t see you.” You nod, even though it’s hard to understand his words, for they’re so vague. You figure it’s something having to do with college tuition, or something of the sort. It was stressful, for you had thought about that too, being out of high school for two years then. You could see why that would distance him.

“It’s okay,” you answer with a subtle grin. He does the same.

“Let’s go. I need a distraction.”

And you drive away. You’re driving down the busy streets and then the quiet, empty streets. You feel happiness and relief grow inside you, knowing Mark is no longer isolating or shutting you out. You squeeze his hand.

You reach the shore after several more minutes, the familiar sound of waves crashing and wind blowing through the trees filling your ears. It brings immediate comfort, carrying the various memories of quotes you loved so dearly being read by Mark as you sat on his lap.

“Can we swim?” Mark asks, and for some reason, he speaks with sadness. You say yes to the idea, for he asked, and you want him to be happy.

Soon enough you’re in the water, and it’s rather warm, despite the overcast skies. While you walk out deeper, Mark lags behind in the shallow. You walk back, hooking your arm around his, taking him with you.

The waves grow bigger once the wind picks up, sometimes swallowing your body beneath the water; meanwhile, Mark tries to stay above. You swim back towards him, since he apparently likes being in the shallow, and jump on his back. He lets out a laugh as you wrap your arms around him.

“Don’t let me drown,” you scold. He grabs onto your legs, walking further out into the water. When waves roll over, he turns around so your backs crash against them. Eventually, you jump off his torso, and he turns around so he’s facing you. He glares at you for a moment, then looks down at the water. He looks so calm, so peaceful, just standing right in front of you. You wish you could kiss his full, soft lips. You just know Mark’s a good kisser; you can tell just by the way he carries himself, how he speaks, the habit he has of licking his lips every so often.

Time passes, and you try your best to relax out in the water, even though the waves seem to be stronger as each minute passes. Mark starts drifting further away from you. You keep an eye on him, for the waves become stronger, and Mark gets farther, and you become more worried. You try to swim to him, but his body just gets smaller and smaller until it eventually disappears. You shout for him, and in the distance, you can see him coughing, struggling to keep above the surface.

“Mark?” you shout. He makes it out of the deep end, but once you finally reach him, he’s limp and weak. You drag his body back to shore as he lets out short coughs, water coming up each time, until he finally stops. When you lay his body on the sand, his eyes are still, and you feel his body freeze.

“Mark,” you panic, trying to keep him conscious. “Mark, can you hear me? Look at me, Mark, please.”

You put your ear to his chest, and there’s no movement or sound, and you panic even more. You look around, but there’s not a single other person in sight. You put a hand on his cold cheek, lightly slapping him, trying to get him to regain consciousness, but to no avail.

“Mark, please,” your eyes are welling up with tears as you panic. You remember what you learned ten years before in your CPR certification course; CAB; compression, airway, breath. You straddled his torso, putting all your weight into your palms as you pump his chest. Your tears fall right onto the sand, and you quickly try to wipe them away from your cheeks. You then tilt back his head, opening his mouth just slightly, pausing before leaning down to put your lips to his. You breathe hard, trying to get any and all life back into him. You were right; his lips are soft, but you didn’t want to have yours on them at that moment; you wanted to kiss him, really kiss him. Not try to save him from dying.

“Mark, come on.” You wait a moment for him to wake up, those seconds feeling like hours. You start to pump his chest again, until finally, water spurts up from his mouth as he coughs.

“Mark, hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” you comfort him as he coughs harder and harder. You give him space as he turns onto his stomach, holding himself up by his forearms. You grab his shoulders for extra support as he tries to catch his breath.

“I can’t,” he heaves in between coughs. He starts breathing heavily and quickly, and when he barks up another cough, there’s blood covering his forearm. You immediately panic again. He starts breathing heavily again, his eyes shut, head hanging loose towards the ground.

“Mark, we have to go to a hospital, can you make it to the car?” you help him stand up by wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You look over to him, and his face shows no emotion, but his eyelids are heavy and blood drips from his mouth. As you look at him, you brush a loose strand of hair from his face. He nods slowly, grabbing onto your free hand tight as he struggles to stand. He starts coughing more once we reach the car.

Once you’re settled in the car, you scramble to find a water bottle, but there’s nothing. “Just hang in there okay,” you tell Mark. He looks at you slowly, and you can tell he needs to say something. You grab his hand, squeezing tight. “What is it, Mark?”

“S-severance Hospital, go there,” he says, his voice gritty and dry. You nod, squeezing his hand again. He doesn't squeeze back.

Why did he lie?

They had to admit Mark into the hospital that week. You go to see him every day, and it’s hard, for he doesn’t seem to improve at all over the last few days. You still don’t know what’s wrong with him, but you figure he just was still coming down from his cold, and nearly drowning didn’t really help his recovery.

It’s a week since Mark was admitted, and you're sitting next to the bed where he rests, and he watches whatever series the hospital has on their TV. He looks like he’s hurting. There are tubes connecting him to the machines next to the bed, along with a nasal catheter, and an obnoxious beep comes from the vital monitor with each beat of his heart.

“Do you know when you can leave?” you ask Mark, grabbing his attention again. He slowly turns his head to look at you.

“No. Hopefully by the weekend.” He pulls the covers over his body more, getting more comfortable beneath the sheets. “You should head home. You’ve been here every day.”

You stand up so you can sit on the bed, putting one arm over Mark, brushing the brown locks of hair behind his ear. He moves his legs to make room.

“I need to know you’re okay.”

He looks the opposite direction from you, letting out a short breath. You grab his hand and hold it. His fingers are cold and dry beneath yours, and he turns his head towards me again and smiles small. He glances at your hands, and suddenly, his expression drops. He’s sad again. You wonder why.

“They said you saved my life. You gave me CPR,” Mark notes. You smile and nod.

“I did,” you answer. Mark chuckles.

“How was it? Kissing me,” he asks, and you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder gently. He smacks your hand lightly, and you shake your head, showing how utterly sick of him you were in that moment.

“It was disgusting.” You purse your lips and Mark frowns. Your heart skips a beat, for he looks so cute with his pouty face. You want to actually kiss him, but you just don’t know if he’d reciprocate, or if that’s how he truly thinks of you. “And it wasn’t a kiss. I was trying to save you.”

Mark’s frown fades, and he looks at his lap, then up at you, then back at his lap again. “You should try and save me again.”

You smirk, and you don’t catch yourself leaning down to kiss him; he grabs your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. You shiver under his touch, the feeling electric; like he was sending his energy through you right through his fingertips.

“But you’re not dying right now,” you whisper, your lips just inches away from his. The tips of your noses touch, and Mark moves his hands from your face to your shoulders.

Mark’s smile fades.

“I am.”

You chuckle, cupping his face in your hands. “Shut up.”

Mark looks at your eyes as his hands fall from your shoulders. “I am. I’m dying.”

As if on cue, the doctor bursts through the door, and you quickly pull away from Mark. He looks at you with a certain gaze, and your heart feels heavy. You stand from the bed, and Mark reaches for your hand.

“Nice to see you again, Mark,” the doctor greets. He looks at the machines standing next to the bed, examining the different components. “Are you feeling any better?”

Silence grows in the room once Mark answers no. The doctor doesn’t seem shocked. You look at Mark, your eyebrows furrowed, lip quivering.

“Well, it seems you’ve gotten worse since your last visit. You’ve been taking all your medications and doing treatments, right?” The doctor shows great concern in this conversation. The look on his face is a mixture of worrisome and angry. Meanwhile, you're completely confused. You feel the need to leave the room, so you start towards the door, until Mark calls for you. You turn around.

“Would you like to be alone? I can come back,” the doctor asks awkwardly. You shake your head, leaving the room. Mark calls for you again. You reluctantly turn back, and the look on his face breaks your heart. He looks at you with a look that reads, I need you, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach.

You stand next to him, and the doctor quickly exits. Mark sits up, grabbing your hand, looking at you with sorry eyes.

“I have cystic fibrosis. It’s why I moved here—to participate in a clinical trial. I’m not going to school, I’m living in this hospital to do the trial.”

You sit down on the bed, looking ahead of you at the floor. The air seems to leave your lungs, and you struggle to catch your breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, voice barely audible. Mark looks at you, and there are tears in his eyes. He tugs on your hand, and you look away as you feel tears welling up too quickly to hold back. “You should have told me.”

Mark bites his lip, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says. “I just wanted to be more than my sickness. I wanted to feel like a person to you. I’ve never felt the way I have with you.”

You look at Mark, and he smiles at you, but you can’t smile back. “You’re more than just a person to me,” you assure him. “But you should have told me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Mark repeats. “Before, I never let myself fall for anyone, because I thought I’d be dead the next day. But I couldn’t not fall for you.”

You sigh, a small smile forming on your lips. Before you can process it, Mark’s face is just inches from yours, holding your face in his hands. You bring your body closer to his, leaning into his space. You think, finally, he’s going to kiss you, but you’re wrong. He just sits there, breathing you in. You lean in closer, but he just pulls farther back. You sigh as you stand.

An uncomfortable stillness envelops the room. You wipe your eyes as Mark watches you closely. You breathe in deep, then grab Mark’s hand.

“I think I should go home,” you say softly. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Mark nods. “I think that’d be good. Just get some rest.”

Once you reach your car, you sit there for several moments. Then, you let it all go; you cry hard, loud, and violently. As you think about Mark laying in that flat and uncomfortable bed, trying his hardest to simply take a breath, tears fall from your eyes and the beating in your chest speeds up. Before you can allow yourself to get any angrier or upset, you drive off, going fast through the roads to your home. You sit in your car again, staring at the garage door in front of you. You start to wonder. You wonder about Mark.

Should you fall out of love?

Can you fall out of love?

Is it okay to be mad at him when you love him?

Why did he lie?

What will you do without him?

You don’t see Mark until a week after he was released from the hospital. You spend those days alone, processing the fact that someday, there will be no more Mark; even though you had only known him for a few months, the idea hurt you immensely. You also spent that time cursing yourself for being so upset. Of course Mark was going to die someday; so were you. You both were going to die. You wondered why you were so distraught.

To your surprise, when you visit Mark for the first time after the hospital, he isn’t in bed. Instead, you find him in the room next to his bedroom. The walls are a pleasant gray color, and the sun shining through the window adds more color and light to the room. The space is pretty empty, minus a few more machines that you assume are for Mark’s treatments, the oxygen tank that sends air to Mark’s nose, and right against the wall—a piano. Upright, black, and polished. And before it sits Mark, his eyes scanning the keys, but not playing them. You close the door behind you, which grabs Mark’s attention. He barely smiles as he glances up at me.

“Hey,” you greet. You walk closer to him. He makes space on the piano bench, and you take a seat next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice dry and quiet.

“For what?”

He slithers his hand slowly towards yours then he grips onto your fingers. “You know why.”

At first, you don’t know what to say. There isn’t even much to say.

“It’s okay,” you rub his shoulder, then reach your hand across the span of his back, pulling him close. “It’s okay.”

You sit in silence for a moment, just looking at one another, waiting for the other to speak. Mark then looks down at the piano keys, then back at you.

“I wrote you a song.” Mark says out of the blue. Your heart begins to race as you process the fact that Mark has sat down by himself, that notebook in hand, thinking about you and what words to conjure up that describe how he feels for you, imagining singing it right to you.

“W-why?” you ask, your voice breaking up as you speak.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

You smile as blood rushes to your cheeks, and you hang your head, hiding your face in your hands. Mark doesn’t touch you, but when you look up again, he’s still watching you with the soft smile he always has. You cover your lips as you can’t control the grin on your face. He puts his hands on the keys, just about to press down, until you put your hand on his, halting him from proceeding.

“Wait,” you interrupt. “I’m not ready.”

“What do you mean?” Mark laughs.

You let out a deep breath. “What’s the song about?”

Mark chuckles. “You, silly.”

“No, I mean, what about me, I—”

“Just listen.”

Mark puts his hands back on the keys, concentrating on the correct placement, then he presses down and the room fills with the sweet sound of an A major chord. You wait for Mark to sing, and it seems like forever until he finally starts to sing. The sound of his voice sends chills down your arms and spine.

Our lives are made

In these small hoursThese little wonders

These twists and turns of fate

You feel a warmth rush through your veins soon after, and goosebumps on your arms and thighs begin to rise. Mark sings, and you try damn hard not to cry, because his voice is oh-so comforting; it is the warmth of the sun on a spring morning, it is the smell of clean linen, it is the hug from your mother after a long day of school; it’s everything good in the world, wrapped up in the soundwaves of this single person’s vocal chords.

Time falls away

But these small hoursThese small hours

Still remain

He repeats the melody several times before playing the last few chords, repeating these small hours, these small hours still remain, and the chords become quieter and quieter, until Mark’s fingers lift from the piano keys.

More tears fall down your face as you look at Mark. You reach for his hand, slowly gripping onto it. You feel his flesh beneath your fingers, and you let out a sigh of relief, because he’s here. You see him and you feel him, and he’s alive.

He finally looks at you, and there are tears in his eyes too. He looks down at your lips, then back into your eyes. You feel your heart start to crack, for you can tell just by the look in his eyes that he’s tired.

“Thank you,” you say finally. He grabs your hand and holds it tight, and your heart fully breaks at that moment. You stand up from the piano bench, turning away from him, letting the tears fall fast and hard. You thought you cried all that you could in those several days where Mark was still in the hospital, but you were wrong. You were so wrong; your eyes can’t seem to stop watering.

You hear Mark get up behind you. He quickly stands, then walks in front of you, putting his hands on your cheeks, wiping the tears that just don’t seem to stop coming.

Mark takes you in his arms as you cry. You let out all the emotions you have felt since the day you met him, all the confusion you felt since he told you he was dying. All the sadness you’ve felt since you realized how much you love him, the pain of thinking this could be the last time he holds you, or this could be the last time you smell his scent, or the last time you feel his arms around you.

“I’ll be okay,” he whispers to you. That only causes more sobs to escape. You suddenly can’t breathe, for your cries have become too much, and your face is buried in the curve of Mark’s neck and shoulder. You hold him tighter, feeling his torso on each centimeter of your arms.

“This trial,” you finally say, lifting your head from Mark’s shoulder. “It’s gonna keep you here, right? You won’t—you’re not gonna be dying anymore, right?”

Mark wipes your tears and tucks the strands of hair that cover your face. “I hope so. We really hope.”

“What’s hope? It’s gonna work, right? I mean, it’s science, it’s supposed to help, it’ll keep you here—”

“It’ll work. It’s not as simple as taking a pill every day, but it will work.”

Mark smiles, and he pokes your cheek, and you smile, too. His eyes travel from your gaze, to your nose, then your lips, then your neck, until he burrows his face in the crook between your shoulder and neck. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close.

He continues his path to the back of your neck, and before you know it, he's pulling your face closer to his—slowly but surely. you sharply breathe momentarily, trying to comprehend Mark's actions.

"Y/N," he says as your foreheads touch. "I want to kiss you. Just this once." He looks down at your lips. You try to answer, but when you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Your heart has sunk so deep within your chest, and your throat hurts so bad from crying that you simply can’t talk. Instead, you nod.

Mark brings his hands down along the length of your arms, then around your waist. He looks up at you again, your lips now just barely touching. You place your hand on his soft cheek as you pull him closer. And then, without hesitation, he kisses you. You let him do it the way he wants to, which is smooth, soft, subtle and effective. You hold onto the kiss as he tries to pull away. But eventually, his lips are disconnected, and he whispers, "Just once."

Contrary to what you expected for your first kiss, your heart slows down to a steady pace, and you feel relaxed. Less worried about what Mark just revealed to you; given you can feel his lips on yours, and you can feel his hair and skin beneath your fingertips. You feel him, he’s alive, he’s there with you.

You want nothing more in the world then but to kiss him more. Just one more time. One more chance to feel his lips against yours, one more chance to hold his delicate face in your hands, one more chance to just feel him. But Mark glances down to the area of your chest, and rests his forehead on your shoulder. You pull him closer, his head buried in between your neck and shoulder, and his arms wrap tighter around your torso.

He finally looks up at you again, a shooting pain runs through your chest.

He places his hand on your cheek. “‘I’m sorry.”

You wonder, what will I do without him?

Are you still in love?

Every day for the next two weeks, you show up at Mark’s house at the same time. Each visit, he’d be laying in bed, either sleeping or writing in his songbook. As each day passed, he talked less, he didn’t smile as big, and his eyes became more sullen.

There’s one week left until Mark would go to the hospital indefinitely to start the clinical trial. His mother would often be packing bags, preparing for his stay.

“Welcome.” His mother opens the door one day and you slowly step in. You told her you would help her gather Mark’s things and organize them for his stay, as much as she said she didn’t need the help, you wanted an excuse to be around Mark.

“Mark is upstairs,” Mrs. Lee instructs. You smile at her before you walk up the stairs. Once you reach the next floor, there are multiple rooms, and you go to the only familiar one where Mark rests. His room is completely silent, other than the barely audible piano music playing from a small speaker next to his bed. He lays on the bed, eyes nearly shut, covered in blankets.

Once he hears you step in the room, his eyes seem to light up. To your surprise, a smile forms on his face.

“Hey, Mark.” You walk closer to the bed. He doesn’t speak. He just smiles. You sit down in the cushioned chair in the corner, but Mark immediately motions for you to come near him. You kneel next to the bed, where there’s a single machine keeping track of Mark’s vitals. The noise starts to become more and more familiar to you.

Mark attempts a deep breath, but it’s shorter than anticipated. He turns over onto his side so he’s facing you. You help him become more comfortable by adjusting the pillows behind his head, then tucking the blankets over him further.

“Is this okay?” you ask him as you place your hand on his shoulder. He nods.

“Perfect.”

Neither of you speak as you sit down again. The music slowly fades out before beginning a new song. It’s a slow and peaceful song, and you can tell Mark is focused on it. As he brushes his fingers over your hand, he presses against your arm along with the melody of the song. you laugh, and so does he.

Once the song is halfway over, Mark’s mother walks in. She has a small plate in her hands, and suddenly, the scent of hotteok fills your nose. You look at Mark, and he smiles again. Mrs. Lee sets the plate on the table next to the bed, and Mark immediately reaches for the food. you grab one of the cakes for him, tearing off a piece and putting it to his mouth. The corners of his lips turn up as he chews. You take a piece for yourself.

Time passes, and you eat the remainder of the hotteok, listening to the music pouring from the speakers. Mark closes his eyes now and then, but you hold his hand again, and he opens his eyes again. And in between all that, he has coughing attacks, and then complains about a sore throat. You give him water each time.

You can tell Mark has grown to be rather drowsy, but he still asks you to sit in bed with him. You gladly crawl under the covers, and the whole time, he’s smiling. You take note of the way his eyes brighten when he grins, for it makes your heart pound out of pure love and admiration. If you could keep him here and make him smile for the rest of his life, you would.

You’re both beneath the duvet, and Mark’s small body is curled up next to yours. He practically covers you entirely, for he is now laying right on top of you. His body weight is light—and you know it’s a bad thing. As you run your hand up and down his back, you feel his ribs through his skin, along with the short breaths he takes. He starts to drift off, and he’s aware, because as soon as his eyelids begin to fall he picks up his head to look at you.

“Y/N.” His voice sounds the same whenever he repeats your name, but each time, it’s something new. Your heart still races and your stomach always tingles.

You brush a strand of hair from his forehead, continuing to stroke his brown locks. “What is it?”

He looks down in embarrassment, but you gently place your fingers below his chin, and he picks his head up again. He blushes as you look him in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you again?”

His question makes the air in your lungs vanish. Again, you lose all ability to speak, and you just end up staring at him like an idiot. But, you don’t need to answer this time, because Mark goes ahead and kisses you without warning. You move your hand back down to his waist, wrapping your arm around him. He places his hands on both your cheeks which sends your whole body into a shudder. The feeling of him being this close to you is one you wish you could experience many times after this, but you know that isn’t the case, so you savor each millisecond and the touch of his fingers on your face and our hearts beating right along with one another.

Mark stops the kiss for a moment, only to give you one last peck. You keep your eyes closed as he pulls away.

“Can I just…I don’t know,” Mark trails on, flustered. You grab onto his hand to reassure him that he can talk to you. “Will you let me just, touch you?”

You nod.

And his fingers are brushing against the features of your face—your dry lips, the area beneath your eyes, the edges of your eyelids, all along your hairline, then his hands are rustling the strands atop your head. The feeling is soothing and sends you into a calm state. You softly close your eyes, and Mark continues feeling you. His touches move from your head down to your neck and collarbone. His thumb grazes over your throat, which tickles, and you let out a small chuckle. He then traces the length of your clavicle, which leads him to your shoulder. He pulls down your t-shirt to reveal more of your skin. you don’t expect him to start to softly kiss the area. The action causes me to shiver, especially when his hands sneak beneath the hem of your shirt. His hands explore your body as you feel the goosebumps rise all over your arms and your legs.

“Y/N,” Mark says for the umpteenth time. He takes his hands and places them on your shoulders. He rests his head on your chest. “Find someone better than me, okay?”

“That’s impossible.”

Mark sighs. “Find someone who will live long enough to love you.”

“You will live long enough. You’re going to be a part of this amazing trial in just a few days, right? You’ll be fine,” you reassure. “You were the one talking about hope. It’s gonna work.”

Mark sighs before he purses his lips. He nods.

Mark eventually falls asleep, and he’s still resting on top of you. You gently get up and place his body in a comfortable position, covering his shoulders with the blankets, and adjusting the cannula to his nose, making sure he’s getting the oxygen he needs. Once he’s still again, you make your way out of the bed. You kneel next to him before you leave.

You softly brush your fingertips over his face, tracing his hairline, feeling the soft hair behind his ear, down his jawline and neck. You feel the area where his pulse beats, and when you feel the rhythmic oscillation, you feel the worry and anxiousness lift off your shoulders. You take note of how he’s slowly breathing and how his pulse continually beats beneath your fingers.

Once the outside sky turns into a dark void, you tell yourself that Mark should rest without admiring him. You stand up, bending over Mark's face. You place a soft kiss on his forehead, and you wonder, am I still in love?

Should I have fallen in love?

You wake up the next day with five missed calls from Mark. You immediately feel relentless worry bubble up inside you. Your heart paces as you call him back, praying it’s Mark who answers, and not his mother. Your heart stops when you hear his husky voice tell you good morning.

“Mark,” you breathe. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay. I just need you to do something for me.”

You pause. “What is it?”

“Take me to my beach. Just one last time before I leave.”

Hearing him say last time makes the temporary excitement in you vanish completely. The way he says it—you can tell he’s sad. But you don’t want him to be sad. So you put on your best outfit, throw your book into your bag, and drive over to Mark’s home.

He’s already sitting out on the front lawn. You jump out of your car to see him. You notice he doesn’t have his little oxygen tank, and he’s breathing on his own.

“Hi Mark,” you greet, sitting next to the boy. He looks at you but he doesn’t smile. You try not to think much of it. “Do you wanna go?”

He nods. So you hook your arm around his and help him stand, grabbing his oxygen from the garage where he set it before, and eventually getting him into the car.

As you drive, he stays quiet, which you expect due to his rather glum mood. You reach your hand over towards him, placing it on his leg. He softly covers it with his beautiful fingers, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. You glance at him, and he’s looking down at your hands.

“You’re okay,” you tell him, almost more so reassuring yourself rather than him. You don’t necessarily know what’s bothering him—other than the fact that his days are numbered if this trial doesn’t work—but you reassure him anyway. You know it’s what he needs.

You reach the bumpy back roads which indicates you’re almost to your destination. Mark occasionally starts coughing a lot, and you worry, but you’ve learned that’s normal for him. He gets over it within a matter of seconds. At one point, you look over at Mark, and you can tell he’s studying the trees and bushes and small buildings we pass by as we drive. His eyes are slightly squinted, the window slightly rolled down for fresh air. All you can think is he is so damn beautiful.

You take one last turn before parking right before the stretch of woods. Mark slowly gets out—slow enough for you to exit and help him. He takes your hand, and you walk.

You lay out your beach blanket, and you help Mark sit down, positioning his oxygen right next to him. You sit next to him closely. Once your feet sink into the sand, it seems as if Mark sinks deeper into sadness, and you sink further into guilt. All you wanted was to reassure him, to remind him how he’d make it out of that hospital; but none of it seems to work.

You grab your bag and pull out the book, your book, and gesture towards Mark. He smiles and nods, and you open to the page you both left off on. You have reached Part V, The Happy Years. You brought your annotation kit, for you and Mark like to mark your favorite quotes and write down all your thoughts.

“…he too felt that his relationship with Jude existed to no one but themselves: it seemed something sacred, and fought-for, and unique to them.”

“Mark that one,” Mark says. You nod, grabbing a sticky note sticking it to the page. He puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer as you continue reading.

“That one too,” Mark says. And he repeats it throughout the night as you continue to read. You read and read and read, until the sun sets, until Mark has to hold his phone up to the book so you can actually see the words on the pages.

“But now he knows for certain how true the axiom is, because he himself––his very life––has proven it. The person I was will always be the person I am, he realizes. The context may have changed: he may be in this apartment, and he may have a job that he enjoys and that pays him well, and he may have parents and friends he loves.”

You read almost 100 pages that night, until you close the book, looking up at Mark.

“I’m really tired,” you comment. Mark pulls his arm from around your shoulders.

“Me too,” Mark says. “I have to get to the hospital kinda early tomorrow.”

You put the book back into your bag, and you stand before helping Mark as well. He lets out a breath as he straightens his back. You grab his oxygen, carrying it to the car for him. He lets out a deep breath as he sits in the passenger seat. You put a hand on his forehead, and he turns his head towards you, and you kiss him tenderly. He barely reciprocates, but you don’t get upbeat about it. You know he’s tired.

“Do you feel okay?” you ask before you drive away. Mark looks over at you, and his eyes are dull and sullen.

“Spend the night with me.”

You look at him for a moment, then you nod. “Okay.”

You help each other set up a mini fort in the piano room, which ends up just becoming a pile of soft pillows and fluffy blankets. Mark throws some pillows at you jokingly, and your heart feels relief as you witness Mark’s true lightheartedness seep through the true pain he was in.

You tell Mark to rest while you go to the kitchen and get some snacks. You meet Mark’s mother who is already making popcorn in the microwave.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you greet. She smiles at your appearance.

“Hello, dear,” she replies happily. The microwave beeps immediately after she speaks. As she takes out the bag, she walks over to the island in the middle of the kitchen where all of Mark’s supplements are sorted out.

“Want me to take those up for him?”

She nods. As she closes the caps to the several pill bottles, you can tell she’s sad. you want to say something, but you don’t know what.

“Thank you, dear.” She looks up at you with a glint in her eye.

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Lee.” you ask as you walk closer to her.

“No, thank you for making my son happy again. I swear, the minute he realized how serious this sickness was, he was so…sad. He was so closed off. He stopped his piano and singing. He barely spoke to anyone. He knew if he became attached to anyone, leaving them would hurt too much. You really changed him.”

You don’t know what to say. You feel like crying a little. So you don’t say anything. You just smile.

“He adores you so much.”

“I love him,” you spit out. You can’t catch yourself saying it, but it just comes out, and Mrs. Lee looks surprised for a moment. “I know we’re young, and maybe we don’t really know what love is, but if love is a feeling, I think it’s what I feel for him.”

There’s a long pause, but you focus on the growing scent of popcorn to distract yourself. Mrs. Lee slides the bowl of pills over to you before patting your back. “Go have fun.”

So you walk up the steps again, and you already hear the sound of the piano coming from the room. You smile to yourself as you listen from outside the door. Although it does sound dark and solemn, it’s fast paced, and you can hear a slight energy behind each note. You can tell Mark hasn’t played like this in a while.

You crack the door open, not wanting Mark to notice you. Even as you begin to creep inside, he continues to play like there’s no tomorrow. You feel your smile growing bigger and bigger the further into the song he gets. You walk towards him, no longer caring if he notices. You watch his fingers press down on the keys repetitively.

Instead of turning around and looking at you again when he finishes, Mark stays staring at the keys. You place the bowl of popcorn on the ground, then wrap your arms around his chest, resting your chin on his shoulder. He sets his hand over your arm and softly strokes it.

“You okay?” you ask him with a soft tone. He then starts to stand again, facing you. He softly nods with a small smile, which you can tell is fake, before standing on his toes and placing a light kiss on your cheek. He walks over to the pile of blankets and pillows. You grab the popcorn and join him.

He grabs the laptop from beside where he spreads his body to rest, and you do the same. His head is nuzzled up on your shoulder, hands resting either on your chest or your stomach. He turns on a movie, which you assume is his favorite. Dead Poets Society. You don’t have to look twice to see how happy he is to be watching it.

While he has his focus on the movie, you’re focused on Mark. As he chows down on the popcorn, you make sure he’s okay; you place a kiss on his forehead, and sometimes, he’ll kiss you straight on the lips. Each time, his lips are salty from the popcorn, but you don’t care, because it’s Mark you're kissing.

It’s about the middle of the movie when Mark suddenly closes the laptop and sets it away. He rests against your body again, letting his weight sink into your side. He groans a little before he crawls on top of you completely. He has one leg on either side of your waist, and he grabs your face in his hands, looking right at your lips, but he doesn’t try to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his small body and pull him closer.

“Y/N.” You hold his hand, for you’ve learned that when Mark says your name this way, he’s going to say something important. His eyes glisten from the streetlight slipping through the blinds of the window above you. He looks down, letting out a sigh. Picking his head up again, he says, “you’re so beautiful.”

He kisses you—just once—softly and delicately. But he keeps his face close to yours, so your foreheads are touching along with your noses. You run your hand up and down his spine, feeling each vertebrae, taking note of his slow breaths. Eventually, Mark lets his body fully collapse on yours. You wrap your arms completely around him so he’s even more close to you. His arms are now loosely around your neck, stroking your hair.

You roll over to where he’s on his back and you’re straddling his waist. He puts his hands on your hips, stroking the length of your thigh, up and down, and the feeling makes your breath hitch a little and the butterflies in your stomach release. You wanted Mark so badly then, you felt your whole body tingle.

“I love you, Mark.”

He pauses as he looks up at you. You hear him swallow hard, and his heartbeat speeds up as you place a hand on his chest. The feeling of each thump beneath your skin reassures you. He’s here, he’s alive, he’s with you, and he’s Mark. You want to see him fully, in his purest form, so you tug at the hem of his sweatshirt, and he sits up to pull the cloth over his head.

“I love you, Y/N.” He pulls you closer, kissing you deep and tenderly. You let yourself lay on his side, keeping one leg wrapped over his lap. He pulls away from your kiss and looks at you longingly. “Can I?”

He gestures to your shirt, and you nod, ridding yourself of the clothing. When he pulls you closer and your chests touch, an electric field seems to form between you, keeping you both within each other’s orbit, unable to pull away. He caresses your back as you touch all over his torso. As each second passes, your heart becomes more eager and your stomach grows more tingly. Mark touches your hips, and you feel like you want to implode; you want him touching you all over, but such a thing is impossible all at once. You want a thousand years to spend with him so you can explore all of him, you want him all to yourself, you never want him to let go; your selfish need to have him all over you was a craving too insatiable.

“Mark,” you exhale. “Please, fucking live. You can’t die.”

Mark lets out a deep breath through his nose as your foreheads touch. He frowns, and you kiss him softly. He’s going to cry. You can feel it in the air, you can see it in his face.

“Mark, don’t cry.” You take his hands from his face, holding them tightly. Tears are forming in your eyes faster than you want them to. Then they suddenly attack completely, falling like waterfalls down your cheeks.

You swallow hard. “We have now okay? I’m here, you’re here. It’s okay,” your voice cracks as you speak. He nods slowly. “We have this right now. And you’re gonna get better from the trial. Just keep looking at me, okay?”

Mark looks down. “I’m so tired,” he breathes. “I’m tired of everything. I need this to work, I’m so goddamn tired.”

“I know, Mark, but it’s gone too far. I’m in love with you. And if you give up, I’ll fucking die, I think. So you have to keep going. Even though you’re tired.”

Mark sighs, his breath shaky as it leaves his lips. You blink slowly, pressing your forehead against his. He puts a hand on your cheek. “I shouldn’t have let you love me.”

You purse your lips. “We both knew, Mark. There wasn’t any stopping it.”

“We should sleep,” Mark suggests, obviously not wanting to talk about the topic any longer. He lays himself down on his back, pulling the blankets over his body. You stay sitting up as you watch him. “Lay down, Y/N.”

You follow his instructions, resting your body next to his. You immediately begin to feel your body and your mind grow more and more tired. As you close your eyes and let out a breath, Mark pokes at your side, grabbing your attention again. You look over at him, and he’s facing you as he rests on his side. Instead of touching him, you admire him—his round eyes that glare at me longingly, his cute nose, his pretty lips, his velvet skin. His eyelids slowly droop as he looks at you.

You can tell he doesn’t feel like speaking. He just wants to be there. So you let him do that. Mark crawls closer to you, bringing your faces close together again. You close your eyes as you feel his hands on your arms, stroking them slowly. You hold your breath, and you stay frozen, for Mark seems so precious and fragile at this point—you don’t want to break him any more than you already have.

You open your eyes for a moment to see Mark’s are shut. You sneak your arm behind his back, bringing him closer. You do it gently, just like the way you kiss him after. Slow and gentle. You hold on to the kiss as you take in the feeling of his lips—soft, sweet. He barely kisses back, and you know it’s because he’s so drained. He just wants to let go. He wants to get the heartache over with. He just wants to be done.

You pull away, and he looks up at you.

“Y/N.”

You worry.

“I’m sorry,” he says. You shake your head.

“You have no reason to be sorry. Just rest, Mark,” you instruct him.

“I shouldn’t have let you love me,” he says again.

You wonder. Maybe I shouldn’t have fallen in love.

What does he dream about?

Mark was admitted to the hospital on November 21. You visited him for the first time on November 22. He made sure to show you around the facility, for he already knew you would be basically living there along with him. It was a nice hospital, if hospitals could be considered nice. There were decorations on each door for the patients, which you could tell were all like Mark—18-24 years old, all living with CF, participating in the drug trial. You imagined a utopia where the trial worked and Mark would be part of some life-changing scientific study; you imagined reading the peer-reviewed journals of the entire experiment that would save millions across the globe, including Mark, who you loved so dearly.

But that was early on. You only saw Mark a few days after he first was admitted, as it was Christmas time, and for winter break, you always visited your family out of state. You facetimed Mark every day, though, and he’d update you on all the things he cared for most; he started reading your book by himself, and he was writing songs every day. He never mentioned how he was feeling, or how the trial was going. He got his first dose of the drug on November 25. You texted him immediately when you woke up that day.

How do you feel?

i haven’t had the drug yet, so still like shit lol

Oh, well let me know when you get it! I’m so excited for you!

<3 i miss u

I miss you too. One more week!!!

You’re walking downtown with your family one night after dinner, when you go into a souvenir store with your cousin, where you find lots of various gifts for Mark. You end up buying him a bracelet made of crystal beads, all a dark green color that reminds you of him. You also buy him a sweatshirt. You noticed him wearing sweatshirts in all your facetime calls, giving him one more couldn’t hurt, and you could rest well knowing a piece of you was with him at all times, enveloping him in warmth like the hugs you wish you could give him over and over.

When you get home, the first thing you do is wrap all the little things you bought and found for Mark. You decide to write him a little letter as well, which you fold up into the gift bag. You leave for the hospital as soon as you get home, not wanting to waste a single moment longer away from Mark.

Your heart is beating fast when you grab your visitor's pass, but your heart beats even faster as the elevator moves up the several floors. You haven’t seen Mark in exactly 9 days, and for you, that was 9 days too long. You practically run to his room as soon as you’re in the unit, and his door is closed like normal, and you smile to yourself when you see his decorative name tag on the door. Mark. You can’t wait to say his name again, you can’t wait to see the smile on his face as you say it.

When the nurse opens the door for you, Mark is fast asleep, lying on his side. Some Marvel movie is playing on the television, but you can’t decipher which one. You take a seat on the chair next to his bed. You scoot closer, putting your hand over his, stroking his hair with your other hand. His eyes slowly flutter open, and you smile, witnessing him in his peaceful slumber brings a certain lift to your spirit. You wonder what he dreams about; if he has weird dreams like the rest of us, or if he has lovely dreams, or nightmares. You hope not. He suffers enough, and you think to yourself, if you could crawl inside his brain and fend off any negative thoughts that might seep in during his slumber, you’d do so.

“Mark,” you say. He smiles as his eyes open just enough to see you. He immediately tries to sit up and reaches his arms out. “Mark, Mark, Mark.”

He hugs you, eventually pulling you off the chair and onto the bed. “Hi,” he says, and you giggle as you lay on your side, facing your boy. He smiles too, holding your face in his hands, and god, you missed the feeling so bad. You put your forehead against his and close your eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper. Mark doesn’t hesitate to kiss you. His lips are warm and gentle, and your heart skips a beat as he kisses you deeper.

“Did you—”

You can’t get another word out because Mark keeps kissing you. You don’t mind, but your curiosities are eating you alive. You need to know if he’s feeling any better, if the drug is working yet, if he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning by his own lungs. Mark kisses you deeper, then resorts to small pecks, and you can tell he’s short of breath.

“Did you get the drug? How are you feeling? Is it working?”

Mark smiles. “Yes. And I’m okay. Just have some nausea, but that’s one of the side effects.”

You nod as you reach down for Mark’s hand, holding it tight. “What are the other side effects?”

Mark sighs. “Rash, respiratory infection, headache, dizziness. To name a few.”

You furrow your eyebrows and purse your lips. The list Mark just relayed doesn’t sound good, but you try not to worry. “And you’ve been feeling okay?”

Mark nods as he laughs. “Yes, yes. I’m okay. You don’t have to worry.”

“You were dying just two weeks ago, I’m going to worry, you know.” You’re relieved when Mark lets out a chuckle. You’re just not sure the extent to which your jokes can go, and you figure just about as far as they can go, given Mark’s days were just numbered, so he must know not to be hung up on dark jokes. Except you weren’t really joking; you were terrified with your life of how Mark was feeling.

“You gotta understand, I’m gonna have bad days. Doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gonna die, though.”

You sigh as you nod. Mark kisses your forehead, and you smile. “I brought you some stuff. From vacation.”

Mark puckers his lips in interest, and you laugh at his face, because it’s just too cute. You reach over to the table where you set down the gift bag, and you and Mark sit up as you hand him the bag. He reaches for the sweatshirt first. It’s simple, just the classic tourist-style design, but he still smiles and holds it close to his chest anyway.

“I sprayed my perfume on it so it smells like me,” you inform, chuckling under your breath. Mark holds it to his nose, and he immediately looks over at you lovingly. He takes out the oxygen cannula from his nose before pulling the sweatshirt he currently wears over his head, revealing his bare skin, and you hate yourself for it, but your mouth waters. His body isn’t anything special—except it is, because it’s Mark’s. You lick your lips and bite down to hold back any giggles that fight to escape your vocal chords. Mark puts the sweatshirt on, and you smile as it fits him loosely, he looks so cozy and cuddle-able.

“Cute,” you comment. “Now open the rest.”

Mark follows your command, reaching inside the bag and pulling out the various little things you found for him. The first was a bag of seashells you found on the beach, both big and small, and Mark pulled out one that must have caught his eye. He admires it closely before putting it back in the bag. He then pulls out the bracelet you bought him, and he immediately puts it on the same wrist that has his hospital band. You grab his hand and hold it up, looking at the bracelet on his skinny wrist. You kiss his knuckles, then pull him close to you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “You’re the best. And this sweatshirt is really comfortable.”

You chuckle, and you both fall asleep there, and you dream of a world where Mark never leaves it, where he’s just as constant as the air you breathe and the water that runs on earth; he’s your axiom of equality; Mark will always be Mark the same way x will always be x, and you find comfort in this. Regardless of if the trial works or not, whether Mark dies tomorrow or Mark dies in 20 years, you know that he will always be. Mark is the axiom that drives you mad, that consumes you, that has become your entire life.

Isn't he lovely?

The hospital is a lively place during the holidays. You know it’s for the saddest reasons, though—so much despair ran through the halls of that place, and it couldn’t have been any better during the holidays, while the rest of the world was out celebrating with loved ones. You felt bad for Mark, as you remember him saying once that Christmas was his favorite holiday. So, you made a commitment to him, to bring Christmas to his little room there in that behemoth of a building.

You brought him some fairy lights, colored red and green, as well as a little Christmas tree to put in the corner of the room. You also bought some silver tinsel, and, of course, wrapped some Christmas gifts for him to put beneath the tree.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Mark tells you as you wrap the tinsel around the railings of the hospital bed.

“I know,” you say. “I just want to.”

Mark chuckles, and you kiss his forehead.

“I’m going to shove this cheesy Christmas stuff down your throat no matter what. It makes me feel better about you being trapped here, so deal with it.”

Mark shakes his head and throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. But can I help at least?”

You throw him a wad of fairy lights. He smiles as he begins to untangle them, then he stands from his bed, plugging them into the outlet. Glowing red and green light fills the room, evening out as you help him tape them up along the walls. You can hear him breathing heavily as he reached up to put the lights into place, but you kept your worries to yourself, as you knew Mark didn’t like how much you worried about him.

“All done,” you breathe as you sit down on the bed. Mark joins you, resting his head on your shoulder. You turn your head to give him a kiss. He looks up at you with a glint in his eye, and your heart breaks a little, seeing how cute he is the way he looks up at you. He holds the world in his eyes, and for a moment, you lose yourself in them.

“We should go to the roof,” Mark suggests. You chuckle as you grab his hand.

“But I just decorated your room all nice. You wanna leave already?” you ask jokingly. Mark slaps you playfully.

“We’ll come back. But the roof is really cool, and it’s a full moon tonight.” Mark bounces his leg anxiously as he awaits your reply. You smile as you stand, pulling him up behind you. He claps his hands excitedly as you let him lead the way.

You have to take the stairs to get to the roof, and Mark struggles once you reach the higher floors, taking rests every few steps. He looks up at you momentarily each time, like an apology, but you just smile back at him. Once you finally reach the top, he excitedly yells, and his voice echoes off the open atmosphere. You laugh as he inhales a deep breath and walks toward the edge of the building. You follow behind him closely.

“I fucking love it up here. I feel like I’m really breathing,” Mark explains. You look over at him endearingly. “Like I can feel every single air particle in my shitty pair of lungs. Try it—just breathe.”

You chuckle before you actually listen to Mark’s command; you inhale deeply, noting the feeling of the crisp air going into your airways. You lift your arms up as you exhale, and Mark laughs happily.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Mark asks.

You nod. “You’re lovely.”

Mark rolls his eyes before pulling on your waist. “No.”

“Yes,” you mock him, and he shakes his head, looking out at the skyline beyond the borders of the rooftop. You admire the beauty of Mark’s face in that moment. So serene, so happy, so content with life, despite the situation he was in. You think to yourself in that moment how much better he deserved. He was such a curious, wonderful, kind human being, and the universe gave him such an awful situation to be in.

Mark turns his head towards you, looking at you with love in his gaze, and you smile bright. He looks at your lips before holding your face in his hands, leaning in slowly, pausing for a moment before kissing you. You smile as his lips meet yours, and he smiles too, until your kiss is broken.

You kiss under the moonlight, and you kiss more under the fairy lights of his room, until the nurses interrupt to take Mark’s vitals and check on him. At one point in the night, Mark has a cough attack, and his throat begins to hurt, so you both decide to halt the making out and simply read instead. You read aloud to Mark. He points to the book at the parts he wants you to annotate—one quote reads, “Friendship, companionship: it so often defied logic, so often eluded the deserving, so often settled itself on the odd, the bad, the peculiar, the damaged.”

Will my wonders come to an end?

Mark Lee died in the hospital 3 days after your last visit. He succumbed to high counts of liver enzymes, which destroyed his liver cells, and his heart stopped beating at 4:39 am. He was alone, and they didn’t find him until 5 am.

You go to visit him that morning, and you don’t get past the unit doors when you see Mark’s mother crying with a nurse in the waiting area. Your heart immediately falls in your stomach. You can’t breathe. You don’t need to speak to any doctor or nurse to know what happened. You imagined this day several times, as ashamed of it as you were. But you realized, no amount of imagining this occurrence would better prepare you for when it actually happened.

You hear Mark’s mom crying from the opposite end of the doors that separate you and the unit. You don’t hesitate to walk up to the doors, pounding on the glass, rattling the handle trying to open it. It’s locked like always, but you yank on the handle and kick at the door, until the nurse finally lets you in, but immediately puts her hands on your shoulders.

“Can I see him? Please, I need to see him, I have to, I have to see him—”

“Who are you here for, hon? I can’t let you see anyone like this,” the nurse explains.

“Mark. Mark Lee, I need to see Mark.”

She shook her head. Mark’s mother walked over to you, wrapping an arm around you.

“Mark’s gone. He died this morning,” she said between sharp, short breaths. She started crying harder, although you could tell she had been crying all day. You closed your eyes as the breath was knocked out of your lungs. You fell to the floor, reaching over to the garbage can sitting against the wall, vomiting into it as you tried to catch your breath. The nurse kneeled down and rubbed your back, and a few more nurses came, one of them supplying you with a towel, another bringing another box of tissues.

“Mark’s liver enzymes got too high, and his organs failed. I’m so sorry, honey. Can I get you some water?” the nurse said. You started to cry, then. You felt a pain grow in your chest as you let out a strong sob. You grabbed onto the arm of the chair next to you. The nurse rubbed your back as you cried. Mark’s mother soon joined, wiping the tears from your face.

“Can…can I see him, please? I just want to see him,” you sob. The nurse purses her lips, and Mark’s mother sighs.

“They took him already, dear,” she said. You bring your hands to your face to subdue your cries as you realize, he’s really gone. You don’t get to say goodbye. Your hands shake as Mark’s mother helps pull you back up to your feet. You start to speak, but nothing that comes out makes any sense, your voice mutters a jumble of nos and gods and pleases, until you go quiet, and all you can say under your breath is Mark, Mark, Mark.

Mark.

Mark who ceases to exist in that very moment. Mark, who would never again kiss you, never again touch you, never look at you with the stars in his eyes, never sing to you or write songs about you. There is no more Mark. All that is left of him are memories and the little wonders of him.

Is there anything worth wondering about anymore?

You’ve become a member of the black sea today. This ocean consists of nobody but Mark’s closest friends and family, and you.

Everywhere are pictures of him. There is one which looks more recent than the others—his hair is dark, he’s smiling, his eyes are glowing, and his cheeks are full and red. He looks as alive as he ever could. As if he hadn’t been battling that sickness all his life. Like he was okay.

You sit alone, and you stare at the three photographs Mrs. Lee has given you. One is a baby picture. The baby in the photograph has the same brilliance and happiness as the Mark you always knew.

Another, he’s probably in his younger teenage years. He’s simply playing the guitar, and he’s completely concentrated on the strings. You wish you could have heard him play more.

The last one is evidently recent. It appears as if he’s somewhere tropical, from a vacation he recently went on, because he’s wearing a flower-shirt and the sun is beaming down on him as he grins from ear to ear. He looks so happy. You wish you could have been there to see this moment in person. You had only seen him smile a fair number of times, and your heart hurts as you think about all the smiles you could have seen before then. All the happy times when he thought he could live with the trial ahead of him. The moments where in the back of his mind, he knew, there’s a chance. You can survive. You can stay.

But happiness could only last until those new drugs caused the chemistry lab inside of him malfunction, until they forced his organs to shut down, until his heart stopped beating and he ceased to exist.

The sky grows more and more vibrant as the sun begins to set. You realize that you're still sitting on the couch, frozen in your seat, staring at the photos of Mark, when the boy himself is laying across the room from you. You try to get yourself to gain the courage to see him and pay respects to his family, but it’s almost as if you're glued to the sofa. The funeral home is quiet and eerie. You look over to the other room, where most of the people are gathered, sharing drinks and snacks, sharing hugs and condolences. You look up at the box across the room that holds your boy. Tears fill your eyes, and you set the photos on the table in front of you. You stand, and your legs shake; but you think about the boy resting across the room. You knew deep down he deserved a better send off from you. You can’t even recall your last conversation that you had; now, you have a chance to remember.

“I love you, Mark. So big. I love you so, so big.” You start to cry, and you kneel down next to him as you wipe your tears. “I’m sorry the world failed you. I’ll never forgive the universe for this. Just…please rest easy, my love.”

Next to Mark sits a framed photo of him. It’s evidently a school photo, maybe one of his senior pictures. On the table sits a notebook and a yearbook. You look through the notebook, and it’s full of prose, and you then realize, it’s his songs. You recognize the one he sang for you. You cry harder as you see your name written across the top.

“Goddammit,” you curse. “I miss you, Mark. I’m going to miss you so bad.”

“I love you,” you say a moment later. You cover your mouth as you turn your back towards him, walking quickly towards the other room where you find his mother. A look of concern grows upon her expression as she sees you crying.

“Can someone just go in there with him? I don’t want him to be alone, but I can’t, I just can’t—”

Mrs. Lee pulls you into her arms. The person she was speaking to immediately leaves, going back into the other room where Mark rests. You let out broken sobs as she holds you. “I miss him so much.”

The room becomes less full as time passes and you hug Mrs. Lee. People were evidently beginning to leave, and as you watch people begin to exit the building, you feel a sudden pain shoot through your heart. Everyone was leaving Mark. At some point that day, Mark would be alone again, the way he was when he died. You want to yell and scream at everyone not to leave. You don’t want Mark to be alone ever again.

“Dear,” Mrs. Lee says softly. “We have to leave for burial.”

You shake your head as you cover your eyes. “No, I don’t want him to be alone again. Please,” you cry. “I can’t watch that. I’m sorry.”

She wipes your cheeks. “I understand, dear. Go rest. Mark would understand, I know. He wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You inhale a deep, shaky breath. You look down at the ground, then you feel the metal chain around your neck, and you touch the locket charm attached. You pull the necklace from your neck, handing it to Mrs. Lee.

“Can you put this with him? Or keep it? It’s nothing special, I’ve just worn it almost everyday for years, I just want a piece of me with him.”

Mrs. Lee smiles. “Of course, love.” She hugs you one more time. “It reminds me, here, take this with your photos.”

She went over to the table with all the pictures of Mark and all the little pieces of his life displayed on the surface. She goes under the table and pulls out a book, and you immediately recognize the cover, and you feel another sob threaten your throat.

“This is for you. He read it every day, and always talked about you while reading it, too.”

Your heart falls into your stomach as you flip through the pages, every single one highlighted or marked or annotated. One page you flip to, the text reads, I am Willem Ragnarsson, and I will never let you go. He has it highlighted, and beneath it writes, I am Mark Lee, and I will never let you go.

You look up at her, and then you look towards the door, and you make your way out of the building. The sky outside is covered with clouds. You look up, but there’s just gray. No color whatsoever.

It’s still a pleasant day outside when you go to his beach. You cry the whole drive there. You don’t stop crying for what feels like forever. Your eyes hurt, your throat is sore, and your chest throbs in pain with each heartbeat. You try to focus on what’s around you, but it’s hard when all you can think about is Mark, all you feel is Mark, all you hear is Mark.

You lie down on the cold sand, clutching your book in your arms. As you watch as the sky become a mixture of blues and oranges and pinks, you flip open the book. You go to the end of the book, just to see if he ever made it that far. He circles a paragraph.

Or maybe he is closer still: maybe he is that gray cat that has begun to sit outside our neighbor’s house, purring when I reach out my hand to it; maybe he is that new puppy I see tugging at the end of my other neighbor’s leash; maybe he is that toddler I saw running through the square a few months ago, shrieking with joy, his parents huffing after him; maybe he is that flower that suddenly bloomed on the rhododendron bush I thought had died long ago; maybe he is that cloud, that wave, that rain, that mist. It isn’t only that he died, or how he died; it is what he died believing. And so I try to be kind to everything I see, and in everything I see, I see him.

The side of the page is full of Mark’s writing.

If you outlive me, if this trial doesn’t work — what will I come back as? Maybe a cat, like Harold says here. Maybe I’ll be a dolphin in the ocean on our beach, even though I’ve never seen a dolphin there. Maybe a crab. Or a fucking branch or something. Maybe I’ll be a flower in a vase in my mom’s living room. Who the fuck knows.

You smile as you read the annotation in his voice. You miss him. So much.

You read those last few pages, until you reach the very end, where the bottom is not blank, but is full of more of Mark’s writing.

Y/N,

“The axiom of equality states that x always equals x: it assumes that if you have a conceptual thing named x, that it must always be equivalent to itself, that it has a uniqueness about it, that it is in possession of something so irreducible that we must assume it is absolutely, unchangeably equivalent to itself for all time, that its very elementalness can never be altered. But it is impossible to prove.” This is my favorite quote from this book. I understand why this book is your favorite. It’s now my favorite, too. Seriously, I won’t ever forget this book. I wonder why it’s your favorite, though. It’s so sad. Are you secretly incredibly depressed? Nah, you would tell me, or I’d know. I know we talk about me alot, with my shitty lungs or whatever, and we never talk about you and I never got to know you the way I want to, but I feel like, in a way, through this book, I now know you so wholly. I know that you are you, you are always equal to you, like x = x, and you are unique, and I love you. Thanks for showing me this book.

I am Mark Lee, and I will never let you go.

#nct #nct fic #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct fluff #nct smut #nct angst #mark lee #nct mark #mark smut #mark fluff #mark angst #mark fic #mark lee fic #mark fanfic #mark lee fanfic

337 notes · View notes

nostallicca · 8 months

Text

The Memory Remains

~ Heavy rings hold cigarettes, up to lips that time forgets, while the Hollywood sun sets behind your back. And can't the band play on? ~

Episode 2: For the better, For the worse

Episode 1

Warnings: Alcohol use

He walked calmly and confidently through the hallway until he pushed open one of the doors. You picked your head up from the ground and saw that you had entered a bedroom. A big one. Probably the master. Hardwood floors, hardwood walls, a fireplace in front of the unnecessarily large bed. And a few decoratives here and there. He let go of your hand and turned to close the door shut. Your stomach started turning and it felt like it started doing cartwheels. Cartwheels of nervousness but also excitement. No amount of alcohol could have prevented the effect this man had on your body. At this point you had realized who this man was. It was James Hetfield. The lead singer and rhythm guitarist for the biggest band in the world. Metallica. And now you were in what you could only assume, his bedroom.

You could feel his presence behind you. His smell penetrating your nostrils. A smell of perfume but also a slight smell of leather and beer. You didn't dare turn around. This position gave him perfect opporunity to get closer and lower his head to the point where you could feel his breath in the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your entire body. This feeling, similar to what you would imagine being hit by thunder would feel like.

''I've been watching you all night, you know'' he says in a low tone, almost whispering into your ear. His voice was something else. His speaking voice alone could make you feel a plethra of feelings that were undescribable. It was like music to your ears. ''Oh yeah?'' ''Yeah...'' he says while humming. He puts his hands on top of your shoulders, caressing them until the straps of your dress eventually falls down a little on your arms. You stand frozen, unable to move. Like a deer in headlights. There's no way he couldn't have noticed the amount of control he had over your body already. ''Am I coming on too hard on ya?'' he asks while now keeping his hands on either sides of your neck. ''No'' you say with an insecure and nervous tone that you tried to mask with some sort of confidence. All of a sudden you feel his hands leave the frail sides of your neck and he only lets out a small ''hm'' before leaving the back of your body and moving across the room to grav one of his guitars that was laying on top of his bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a small sigh. Not looking up at you even for a second. You just stand there, feeling completely lost with an inner urge to run out of there and just forget that this ever happened. However, an opposing force that wants to stay here for as long as possible is stronger.

The stilence gets cut off by him playing a few cords on the guitar. ''Do you play?'' he asks, still not looking up at you. ''A little'' you say while smiling at the ground. You did play a little, but it was nothing compared to what this man was playing as a profession. ''C'mere then'' he said, giving you a side look and nodding his head towards his side of the room. You walk over, slowly, almost hesitantly. You take a seat beside him on the bed crossing your hands in your lap, noticing how insecure this hand placement must make you look. You instantly uncross your hands and place them on either side of your legs. He hands you the guitar, an acoustic one. You grab it carefully, almost afraid you were going to break it by just touching it. You take a few seconds adjusting your left hand on the neck of the guitar, and your right arm starts instinctively resting on the light brown body. You start playing the song you knew you would not mess up. Messing up in front of the James Hetfield would embarrass you to no end. The sounds of Extreme's more than words starts almost echoing through the room by the soft movement of your fingers. James watches the your fingers move intensely. ''You have a nice touch'' he says which causes you to stop playing. ''Thank you, honestly it's been-'' you get cut off by the sound of Celeste shouting your name outside the door, probably in the hallway. You quickly hand him the guitar and start walking towards the door. Opening it up you're faced with Celeste. ''There you are! I've been looking for you'' she says with an almost exhausted look on her face. ''What's going on?'' you ask curiously. ''We have to go, NOW.'' She says with a dead serious look on her face. ''Why? What's happening?'' You hear steps behind you, realizing that James is now walking towards the two of you. Celeste gives him a look, then you. And then she switches her eyes between the two of you a couple of more times before giving you a final look. The look. She did not have to say anything. That look alone told you everything you needed to know. You turn around and give James a disappointed look. ''I have to go''. He walks across the room and starts scribbling on a piece of paper before coming over again. He places the piece of paper in your hand before giving you a nod. A nod that clearly was his way of saying goodbye. You give him one last look before following Celeste downstairs and out the front door. She's walking with quick feet across the big lot of land down to the rocky trail. You know better than to ask what's going on. You know already. And your brain is honestly too busy thinking about James anyway, selfishly enough. The ride home comes to a screeching halt.

The night was unusually cold. A strong contrast from the beginning of the night. Maybe this was a sign for what was yet to come. You had no idea that this day, this night would mark a change in your life. From this night on, your life would take you in a completely different direction from what you ever could have imagined. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. One thing was certain though. You were here for it. A change was going to come and you were going to be here for it. For better and for worse.

End of episode 2 - Sorry if this one was quite short, it just seemed the most logical to end the episode here! Hope u like it <;3

#james hetfield #metallica #jason newsted #kirk hammett #metallica smut #rob trujillo #metalhead #papa het #james hetfield smut #lars ulrich #metallica fanfiction #cliff burton #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield fluff #robert trujillo

51 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 8 months

Note

I will always attempt to prod you for new Garcy content, so, here's hoping this speaks to you 😂 (also happy belated birthday! <- my Tumblr wasn't working properly on you big day, and didn't let me send you a HBD greeting then, so I'm doing it now) 🥳

----------

Garcy

41. Don't look back

The New England night is rank with cold, with the briny scent of the distant sea, with woodsmoke and creosote, tar and turpentine, hay and mud. Lucy stands with her arms crossed, her coat drawn tightly over her shoulders, staring out at the dark woods that stretch endlessly beyond this simple farmhouse on the edge of Boston -- in the year 1880, a fast-growing industrial city, thronged with largely-Irish immigrants, strung up with newfangled electric lights and trolley cars, steamships moored at the docks, but still straining at the old Pilgrim bones beneath, forced to accept all this modernity at a blow. In other circumstances, she would almost like the chance to look around. Not, however, as if that is going to happen. Now or ever.

She shivers harder. She can still feel the wind cutting right through her, and surely it's her imagination that it's not just a figure of speech, that she's becoming more and more insubstantial, never-existing, by the moment. She feels dreamy, almost comfortable, the sort of lulling reverie you slip into when you're on the brink of freezing to death and it feels downright pleasant. She looks down at her hands, tries to see if she can see through them to the ground. It would be just, perhaps. It would be the only outcome.

Just then, there's a particularly loud commotion in the farmhouse behind her, and she turns around sharply. She hasn't been paying attention to the low-level clamor -- the shouts, the shots, the smashing, the screaming, the sort that would attract the neighbors if there were any in range. As it is, there aren't, and that too is all by design. She stands here, a cold and merciless goddess, listens to men die inside, and feels... nothing. Her mother has, in the end, done her job too well. Carol Preston dutifully raised her daughters in Rittenhouse, trained Lucy to be the heiress, the crown princess, and now it's playing out exactly as she intended, with one devastating little twist. It's Rittenhouse dying in there, all of them, or at least Lucy so badly hopes. All her ancestors, her great-grandfathers and uncles and whatever else, and that means that when they get back to the present day (if they get back to the present day), there is a very good chance that she will never have existed at all. Will be a revenant, a time-ghost, a relic from another timeline who has nothing left at all, no root to her old life, and not even anyone else's memories. Hell, she might just wink out on the spot, a twisted paradox too contradicted to exist. Is it worth it? Can anything possibly be worth this?

Yes, Lucy thinks. Her face is stone, her eyes are dry, she does not weep a single tear. Yes, it is.

At last, the banging and blasting falls silent. Ruthlessly effective as he is, Garcia Flynn is far from subtle. There's a long moment in which Lucy panics, thinking that they managed to strike a lucky blow, that he's gone too, but then he emerges, tall and dark and shadowed, his suit sleeves spattered in blood. He looks at her and doesn't say a word. Just goes to his knees in front of her (even so, he's still almost as tall as she is) and holds out the gun, a medieval knight pledging his sword to the service of his lady. At last, his voice half a whisper in the wind, he says, "It's done."

Lucy shivers from head to toe. She looks down at him and doesn't answer. Yes, her ancestors might all be dead now, but there's still no guarantee that Rittenhouse has been erased, root and branch. One of them might have left a pregnant wife somewhere, or a secret mistress with a love child, or all the other ways history contorts around on itself to protect its continuity. She could have done all this, live with the knowledge of it forever, and still failed. Flynn might have gone in there to kill her whole family, but Lucy is the one who brought him here.

(What would she have done, if they hadn't found each other? Who would she be? Carol's perfect little Rittenhouse princess, just as planned? Not this, this Salem witch, hands dripping with blood just as much as Flynn's. It's only on his because she asked him to do it, and he agreed. That's love, she supposes. A twisted and dark and desperate version, but still love. He is the only thing she has.)

"Flynn." Lucy doesn't recognize her own voice. "Please. Get me out of here. Get me out of here."

Flynn considers, then nods once. He lifts her halfway, arms around her waist; as ever, her weight is completely negligible to him. It's going to be a long walk back to the Mothership, where Rufus is waiting nervously. When they get in, the jump very well might not work, as long as Lucy is in there. The space-time continuum might reject traveling back with an alien entity, an erased object. She might have to get out and stay in 1880 forever, the price of removing Rittenhouse in the present. Is she ready to do that? Can she stand it? Or will she just simply evanesce away?

"Flynn," she starts again, shaking, her face buried in his shoulder. He walks quickly, but somehow without hurrying. The wool of his jacket smells of lamp-oil and fresh blood. "Flynn, I'm not going to be able to come back, not if I don't -- "

"Yes." He sounds calm, certain, cold as the snow. "You're going to be fine, Lucy. Rufus will figure it out. You'll come home with us."

"But back there -- " Lucy twists, tries to peer over his shoulder, to look back at the dark farmhouse where Rittenhouse has, pray God, finally met its utmost end. "If you -- "

"Shh." Flynn's grip tightens on her. "Don't look back, Lucy. It's all right. Trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you."

It's a deeply ironic utterance, considering what he just did to her whole family (on her express invitation, but still) and how their relationship started, but she does. She trusts him. She holds onto him with both hands. Don't look back. Like Lot's wife fleeing from Sodom, unable to resist the curse, transmogrified into salt. There are tears on her cheeks. She tastes it on her lips. She doesn't know who she's crying for. It seems impossible for it to be her.

Don't look back.

Lucy buries her face in Flynn's neck again, and does not.

#battleshipgarcy #ask #lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #fic prompts #spooky season #i would apologize for the angst but also #ahem #also thanks for the belated hbd!

30 notes · View notes

quads4days · 8 months

Text

BodyBoost Enterprises—The Collapse

“The following two-part story is a culminating end to Phase Two of my Gaining Universe. It is a cross-over event that brings together many of the characters from the majority of the Phase Two stories and some recurring characters from Phase One. It also includes feedback received in my inbox about some of the events that occur to the character.

As always, send through questions and ideas; I enjoy bringing your thoughts to life as well as fattening up my characters. In the meantime, grab some food, relax and enjoy the end of Phase Two.”

Prologue

In the Executive Director's office of BodyBoost Headquarters, Jamie Jacobson sat before a multitude of screens, each one displaying scenes of chaos unfurling across the sprawling facility. The sterile environment of the office, once used for signing contracts and entertaining VIP clients, now served as the command centre for Jamie. He was no longer an assistant. Today, Jamie held the reins of BodyBoost.

His attention was riveted on one screen in particular: the sub-level feed, displaying images of massive blobs struggling to make sense of what had just occurred. BodyBoost's grand experiment taking another unexpected turn—a dark tableau of flesh and science. As he watched, a wave of strange sensation washed over him, like a shiver of electric anticipation. His body, already an imposing mass of 160kg of sheer muscle, seemed to be in flux. He watched in awe as his body began to expand once again, as if every sinew, every muscle fibre were alive and growing.

Muscles bulged with newfound volume, his chiselled torso swelling outward, his mammoth legs thickening even further. His biceps exploded with growth, his trapezius rose towards his ears, and his pecs swelled to the point of casting a shadow over his rippling abs. The office, which once made him feel small, was now shrinking around him. Jamie’s formidable form, a muscle titan reaching 250kg, began to inch closer to the ceiling, a testament to the power of BodyBoost’s products.

His body’s transformation could have triggered panic or fear. However, Jamie felt nothing of the sort. Instead, he felt an indescribable surge of victory. His massive frame was not a mistake, but the product of his own ambitions, his choices. The muscles that now threatened to outgrow the room were the embodiment of power, potential, and a future that held no limitations.

A feral grin curled onto his lips, echoing the exhilarating sense of conquest coursing through his veins. He was no longer just Jamie, the assistant. He was Jamie, the unstoppable, the embodiment of growth and power. The pandemonium on the screens reflected the chaos within him, a perfect storm of strength and size. And it was only the beginning.

Chapter 02 Sean Symonds

Sean, the enigmatic charmer with a clandestine mission, found himself standing in the cavernous atrium of BodyBoost Headquarters. The air was thick with the smell of polished metal and the sterility of scientific advancement. In his pocket was the security pass, stolen from Jamie Jacobson, BodyBoost's hulking assistant whose muscular body now tipped the scales at 160kg. It was the first breach in the company's elaborate defences, and Sean was determined to exploit it to the fullest, knowing the contents in this building would make his farm grow its potential.

As he swiped the card, the door clicked open with a soft electronic whir, as if beckoning him into the secretive realm that lay beyond. The pass had worked, and for a moment, Sean revelled in his own cunning. The alarms were silent, the guards nowhere in sight. The world was still asleep, oblivious to the storm brewing in the dimly lit corridors of BodyBoost.

Stepping into the building, Sean felt a rush of exhilaration, his footsteps echoing with purpose on the marble floor. He glanced at the information panel next to the lift, his eyes skimming through the list of floors and their corresponding departments. There it was, the security office—a digital portal to the sanctum sanctorum where the serums of his dreams were kept.

As he pressed the call button for the lift, Sean’s eyes met his reflection in the tempered glass of the entry door. He couldn't help but smile at the man staring back at him, the very face of beguiling charm. That charm had been his greatest asset, a weapon wielded with precision, luring many unsuspecting souls to a life of insatiable hunger and uncontrolled growth. It was a charm that had already fattened men beyond recognition, altering the very fabric of their lives. Sean revelled in it, basking in the dark glory of his own magnetism.

But as he admired himself, his hand subconsciously drifted toward his stomach. A sense of unease washed over him, a subtle disquiet that felt like a scratch on an otherwise flawless gemstone. He paused, the reflection in the glass seeming to scrutinise him for the first time. Was it just nerves? The palpable tension of breaking into a fortress of scientific secrets? Or was it something more, a forewarning echoing from the depths of his subconscious?

For a fleeting moment, Sean contemplated the risks. He was in the belly of the beast now, a trespasser in a world that played God with the human body. His own body felt different as if warning him of the perils that lay ahead. But he shook off the apprehension like a snake shedding its skin. This was not the time for doubts. This was the time for action. The lift doors parted, and Sean stepped inside, dismissing the unease that had momentarily gripped him. As the lift ascended, he took a deep breath, bolstering himself for the mission ahead. This was his moment, his chance to turn fantasy into reality. And whatever the cost, Sean was prepared to pay it.

Stepping out of the elevator, Sean felt a renewed sense of urgency pulse through his veins as he made his way down the labyrinthine hallways of BodyBoost Headquarters. The stolen security card had granted him access to the nerve centre of the facility: the security office. He swiped Jamie's card one more time, and the door whispered open with robotic compliance. Not a single guard was in sight; they were either deeply negligent or astonishingly trusting. He chuckled at the thought, savouring the delicious irony.

Settling himself in front of the console, Sean's eyes darted over the array of monitors. The screens buzzed with mechanical life, revealing various rooms where robots, with the precision only attainable by artificial intelligence, orchestrated the creation of the company's magical serums and pills. As he flicked through the screens, his eyes caught sight of a laboratory that particularly interested him.

What struck him was not just the endless rows of serums and bottles nor the meticulous choreography of the technicians who were checking them. It was their bodies—specifically, the incongruous, sizeable stomachs that dominated their otherwise modest frames. Each gut looked like an anachronism, a grandiose statement on a canvas of normality. And it aroused him. This was the twisted art of body manipulation that BodyBoost specialised in, and Sean was intoxicated by it.

Noting the lab's location, Sean stood up, ready to continue his quest. His eyes fell upon a white lab coat hanging on the back of the door. A perfect addition to his disguise. Slipping it on, he felt another wave of that mysterious unease wash over him. His hand instinctively found its way to his stomach again. "Get a grip," he muttered under his breath, fighting to maintain his focus.

He walked briskly through the maze-like corridors until he reached the lab he had spied on the monitor. A technician, whose name tag read 'Doug,' looked up as Sean entered. The buttons of Doug's shirt appeared to be on the verge of mutiny, battling against the taut expanse of his 40kg gut. "Must be hard to carry that around," Sean found himself commenting, a bit too openly, about Doug's disproportionate belly.

Doug hesitated, then sighed. "Well, let's just say Marco wasn't pleased about a delayed product launch. My punishment was becoming a test subject for our 'unstable' line. Gained all this overnight." He patted his large stomach for emphasis. Intrigued and aroused, Sean shifted gears smoothly. "I've been sent by Marco to collect one of every product, and I need it ASAP." The mention of Marco sent a palpable shiver down Doug's spine. Fearing another wrath-induced 'punishment,' he hurriedly began loading a cart with various bottles and boxes, his gut bouncing in tandem with his hurried movements.

"Good luck, mate. With Marco, you never know when you might end up…well, like me, you’re lucky he only made you gain a little.” Doug offered as Sean turned to leave. As Sean pondered Doug's ominous words, he heard a soft but distinct 'ping.' His eyes widened as he realised that a button on his shirt had just given up the fight, releasing a burgeoning 'spare tire' from the constraining fabric. Suppressing his shock, he gave a curt nod to Doug and left the lab, his feet speeding him away. Once he was a safe distance down the hallway, he pinched the new soft flesh around his middle, a feeling of furious disbelief replacing his former confidence.

Could it be? Was the universe, or perhaps BodyBoost itself, pushing back against his audacious scheme? The walls seemed to close in on him a little as if the building itself sensed his treachery. But now was not the time for second guesses or faltering steps. Now was the time for action. Yet, as Sean moved to complete his mission, a quiet voice within him whispered, urging caution, reminding him that in a place where the manipulation of human flesh was just another day's work, the manipulator might himself become manipulated.

As Sean pressed the button for the ground floor, his eyes scanned the small, metallic enclosure of the elevator, capturing his reflection in the tinted mirror. He looked like any other technician—except for the newly manifested spare tire straining his shirt and the lab coat concealing a cart laden with stolen secrets.

Yet when the elevator disobeyed his command, surging upward instead of descending, a flicker of uncertainty darted across his eyes. The numbers on the digital panel climbed in opposition to his intentions. "Easy," he told himself, clutching the handle of the cart, "just ride it out and try again."

The elevator's bell chimed, announcing its arrival. The doors slid open with mechanistic grace to reveal two men standing outside. One was unmistakably Jamie—the striking, muscle-bound Adonis whose security pass had granted Sean entry into this labyrinth. Beside him stood an Italian man with an air of calculated grace, his well-tailored suit cutting a sharp contrast against Jamie's more relaxed, albeit still form-fitting, attire. Sean's mind made the connection instantaneously. This had to be Marco, the mastermind behind BodyBoost.

Jamie's eyes met Sean's, and for a heartbeat, the world paused. There was a depth of understanding in Jamie's gaze, a silent acknowledgment that resonated in the space between them. Jamie had discovered the theft; the jig was up.

"Going down?" Marco asked, an inscrutable smile curling his lips as if he knew a secret joke that no one else was privy to. Sean's mind raced, but he was a cornered animal, and cornered animals are dangerous because they are unpredictable. "Actually, I was just heading to a different department. Minor mix-up," he said, mustering a smile that felt like a lie painted on his face.

"That's funny," Jamie interjected, his voice rich with implication, "because you seem to have a cart full of our most sensitive products. Hard to believe that's a 'minor mix-up.'"

Sean felt his hand tighten around the handle of the cart. His eyes darted to Marco, whose smile had now blossomed into a full-blown grin. It was the grin of a hunter who had caught his prey, the grin of a chess player who says "checkmate" without uttering a word. Sean's heart sank, but it was Marco's next words that turned his blood to ice.

"I think it's time we had a little chat, don't you?" Marco said, stepping into the elevator and forcing Sean to retreat. Jamie followed suit, pressing a button that Sean couldn't see.

As the elevator doors closed, encapsulating the three men in a chamber thick with tension, Sean felt his newfound belly tighten in a knot of trepidation. The cart, the lab coat, the stolen security card—all were mere props in a stage play that had just reached its unexpected climax. And as the elevator began to move, Sean wondered how he had become an actor in a script that Marco, it seemed, had been writing all along.

Chapter 04 Marco Marino

In a subterranean realm of science that skirted the edges of ethical boundaries, the elevator creaked with an odd symphony of metallic groans as it struggled to contain its passengers. Jamie's frame, a mass of taut muscle seemingly hewn from marble, nudged uncomfortably against Sean. The confined space became a theatre of tense silence and unspoken intentions, the sterile scent of the lab mingling with the weight of their collective apprehensions.

Marco, the symphony conductor in this strange performance, stepped out as the elevator came to a begrudging stop. His eyes, dark as onyx, fixed themselves upon Sean. "After you," he gestured grandiosely, leading the way to his office—a sanctum adorned with scientific instruments and arcane formulas scribbled haphazardly on chalkboards. Jamie, who followed closely, swiped Sean's security card from its tether on his lab coat with a brisk, almost rehearsed movement.

The chair in Marco's office let out a lament as Sean sunk into it, his shirt making a near-audible cry for mercy as another button strained against the fabric.

"It seems," Marco began, a smile curling at the edges of his lips like smoke from a smouldering fire, "that Jamie's unique condition has some unforeseen side effects."

Sean's eyes darted between Jamie and his own burgeoning midsection, now bulging noticeably. "You mean, his condition is contagious?" His voice wavered.

"Let's just say it seems that my assistant's love can be quite...fattening," Marco let out a sibilant chuckle, his eyes narrowing with mischievous delight.

As Marco laughed, Sean felt his stomach respond as if in affirmation, inching forward as though partaking in the joke. Jamie's gaze was rooted to the floor, a monument to discomfort. The room crackled with a palpable tension, and then Marco's voice, chilling in its quietude, sliced through the air. “I’ve looked into you Sean, killed your father by feeding him until his death, and it seems you have stolen a farm where, might I say, you have some wonderful pigs in your back paddock. In another world, I’d have loved to have learned how you grew those poor men into the magnificent beasts they have become. Alas, that isn’t why you’re here. You've stolen from me, Sean. And that—oh, that—doesn't go unpunished."

Sean felt a wellspring of anger bubble within him; as Marco showed him pictures of his farm and pictures of his fat pigs, he felt his muscles tensing as if preparing for battle. With an impulsiveness he couldn't explain, he lunged across the desk, grabbing a random serum from the cart beside him and plunging it into Marco's hand.

Marco roared, reeling back in pain, but not before Sean thrust another syringe, and before Jamie could intercede, a third found its mark. Marco clutched his stomach, his face contorted in a grotesque ballet of agony and disbelief. His body began to swell, thighs ballooning, the fabric of his finely tailored suit wailing as it tore under the strain. In a frenzy, Marco dashed from the office toward the elevator, its door yawning open as if in horror. Sean gave chase, fuelled by a molten anger that left no room for reason. As the elevator began its descent, Marco doubled over, gasping as his body continued to inflate, each breath a grim accompaniment to his growing girth. The descent took them below the ground level and into unknown territory; their fates precariously hinged on the whims of a madman and the obscure, terrible science that bound them together.

The elevator—no longer a simple means of transport but a battleground of warped physics and dissonant humanity—held Marco and Sean like a prison. Marco's inflating form lunged at Sean, pinning him against the cool metal wall of the elevator with the expanse of his ever-swelling gut. It was a grotesque and surreal tableau, like something from a Dali painting come to life.

When the door slid open with a sigh, Marco vaulted himself out, propelled by a strange mix of momentum and desperation. "Help me!" he wailed just as his suit surrendered to his expanding form with a cacophony of ripping threads and bursting buttons “I’ll triple your salary!” Stunned, Sean stepped out, transfixed as Marco's ballooning body reached the point of no return. With a woeful moan, the Italian scientist collapsed forward, his newfound mass rendering him unable to stand. Technicians’ faces etched with horror, raced to his side and coordinated as best they could to relocate him to a glass chamber.

Sean, once an intruder, was now an astonished witness to a subterranean spectacle that defied reason. The adjacent rooms were filled with amorphous blobs of human fat, grotesque yet fascinating in their size and uniformity. For a moment, he was transported back to his own farm, to his own pigs, and a frisson of perverse arousal tingled through his spine.

Marco, now contained but still expanding, yelled through the thick glass. "Seize him! He's the reason I'm like this!"

Kicking into a sprint, Sean discovered a room humming with the low-light glow of numerous monitors. His fingers began to dance across the console, activating levers and pressing buttons without fully understanding the gravity of his actions. The blobs housed in individual chambers began to quiver as the pumps surged to maximum, flooding their artificial environments with an overdose of the mysterious serum.

Technicians clamoured around Sean, their cries verging on hysteria. "Stop this madness! You don't know what you're doing!"

But Sean was lost, hypnotised by the swell and stretch of the growing blobs pressing against the thick glass that contained them. One brave technician darted past, making a beeline for the elevator. Sean recognised this as his last chance to flee this catacomb of unnatural science and deranged ambitions, but his compulsion held him rooted, a voyeur to his own unfolding tragedy. As he stood there, the glass wall of the first chamber emitted a low, sonorous groan of stress. The blobs continued their expansion, becoming ever more monstrous in their formlessness. In that instant, another button on Sean's strained shirt gave way, popping off as if in chorus with the mounting pressure around him.

In that room of monitors and unbound flesh, Sean was both architect and victim, caught in a vortex of choices and consequences.

The glass prisons—once impenetrable barriers—finally shattered, unable to contain the monstrous forms that quivered and expanded within. Technicians scattered like frightened birds, their faces pallid with dread, as the corpulent figures spilled into the room. Overhead, lights flickered, surrendering to an eerie dimness, while a cacophony of emergency tones blared in disorienting rhythm.

Sean roused from the mesmeric trance that had ensnared him, turned sharply toward the elevator. Through the chaos, his eyes met Marco's, who was now a grotesque spectacle, a mountain of flesh immobilised by his own expanding girth. A crooked smile danced across Sean's face as he approached the behemoth.

Marco strained, his bloated arms flailing in futile attempts to fend Sean off. They could no longer reach beyond the ocean of his own corpulence. Above Marco's pulsating form, Sean spotted an emergency medical mask hanging from the ceiling. With a deft tug, he lowered it.

"No, please!" Marco's voice was muffled, tinged with despair. But his pleas evaporated into the sterile air as Sean affixed the mask onto his face. A muted hum filled the room as a surge of serum flowed from the tubing, coursing into Marco's system.

"Enjoy the growth," Sean whispered, his fingers delicately tracing the curvature of Marco's burgeoning stomach. He turned away, leaving Marco to his helpless expansion, and strode toward the elevator. Marco gulped and gulped, trying his hardest to break free; he felt the serum already filling his body. His eyes looked around desperately and fell upon the gaze of the monstrosity in the middle room. His son. For a brief moment, Marco yearned to hug his son again, back in time before his great empire began. As his body began to expand, all he could think of was eating more and as the floor groaned below him his fat gut surged forward.

As the elevator door opened, welcoming Sean into its metallic embrace. He punched the button for the upper levels, his thoughts turning to Jamie. Just as the doors were about to slide shut, the chambers containing the monstrous blobs exploded, releasing their occupants into the labyrinthine hallways of Marco's facility.

A resonant boom echoed through the elevator shaft, shaking the very foundations of the building. Sean grabbed onto the railing as the elevator lurched, his gut surging forward against the force of his own adrenaline. The seams of his pants gave way, surrendering to the stress with a reluctant tear. A frisson of dread washed over him. He needed to find Jamie, and quickly, lest he become as uncontrollable in his growth as the aberrations he had just unleashed.

The elevator rumbled skyward, its mechanical whir drowned out by the haunting screams and cries reverberating through the building. It was a chorus of damnation, a litany of mistakes and regrets and as the elevator ascended through the darkened shaft, Sean was left to ponder the magnitude of what he had done and what it would mean for all of them in the ever-shrinking world they now occupied.

Chapter 05 Jamie Jacobson

In the stately room of the Executive Director's office, high above the grimy industrialised chaos of the BodyBoost Headquarters, Jamie sat. The plush leather chair groaned beneath him, strained by the sheer bulk of muscle it was now forced to cradle. Walls once pristine were now decorated with feeds from security cameras, each displaying a scene more harrowing than the next.

The subfloor levels were a kaleidoscope of horror; their infrastructures had collapsed, unable to bear the weight of the subjects' rapid and grotesque growth. It was as if the earth itself had rebelled against such unnatural distortions of the human form. Jamie's eyes, piercing and blue, tracked the spiralling chaos. He felt a peculiar tension—subtle at first—ripples of muscle mass compounding upon muscle mass. As the pounds accumulated, Jamie's imposing figure began to stretch and loom higher, threatening to be contained no longer by the room's generous ceiling.

Where fear might grip a lesser man, Jamie remained stoic, even triumphant. He knew he had won the battle of wills. As the elevator doors whispered open to reveal Sean, now considerably plumper and struggling under his newfound weight, a slow smile played on Jamie's lips. Sean's breaths came fast, and his soft, bulbous body quivered with every exhalation. It was a sight both pitiful and curious. Pudgy hands attempted to guard his dignity, tugging down a shirt that clung to every inflated roll and curve. His thighs, once firm, now squished together with every step, chafing slightly. His round face was a mask of panic, eyes wide with a blend of fear and incredulity.

With surprising agility for a man of his size, Jamie reached out, his mountainous arm stretching forth, fingers wrapping around Sean's plump upper arm. Despite the layers of fat padding him, Sean's flesh yielded to Jamie's immense strength. Sean's feeble struggles were no match for the overwhelming might of the muscled giant, and soon he found himself unceremoniously plopped into an oversized chair.

"You see the situation you've put yourself in, Sean?" Jamie rumbled, his voice deepened further by his expansion. "You've made quite the mess, and now you'll help me clean it up."

Sean's eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape, an advantage. But he was surrounded, trapped. The weight of his choices—both literal and metaphorical—pinned him down.

“Make it stop, Jamie, I can’t be fat. I’m the farmer, not the pig” Sean rasped, his voice tremulous.

Jamie leaned in, bringing his massive face closer to Sean's. "Then it's time to make a deal," he whispered. "You let me use your farm for our future BodyBoost subjects, and in return, I will have an antidote formulated to halt your... predicament." His gaze roamed over Sean's bloated form. "Decline and I assure you, you'll make quite the pig for your own farm."

In the soft, dim light filtering through the vertical blinds of the Executive Director's office, Sean took a moment, his eyes skimming over his now distended form. With hesitance, he ran a hand over the curve of his stomach, which now hinted at a considerable gain since he had been subjected to the mysterious serum. Jamie, a towering behemoth of rippling muscle, seemed to consider Sean's condition with a mixture of amusement and contemplation. His expansive form, nearing 250 kg of raw strength, contrasted starkly against the opulence of the office decor.

“Jamie…” Sean started, taking a deep breath as he mustered his words, “Before any more decisions are made, I need to... I want to experience what it feels like with this…” He hesitated, his hands gesturing at his now fuller body. The implication hung heavily in the air between them.

The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. “You want to feel what it's like with all this added weight?” His deep voice echoed, the mirth apparent.

Sean nodded, eyes never leaving Jamie’s. A few heartbeats passed, the tension palpable, before Jamie’s massive hand reached out, closing around Sean's wrist. The warmth was immediate. Despite the underlying fear and confusion of the day's events, there was a certain exhilaration in the intimacy of the moment.

As they came together, the stark contrast between them was even more evident. Jamie's powerful frame dwarfed Sean's, and yet, there was a certain softness in Sean's newer, rounded form. The two of them are lost in the sensation, the outside world and its chaos forgotten. As the minutes stretched, Sean could feel another peculiar warmth spreading through him, an alarming realisation striking him — he was growing yet again.

Feeling the weight increase, Jamie chuckled, momentarily pausing to appreciate the transformation. "My, my, Sean... You're surpassing 140kg. You’re turning into one of your own pigs." He teased, his deep laughter resonating in the large office.

Their intimate moment concluded, and before Sean could gather his thoughts, the doors to the office burst open. A swarm of technicians, eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination, quickly surrounded him. Their intention was clear; they were there to take him away.

From his towering height, Jamie laughed once again, taking a moment to flex his colossal muscles. The sheer magnitude of his biceps bulged, a testament to the serum’s potency. With Sean being ushered out, Jamie sauntered over to the executive desk, pressing a button on the intercom system.

"Hello, Marco," Jamie's voice oozed confidence, drawing out the syllables of the name. The camera showed a vast form that quivered in response, the flesh visibly trembling. "Don't fret, master. Your company is in capable hands. A little weight," he glanced at his mighty form, "is a small price for the lifestyle."

As a muffled scream emanated from the speaker, Jamie couldn’t help but flex once again, admiration evident in his gaze. Turning on his heel, his towering figure cast a lengthy shadow over the marble floors of the office, signalling the dawn of a new era at BodyBoost Headquarters.

28 notes · View notes

for-the-sake-of-color · 6 months

Text

Teaser #2 for the Upcoming Kix/Nihlus Vampire AU Halloween fic!!!

Surely the Vampire at the nightclub Kix has a thing for has nothing at all to do with the short bastard making his daylight hours a living hell [Here] is the first teaser >:3c

Excerpt under the cut! Mildly Spicy.

Mid twenties medical resident Kix has been working a lot. His residency at the large hospital he worked at was grueling and constant, though he’s heard it’s not much better anywhere else.

There was no easy way to be a doctor.

He gets sent out of town for a 2 week long medical conference that promises to be more like a vacation as something of a reward for all the thankless hours he’s been putting in recently to cover other shifts. Still had to pay for his own hotel, but such was life.

At the conference he meets a short, feisty bastard of an older doctor that seems to take particular delight in needling responses out of Kix whenever he’s in earshot. It isn’t even that he’s disagreeing with any of Kix’s opinions, but rather the way he makes Kix explain his positions in such heavy fucking detail makes him feel like a scolded kid trying to justify himself.

Kix gets back to his hotel room that night and, if anything, feels even less relaxed than he did when he got to this town. Decides he wants to find some way to blow off some steam.

So Coric is like, “Well let's go to a nightclub then,” and google shows there’s a Vampire Den nearby.

That actually catches Kix’s attention because slightly uncommon knowledge is that the intoxicating feeling of a vampire bite is something like a cross between an orgasm and meth. It’s how they used to lure in food, though in the millenia since then, the relationship between humans and vampires had become more... mutualistic. In reality it’s more like being a stripper that also gets dinner at work for the vampires, nowadays.

Though Kix is nothing if not the curious and experimental sort. The things he did in his college days is nothing his job resume needs to concern itself with, though he’d never had this particular opportunity before. So fuck it, he says, Vampires it is.

He’s sitting and drinking something frozen and colorful at a table near the bar with Coric and a couple friendly strangers when one of the dens Vampires approaches him, standing over him, though not by much. The man, and Kix was sure he was a man under that strange mask that all the workers here seemed to wear, lifted Kix chin up with a single finger to meet the blank red gaze, with his grinning sharp maw of a mouth below it.

It wasn't the prospect of what a bite could bring that really got his pulse racing in that moment, but rather the strength he could feel behind that single, powerful finger. They both knew he was in total control at that moment, and he had yet to even say a word.

He leaned in, lips brushing the lobe of Kix’s ear and sending a shiver down his spine as the Vampire whispered, “Do you want me?”

“I... yes?” Kix replied hesitantly, suddenly feeling completely put on the spot

The Vampire leaned back and scoffed at him, as though his answer wasn't good enough. He almost thought there would have been an eye roll if that part of his face hadn’t been covered, just based on his body language alone. He slipped the drink out of Kix's hand, placing it on the side table next to them before he straddled the young doctor's lap.

He didn't seem to mind Kix putting his hands on his hips to steady him, so he left them there. And then promptly noticed how perfectly his hands seemed to fit there. It had been a while since Kix had gotten laid, and embarrassingly in his tipsy state, all it took was the weight of the smaller man on his lap to get him half hard. It wasn’t his fault this guy was built exactly how Kix liked his men.

By the wicked grin on the Vampires face, he could probably feel through their clothes how much he had already excited him. Or maybe he smelled it on him, or felt it empathically. Kix was honestly having difficulty remembering what bits of vampires were real and what bits were folklore.

And hell, when the Vampire started to grind down on his lap, it’s not like it mattered much how he knew anyways. Not with the obvious way his fingers were clawing into the other man's sides as he tried to hold in a moan at the friction. After a minute or so of this, the Vampire leans in and asks again,

“Do you want me?”

And this time Kix’s answer is emphatic, “Yes, yes please, Yes!” and in so many more ways than just a bite, as well.

He felt the rumble of the Vampires laugh through their pressed together chests as he responded with a,

“Good boy,”

And then Kix's whole world exploded in what he could only later describe as liquid ecstasy. It was white hot and rolled through him in pulsing waves that left him trembling near helplessly in his chair once it was over. He felt like he was floating away, like his brain was just to the left of the rest of him.

It was the first time in years he felt completely... relaxed.

He came to with the Vampire still in his lap, gently licking his neck. Full consciousness, at least. Moving and talking was still... a little beyond him at the moment.

“Hey beautiful,” The Vampire purred, leaning back and rubbing circles into Kix cheek “You in there?”

“Uggnn,” Was Kix’s coherent response, which caused the Vampire to let out a snort that rang like a song in his ears. Kix let out a huff of his own laugh; that had been incredible and he couldn't even play cool about it.

Then the smaller man lifted Kixs arm to his mouth, and gently nibbled at his wrist as they sat there in that amazing afterglow.

The last thing he had been expecting was to get bit a second time.

16 notes · View notes

saintchrollo · 2 years

Text

ten million jenny: summer, day 14, part two

i think the end of chapter notes i gave on ao3 were funny: Essay Question: Utilizing the "Madwomen in the Attic" theory that was popularized by Gilbert and Gubar, explain the relationship between Kate Chopin's 'The Awakening,' Shakespeare's play 'Taming of the Shrew' and Lana Del Rey's first studio album, 'Born to Die.' | ao3

calendar | part one | tonight

Your return is announced by the violence in which you slam the sliding door open and shut. Chrollo looks up and over from where he hasn’t moved, lost in his own thoughts.

“I don’t know what to do with you right now, so I’m going back to bed,” You huff, shaking your head. “Don’t wake me up unless there’s crab legs involved.”

And with that, you’re gone, right up the stairs.

At least, Chrollo rationalizes, you don’t seem too scared of him. He also rationalizes that the second he brings some sort of seafood boil back, you’d tolerate his presence.

He wants to know how much you truly hate him.

The bedroom door slams shut with just as much intensity, followed by a muffled scream. Into a pillow no doubt. A rather normal reaction, to the situation being presented.

Chrollo does the dishes to get his mind off of reality. He’d heard often, read often about the idea of playing house. And he thought about you, often, whenever the term crossed his mind.

He wonders, now, if crab legs would actually do anything to heal the situation. He wonders, now, on what he’d have to do moving forwards. Options loom in front of him.

In the bedroom, you try to find your phone, but it's nowhere to be seen. You toss pillows aside, lift up the heavy duvet. There’s a sick feeling bubbling in your chest, sparked by the reality that kept setting in on you.

The man I want to marry is an enemy of the state is what your brain decides on. It sends a shiver down your spine. Then, If he’s being truthful, which I’m sure he is, I either accept him as he is, or I accept death. Followed quickly by, This isn’t a bad place to die.

What a wonderful and unexpected group of thoughts to appear on what should have been a normal vacation.

Without a way to call anyone and enough anxiety in your soul to keep you awake for days on end, you exit the bedroom. Stand in the door frame of the kitchen. Watch, with your arms folded, as Chrollo futzes about the kitchen. Puts dishes away, with music playing from his phone.

He looks so normal.

“Where’s my phone?” You ask.

Chrollo glances over at you, face as calm as could be. “It’s in my bedside table. You didn’t look there?”

Blinking, you open your mouth and then immediately close it.

Chrollo hums, pleased as a cat. “I was going to order crab legs in, just for you. Do you still want me to?”

You want to say no. So badly.

Your bottom lip juts out just slightly before you compose yourself again. “Can we keep talking about... What we were talking about before?”

“If you’d like,” Chrollo says. “I was just following your wishes.”

“I know you’re telling the truth, but... I can’t believe it,” You whisper. “I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of exactly, darling?” Chrollo leans up against the counter, head tilted to the side slightly. Everything about him makes your stomach lurch.

“What happens next?” You ask.

“If I had it my way, nothing would change. If you’re comfortable with it, of course. I’ve never enjoyed anyone as much as I enjoy your company, and I would do a lot to keep you in my life. And, now that you know the last of my secrets, it will be much easier to keep you safe. What are you most worried about, darling?”

Superficial things. “Are you going to kill me?”

Chrollo’s eyebrows immediately bunch together in concern. “Not if I can help it.”

“If you can help it?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know, killing someone seems like a choice you make.”

“Well, if you were going to go to the police and endanger myself and my family, then yes. But I don’t think you’re going to do that. So no, I won’t kill you.”

Unsatisfied, but accepting, you cross your arms. “I’m up for tenor at my university.”

Chrollo blinks, eyebrows raising. He sits up almost immediately. “How long have you known? We should have celebrated.”

“I don’t have it yet,” You clarify. “But... I want to be able to accept it. And it doesn’t seem like I can anymore.”

“I never said you had to be involved in my line of business,” Chrollo says. “In all honesty, had no one ever been set out trying to kill you, I don’t think you’d ever had to know.”

You huff. “I just haven’t been able to fully process everything.”

“There is quite a lot to process,” Chrollo agrees.

“I guess my next question is, what is the reasoning for moving to Kakin?”

“I intend to kill someone who’s been a pest in my side for far too long. He’s been responsible for the deaths of a few of my friends, and I intend to make him pay. Then once I’ve handled that, I plan on robbing the royal family until they have nothing left,” Chrollo states calmly.

“Who’s the pest?” You ask. If you’re going to die, you might as well die with as much information as you can get.

“A floor master at Heaven’s Arena. He’s been wanting to fight me for years now, and I’m ready to get it over with.”

“Super descriptive. Who is it?”

Chrollo’s face turns to one of disgust. “Hisoka.”

Your eyes widen, and you can’t help the laugh of disbelief that bubbles up inside of you. One of your hands covers your mouth as you process the information.

“What’s so funny?” Chrollo asks with a slight frown. Part of his frown stems from the fact it might be one of the last times he gets to hear you laugh.

“I have a friend who has such a huge crush on him,” You say.

Chrollo’s disgust deepens. “On him?”

You nod, “Huge crush.”

“So you know him.”

“Everything I’ve learned about him has been against my will.”

Chrollo’s disgust begins to match your own expression. Disbelief and judgement towards your friend’s horrible taste in men. “That’s absolutely insane.”

“You’re telling me,” You say, shaking your head. Your mind doesn’t let you get sidetracked for too long, before you’re back to remembering your situation. That the man across from you is your boyfriend, but not in the ways in which you’ve always believed. It sobers you up quickly.

“Enough talk about Deidra’s poor choices in men,” You say.

Chrollo’s eyebrows raise even higher, jaw dropping slightly in disbelief. “This is Deidra?”

“Are you really that surprised?” You ask.

Chrollo thinks it over, thinks about all of the horrible men you had shown him pictures off of your phone that were apparently Deidra’s boyfriends. “I can’t say that I am,” He admits.

“Exactly. Stop trying to distract me. What do you mean that he wants to fight you? In what world does he know you?”

Technically, you got us off topic, Chrollo thinks, but he bites his tongue. “Remember the conversation we were having a few hours ago?”

“Right, the one about you being a mass murderer?” You say, the noun clawing its way out of your mouth with such ferocity.

“I think it sounded better when you called me an art thief,” Chrollo says. Do you think that we could just pretend you just think I’m an art thief?

“Shame that you aren’t,” You say. “But I don’t know if it’s something I can turn a blind eye to.”

“I hate to be a bearer of bad news,” Chrollo says, and holds your cutting gaze. “But if you like what we have, it’s something you should blind yourself towards.”

You swallow thickly. “You know what I heard?”

“I’m sure it’s not the quote about Jesus telling the man to gouge out his eyes.”

“He was talking about cheating on your wife,” You say. “I don’t think he was talking about telling your girlfriend that you’re actually a highly wanted criminal.”

“Touché. What did you hear, darling?”

The sweet name pulls at your heart strings. “I...” You take a deep breath. “It sounds like I don’t have a choice. Or, I do have one. But it’s not much of a choice if the other option is death.”

Chrollo hums, deep and thinking. “I suppose it’s not.”

“But I— If you’re being truthful about who you actually are… I know about what you’ve done. It makes my skin crawl to know that— To know that you’ve—”

Nausea builds. The man from last night, the criminal before you now. And to think you’ve never felt loved when you’ve been touched before Kuroro. It’s too much, too much information back to back.

And you love him.

To think that you’ve spent years and years and years telling impressionable, skeptical young adults about what makes the Brontë sisters good. It’s that the men they write about, the evil, horrible men who lock women away in attics, are fantasies. They aren’t real.

And yet, here you are.

A glass of water gets set before you, followed by the familiar orange of your anxiety medication.

“You’re about to have a panic attack,” Kuroro says. “I don’t think this is something you want to be scatterbrained for.”

You want to laugh at the irony of his actions and your thoughts. However, he is right. He often is, when it comes to you. You take the medicine, and wash it down with a few glugs of water. Some of it even drips down your chin, and you’re quick to wipe it away.

The two of you sit in silence while you take deep breaths. While you press the tips of your fingers together. While you wait for your heart to stop racing.

It takes a long time. Longer than normal. A few glasses of water. Normally, Kuroro would play with your hair and wipe your tears. Rub your back until you were ready to either talk about it or move on. This time, however, he keeps his distance.

He leaves the room entirely for a few moments. You stare blankly at the chair he had left empty. When Kuroro returns, he sits back in his chair, and your gaze slowly makes its way back to his face.

“I wish you never told me,” You say, hand coming up to wipe away your tears before they could fall. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

There’s a finality that lingers on the table.

“Can I go swimming one last time?” You ask softly.

One last time. Chrollo’s eyes on you are intense. Deep in thought. He takes a deep breath in.

“Are you positive?” Chrollo asks. Are you positive that you’d rather die?

“No,” Your voice cracks in your admittance. You shake your head. “Not at all.”

“There is always the option you seem unwilling to consider. The one where we have a wonderful rest of our vacation. The one where we return and you get to show all of your coworkers, your friends and your nail technician how beautiful the ring your fiancé put on your finger is. You can go back to work, be ready for the new semester in the fall. I’ll meet you at work to walk you home, I could even drive you. I’ll handle my business, I won’t ever talk about it. You’ll call me and tell me all about your day, and I’ll tell you about how beautiful the ocean is in Kakin. And while I’m gone, tending to my work, I’ll make sure that you’re safe and cared for. That no one would ever hurt you again.”

You look from his hand which rests on the table to his face. His eyes are soft, despite the tension you can see in his jaw, trailing down to his neck. It’s so subtle.

Chrollo continues. “There’s no reason for you to make a decision now. Just know that no matter what, I’ll take care of you.”

He has to find the man who ruined his fantasy.

“The decision is yours. I’ll respect and understand whichever way you choose.”

You nod wordlessly. What a horrible place to be put in.

Kuroro doesn’t leave. He simply just sits here. He wants to soak in every moment he has remaining.

Eventually, you speak.

“You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?” You ask.

“No. For this reason exactly.”

You nod. Your fingers play with the condensation. “Gods, I hate how much I love you. I just… I just wanted something normal with you.”

“We could always still have something normal,” Kuroro says, voice quiet soothing.

Tears well up in your eyes. You scrunch your nose up, pout your lips. “I don’t think so, Kuroro. Not that I know who you are now.”

Chrollo doesn’t know what to do with himself. He watches as tears build up in your eyes, as you hold your bicep to self soothe. He has a plan for this, he does. He doesn’t think you’ll want to hear it, not anymore.

“I’m still the same person I was when we met,” Chrollo says.

You shake your head. “No you aren’t. No, gods Kuroro. Even before this, you’ve changed so much. Changed enough from friend with benefits to be husband material. I didn’t think you were even datable when we first met. You’ve changed.”

You want the butterflies in your stomach again, the ones from when you had one too many mimosas at brunch and told your friends that your boyfriend was picking you up. Your stomach lurches when you think about your friends. Tears start again.

“I was so happy,” You breathe. “Fuck, I was so happy.”

Standing, your legs shake just slightly below you. “I’m going to go lie down. For real this time. I— I’m so hurt right now.”

Kuroro nods. “I understand.”

“No you don’t,” You reply, before turning and immediately leaving.

The waiting is perhaps the worst part of all of this. Chrollo drums his fingers on the table. No matter what you decided, he was going to get his revenge, slow and torturous, on whoever ruined his escapism.

#ophelia.fic #chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader but do not start here you will not understand #tmj posting

27 notes · View notes

yuesya · 2 years

Note

today is another day to think about ur xianxia plot bunny and wonder what mc's family thought about them bailing to go find their replacement, who they haven't seen in centuries and prolly trust less to do the job than mc themself lmao

“What do you mean, our jiazhu is gone?!”

The expression that Bai Fei is wearing is somewhat of a twisted grimace, a cross between irritation and worry. Or resignation. Bai Zhuo can’t really tell, but that’s not really the important thing at the moment, is it–

The young man swallows roughly, staring incredulously at his frazzled-looking senior. “… Please tell me you’re joking, cousin.”

“I wish,” Bai Fei mutters under her breath. A pale hand rests upon her brow, and it’s evident that she’s nursing a budding headache. “I only just found out from overhearing my father this morning, when he was discussing it with my mother… although this does explains a lot about how things have been oddly quiet recently. The elders are clearly doing a good job at keeping this under the wraps. But Bai Lin is gone, and no one knows where he’s ran off to!”

Bai Zhuo suddenly feels a dizzying sense of hollow, rising panic. “Wait. Wait. I-If he’s missing, then… is it the demons, maybe? But… but that doesn’t make any sense! The seals laid over the mountain prevent any demonic taint from crossing over the boundary, there’s no way any demon could infiltrate the Bai–”

“No, he hasn’t been kidnapped. There were no signs of a fight, or anything of the sort.” Bai Fei purses her lips, pretty features marred in a frown. “… He’s also a fucking Second-Step Divine Realm cultivator. you think any demon could kidnap him out of the Bai stronghold without a fight? Bai Lin is a little air-headed sometimes, but he’s jiazhu for a reason.”

That. That’s a good point. Bai Zhuo wrings his hands in mounting confusion. “So he just up and left?”

“… That’s what it’s seeming like,” Bai Fei sighs. “My father and the other elders are having conniptions over this. Apparently, Bai Lin also left a letter –as well as several contingency plans, in case any situation arises during his absence– but our most esteemed First Elder nearly had a qi deviation on the spot when he read it, and promptly shredded it to pieces. So.”

The young man sweat-drops. “That sounds… uh… not good?”

“Y’think?” his older cousin says wryly, then shakes her head. “Communication talismans aren’t reaching him, either. But given that all the family seals tied to the family head’s energies are still in place, and all the protective barriers are still functioning perfectly… it’s strange. If he’s abandoning the family, then why bother?”

“Don’t even joke about that, cousin,” Bai Zhuo shivers, and levels a stern look on the young woman. “Bai Lin would never do something like that!”

Bai Fei raises an eyebrow. “Then how do you explain this?”

“… Maybe he just wants a vacation?”

Several thousand li to the south, a young man steps off of a small fishing boat and stretches. At a glance, there is nothing particularly special about him. His hair is tousled and messy from the wind, and he’s dressed in coarse hemp just like the others around him. But for all that he is unremarkable, if there’s anything about the young man that stands out at all, then it would be his eyes. There’s a certain light in those dark eyes, as he steps forward and looks up towards the sky.

“… Five hundred fucking years. C’mon now, Mr. Main Character. Let’s see where you’ve been hiding, yeah?”

(Somewhere at an undisclosed location in the demon realm, another young man promptly sneezes.)

#QA #Writing #that one xianxia plot bunny #oc belongs to a family with the surname bai #bai as in cypress!#not the color white haha #in his letter he mentions how in the past five hundred years #he's come to see his own failings #and deeply recognizes his shortcomings #he is unfit to be the family head!!#and as such #he has decided to set forth and search for the true head of the bai family #as discovered in the clan's sealed records #the first elder reads this and blows a gasket #GET BACK HERE YOU FUCKING LITTLE-#first elder please remain calm!#oh boy someone bring out the thousand-year ice jade for treating qi deviations #i think we might need it

24 notes · View notes

ostellaria · 2 years

Text

a mortal’s selfishness

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ࿐ྂ “Do I look like the type to reprimand someone?”

Yoimiya chuckled shyly. “Maybe?”

“I may have some wise words in my head, but I am not someone that will get mad at anyone over something trivial,” Emmeline said as if making a point, then added, “most of the time.”

“So I still have to be worried about that?”

“I wouldn’t be worried about it.”

“I certainly didn’t expect to receive a welcome as offensive as this, Kamisato Ayaka.” Takayuki trembled from where he was sitting, then scrambled to get up, remembering he was supposed to greet the Shirasagi Himegimi . “I expected better from the young lady of the Kamisato Clan.”

Ayaka opened her fan. “Forgive me for my discourteous behavior. It is most selfish of me to decide to meet you like this.” Emmeline didn’t look at her, merely choosing to stare at the man kneeling with his head on the ground before her. It was a grand show of respect. The life of a noble seemed great when you look at it from this perspective.

However . . . Emmeline chose to look away from Takayuki.

“Is your brother home?” she asked. “Was it not him who intended to extend an invitation to his estate?” She had no way of knowing Ayaka’s thoughts, but she could feel them. The Kamisato was nervous. Ayaka wasn’t ready. The person who was the epitome of perfection around others displayed her true nature in front of someone she barely knew.

Ayaka blinked. “My older brother is not home at the moment . . . as he had things to take care of at Tenshukaku.” The Raiden Shogun’s abode. You wouldn’t be able to miss it—you would be stupid to, especially in the city. Did the Raiden Shogun know of her? Ei would, but the puppet was unsure. Emmeline didn’t think Ei would tell a puppet stories about her.

At least Ei came out every so often. She would be lucky to cross paths with her, and even more so to get a chance to talk to her. Emmeline narrowed her eyes, finding the idea absurd. Never mind. A needless thought. It was what the puppet would think as well. Really . . . getting influenced by someone who she didn’t know.

The Kamisato Head visited Tenshukaku often to report to the Shogun and to discuss many issues in the country because it was a part of politics. Such a complicated system created by the archons— some archons—and abided by the citizens. Looking at taxes would give Emmeline tension headaches. Well, it was unlikely that Ayato’s intention to be in Tenshukaku was related to reports. He had a routine and he usually didn’t stray from it.

“Do you know what he’s doing in Tenshukaku?” Emmeline twisted her torso, staring at Ayaka for the first time throughout the informal meeting. She doubted Ayaka knew anything, but maybe she would feel some sort of doubt. Kamisato Ayato’s affairs have always been questionable, but his little sister had always thought that whatever he did had a greater purpose to them. That was true, but no one could ever truly know with him.

Ayaka dipped her head. “My apologies. I do not know what my brother is doing in Tenshukaku.” Ayaka turned to the foreigner standing behind her, but even he offered no answer. That was false. Thoma knew a lot about the Yashiro Commissioner’s affairs. He was incredibly trusted in the household. Which also meant that he wouldn’t say a thing about his employer’s intentions in the Shogun’s abode.

Emmeline sighed, eyes falling to the empty table before her. She hadn’t even noticed them clear out the table of dishware. She realized she didn’t really have any want to unravel Kamisato Ayato’s secrets.

She wasn’t sure if she could catch him off guard but surely with the help of a certain shrine maiden, she could. Thinking about whatever plan Miko could cook up for the Kamisato Head gave her shivers. Yae Miko was hardly a merciful someone. Get involved with her, and you’d know you have less control over your life than you thought.

Eventually, the young lady of the Kamisato Clan persuaded Emmeline to walk with her around the city. There was nothing much to see, but the child seemed pretty excited that she accepted; she couldn’t say anything else. Kamisato Ayaka still had some childish desires. That much was obvious. It was nice to see. Innate curiosity and excitement still lingered. It was not to be laughed at, for Kamisato Ayaka’s childhood wasn’t similar to any other children. She should be granted this opportunity to explore her inner child.

“Miss Emmeline?” She turned to meet Ayaka’s gaze filled with hope. Then her eyes darted to the item in the young girl’s hands. What was it? It looked familiar, certainly. Something she should know. Emmeline dug in her memories but came up empty-handed.

She sighed, deciding to listen to the girl instead. “What is it?”

Ayaka pointed to her left ear, and Emmeline absentmindedly reached up to touch her own. Right. The earring. “I had a craftsman recreate it,” she admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t have much courage to ask you, so I assumed you lost the other pair. Thankfully, it wasn’t a complicated design, and it’s why he could recreate it without much of a problem.”

Ah. Emmeline appreciated the thought. She really did. However . . . it wasn’t the same. In the first place, she never lost the earring. It only had one pair. And it didn’t mean the same to Emmeline as her earring. Ayaka’s earring was beautiful, but she shouldn’t wear it.

“You didn’t need to do this, Kamisato Ayaka.” Emmeline tried to respond kindly to the young lady, but her tone didn’t quite express that well. It sounded like she was annoyed with Ayaka for the generous gesture.

Ayaka tilted her head down, crestfallen at Emmeline’s reaction toward her thoughtful present. Then all too quickly, she composed herself and smiled at Emmeline, closing the box that held the earring and handing it to Thoma who followed after her. The Mondstadt-born child subtly narrowed his eyes at Emmeline.

At that, Emmeline thought she should clarify herself if it wasn’t obvious enough to anyone. “It’s not your fault, Kamisato Ayaka.” It’s just that you’re being rather inconsiderate, choosing to act without asking, and while it may have been a pleasant surprise, it was absolutely —“This earring never had a pair, to begin with . . . and I intend to let it stay that way.”

“Sentimental value . . . that makes sense,” she heard Ayaka mutter under her breath.

Emmeline smiled at her. Now, what should they do?

Komore Teahouse was a pleasant place, and so was its owner. No one could have guessed that such a private place would be owned by the Yashiro Commission. In the city, no less. There were people inside, but they were undoubtedly guests with the necessary documentation from the Kamisato Estate. The group of three provided some life in the often desolate teahouse.

“A dog?” Emmeline asked, a hand reaching out to pet behind the ear of the creature who wagged his tail excitedly. There was no need to build trust if he already trusted her this much. She wouldn’t believe this little Shiba Inu once was a member of the Shuumatsuban, unlike Takayuki who very much yearned to earn his spot in the Yashiro Commissioner’s little group.

Thoma seemed to be quite fond of him as well when he was the one who responded. “His name is Taroumaru. He’s the owner of Komore Teahouse.” It was honestly hard to see the dog managing the affairs of the teahouse—which Emmeline was sure he wasn’t—seeing as only the Yashiro Commission can touch anything regarding the place.

Ayaka nodded, opening her fan and placing it before her face. Shy, perhaps. Or was there something more profound in the action? The fan’s unspoken language was one for romantic purposes, so Emmeline doubted the way she held it before her face with her right hand meant anything. Additionally, it was old fashion, something that was hardly used in Inazuma or anywhere else.

Emmeline’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she sighed, finding herself stupid for analyzing Ayaka’s actions. Yes, Ayaka was a noble and she probably knew these things, but to use them without thought was useless. Furthermore, she noticed that Thoma hadn’t discarded the earring yet. Sure, they could keep it, and she wouldn’t mind. But why?

She could have settled for a relatively quiet rest of her day after this morning’s events. Her eyes were dazed and hollow as she stared aimlessly at the lights above her. Ayaka wasn’t doing anything either.

“Should we take a seat inside?” Thoma offered. Emmeline noticed his loyalty to the Kamisato family if the way he reacted to her rejecting Ayaka’s gift didn’t speak enough words to be said. She glanced at Ayaka.

She tilted her head at Emmeline, smiling brightly. “Shall we?”

Ayaka walked ahead, her wooden slippers clicking on the wooden floors of the teahouse. The remaining rays of sunlight filtered through the windows to the right of Taroumaru and set a rather calming scene. Birds chirping would make the mood better and ease her mind.

“Thoma.” Emmeline turned to the blonde man. “From Mondstadt, right?” Emmeline didn’t see the use of this conversation, but she figured Thoma needed some reassurance from her. He seemed quite suspicious of her. But who wouldn’t?

“That’s correct, Miss Emmeline,” he responded, tone polite and without any hint of hate or like.

“I visited Mondstadt just recently,” she said, waiting for Thoma to follow after Ayaka who had already entered one of the first rooms in the teahouse. She was most likely wondering why they were taking so long. “I helped a knight and got into some trouble.”

“Is that so?” Thoma smiled warmly. He did it only as a means of keeping up appearances, as he was still skeptical of Emmeline. She respected that.

“The winds blowing through the land still reminded me of warmth despite the extended time I was away.”

“I would like to visit Mondstadt if given the chance.”

“You miss it, don’t you?” No one could hide homesickness, no matter how much they tried to. Emmeline didn’t—couldn’t feel homesick for she had no place to call home. Teyvat was her home, she would say.

“Yes,” was Thoma’s clipped response as they rounded the corner to the room they chose to occupy. Even as an exclusive place, it was still customary to want some privacy when discussing something. The table wasn’t ridden with food, Emmeline noticed. Although she just had quite the meal at Uyuu Restaurant, as they had been walking around for a while, she felt like having some bites of food.

Emmeline knew she shouldn’t ask about Kamisato Ayato. He wasn’t present, and Ayaka was the courteous one to keep her company in Inazuma, but she didn’t know what to talk about. She knew little of the Shirasagi Himegimi so she couldn’t raise any topics that would be of her interest. Even as a public figure, Kamisato Ayaka never let anyone know about her personal affairs, and that included her likes and dislikes. She didn’t have any information regarding her.

She only kept up with news about Inazuma to observe Ei. She was the only close relation she had left after her absence. Everyone else she cherished in the Nation of Eternity was gone. Dead, in other words. Emmeline was used to it. Loss wasn’t a foreign concept for an immortal like her, but it didn’t mean she felt no loneliness every time she found herself before the event.

“Lady Ayaka, how is the food?” Thoma asked, a gentle gaze settling on the girl with a corndog between her fingers. None of them seemed to mind Emmeline’s silence, choosing to instead talk to each other. Thankfully, Ayaka felt no different toward her.

“It tastes nice,” she responded. “Thank you for asking, Thoma. Where did you order these?”

Thoma smiled. “From Kiminami Restaurant, since you rather liked the food there.” He turned his head toward Emmeline, polite in his movements. He raised a hand, gesturing to her. “I thought Miss Emmeline would like the food there.”

Emmeline blinked, staring at the food on the table. She hadn’t eaten a single thing yet. To have food before her with such thought put into ordering them, and for her to not even spare them a glance. She felt rather sheepish.

She was certain the food was good. She picked up a slice of what looked to be a Mushroom Pizza with toppings native to the Inazuma Archipelago. Her eyes drifted to Ayaka who stared at her expectantly. The duo probably made sure she got this.

Emmeline sunk her teeth into the crust of the Special Mushroom Pizza. Flavor burst on her tongue, and she couldn’t help the satisfied hum that escaped her throat. It was that good. She appreciated the use of native ingredients the most, but the pizza didn’t taste half-bad either. The seasoning saved it mostly, but it was good enough to draw out such a reaction from her.

Ayaka looked pleased, and so did Thoma. Emmeline watched the housekeeper take a bite of Taiyaki.

“There certainly is a lot to see in the city,” Emmeline said, eyes moving across rows and rows of stalls with merchandise and food. It was sure to be a hit among tourists who couldn’t control their hold on their wallets.

“Ah, yes.” Ayaka opened her fan. “The Yashiro Commission exerted the necessary effort to transform the city following the lifting of the Sakoku Decree. Now that Inazuma is more or less like the other nations, in the sense that it is open, we aim to attract tourists from all over Teyvat.”

Emmeline nodded. It was a smart move on their part. What was more respectable, however, was that the Tri-Commission of the Inazuma Shogunate moved quickly immediately after the Raiden Shogun’s announcement. Though the other two Commissions couldn’t participate much in the development of the country due to leadership issues, their contributions were still significant.

They didn’t pass through the Tenryou Commission, but Emmeline was able to get a glimpse of what was within the compound. Other than soldiers training and the occasional weapon rack, there was nothing else of note on the vast training grounds that you would see when you step into the Tenryou Commission. It looked like a display of power if anything. A display of arrogance, something they could not afford to have now that their reputation was less than great.

The main street of the city was filled with people. From workers to tourists; no one could deny the variety of people that currently existed in Inazuma. It was great to see. She wondered what Ei felt to have so many people under her watch. Technically, even when they weren’t citizens of Inazuma, they were still in the nation, so Ei would have to watch over them. It was basically a part of her job description.

“Is there anything going on?” Everything was lively. The city almost looked like the harbor of Liyue with how much things were moving around.

Ayaka raised an eyebrow at Emmeline’s question but didn’t fail to provide an answer. “We have had an influx of tourists from other nations . . . which is the result of our hard work.” It could definitely be seen. For a nation that remained stagnant for a long time, everything was pretty much organized.

“Let’s move along, then.”

At some point during the stroll in Tenryou, Thoma was pulled away upon the request of the Kamisato Head that was currently in Tenshukaku. “Lady Ayaka, your brother has asked for my assistance.” Of course, Ayaka had permitted him to leave.

“Would you like to meet a friend of mine? It’s quite a walk, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the view.” Emmeline didn’t find any reason to decline, so she nodded and let Ayaka lead her through the crowds of people. At the Yae Publishing House, countless readers formed lines to purchase a newly published book. Emmeline was sure she wouldn’t be interested in the books, considering the people they cater to, which were far from her at all.

She also got a glimpse of the towering Grand Narukami Shrine. To her, it had always been an anomaly. Emmeline felt like there was a time when it never existed, and yet in her every memory, it was present. Makoto was simply amazing. To confuse even her.

“ Hanamizaka ?”

“My friend is here.” Ayaka’s words were simple and lacked any information. “Have you heard of Naganohara Fireworks?”

Emmeline nodded slowly. It was likely that Ayaka’s friend worked at Naganohara Fireworks. Why would they go there to find her friend if not? An old man greeted them when they reached the place. No matter how much Ayaka tried to ask him where someone named Yoimiya was, he would simply react in confusion.

“Pops!” a voice screamed from inside. “Just let them in!”

“What?” Naganohara Ryuunosuke hollered back. He put his palm to his ear to hear better. It wasn’t much help.

The other person sighed loudly. “I’ll come out instead!”

“What?” It was definitely confirmed. The Naganohara was either fully deaf or partially deaf. Emmeline chose not to speak throughout the interaction, merely letting it be. Something told her it was normal.

A person with a Pyro Vision who looked suspiciously like someone who would be interested in fireworks walked out of the shop, soot covering her fingers. Some mishap concerning a firework, Emmeline guessed.

“Oh! Hello!” A bright smile appeared on her face, and she thrust her hand out in greeting, intending to shake hands with Emmeline before she retracted said hand and wiped it on her kimono, then offering her hand again to Emmeline. “Welcome to Naganohara! My name is Yoimiya—just let me know if you need anything! We have Kushikatsu, Egg Roll . . . Wait, no, we're not a restaurant. We make fireworks! Like these, see? Sparkling, crackling, little fireworks!” Yoimiya held up a firework with wet blue paint all over it.

“I think you’d want to clean your fingers off,” Emmeline remarked, shaking her hand. “I’m Emmeline.”

Yoimiya looked at her hand still holding the firework, realizing. “You’re right!” She laughed. “Give me a second.” Yoimiya walked back inside the shop and walked out with clean hands. “Am I presentable now?”

“More than presentable.”

“Well, would you like to order fireworks? My words from earlier are true,” she said, then corrected herself, “We don’t serve food though.”

“I’m not here for fireworks, Yoimiya.” Emmeline smiled, pointing at Ayaka. “Kamisato Ayaka wanted me to meet you. I can see why. You’re quite a fun spirit.” Needless to say, Emmeline liked Yoimiya’s personality. She was casual and friendly, something she needed to see more of.

“Thank you for the compliment!” Yoimiya grinned. “So! What are you doing here, Ayaka?”

“I just wanted to introduce you to each other.” Ayaka smiled softly.

Emmeline stared at the droplets of blue paint on her palm. “Yoimiya, what were you making?” It looked like fireworks, but it was an easy conclusion to come to considering Yoimiya’s introduction and what she did for a living. She was pretty passionate too. She seemed almost made for the job, and not everyone was made for firework production.

“Some fireworks.” She turned to the shop she just left. “It’s not for an order or anything, I just wanted to experiment a little. Does that make sense?” Emmeline noticed that Yoimiya was trying not to ramble when she stopped as if she just hit the brakes on her words.

Both Ayaka and Emmeline nodded.

“The children should still be out playing.” Yoimiya started to walk away, Ayaka and Emmeline following right after with no other choice. “Let’s tell them to go home before they decide they really want to worry their parents.” The suggestion was kind.

Ayaka chuckled. “You’re going to scare them again?” It was the same thing an adult would do to a child in order for them to do what they wanted. It was mostly what they did. They would scare children with false stories for the children’s safety or for their own benefit.

From the way Ayaka spoke, it seemed like they had gone out more than once for the same reason. To tell the children to go home. Of course, they were friends so they would have done this more than once, but considering Ayaka’s busy schedule, it was surprising she was able to find time just to have fun with her friend.

“You know nothing else will work on them.” Yoimiya pouted.

“If you know all this already, it must mean you’d be a pretty good mother,” Emmeline decided to add, smiling as Yoimiya flushed.

“Ah—well, it’s too early to say that, Emmeline!” Yoimiya stammered. “I’m too young to think of having a family! Right now, I just want to help my dad with the business.”

“I didn’t say anything about you actually becoming a mother. I said you would be a pretty good mother with what you know to take care of the children.”

“You insinuated it!”

“Did I?” Emmeline raised an eyebrow. In the distance, she could see children playing on the shores of a body of water. It most likely connected to the ocean. They looked like they were waiting. “Yoimiya, do you do this every day?”

“It’s kinda become a routine for me?” She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. If the children weren’t—you know, kids, Emmeline would think they were using her to get extra time before going home.

“You play with them before telling them to go?”

“Yeah,” Yoimiya answered. “Is that a problem?” It confirmed what Emmeline thought.

“No. Not really.” That wasn’t a lie. They were children, after all. They might as well enjoy what freedom they have now before it gets significantly lesser when they turn into adults. Children were different from adults, after all. Their responsibilities and wants were so different from one another.

Yoimiya let out a loud sigh. “Oh my Archons, you scared me. I thought you were going to reprimand me.”

“Do I look like the type to reprimand someone?”

Yoimiya chuckled shyly. “Maybe?”

“I may have some wise words in my head, but I am not someone that will get mad at anyone over something trivial,” Emmeline said as if making a point, then added, “most of the time.”

“So I still have to be worried about that?”

“I wouldn’t be worried about it.”

The children called out for Yoimiya with loud voices and waved their arms in the air, expecting her to go and play with them until they have to go home. “I think that’s your cue,” said Ayaka. Yoimiya nodded, running to where the children were and playing with them one last time, only briefly considering asking Ayaka and Emmeline to join her.

Emmeline turned to Ayaka, then to the sun that had almost disappeared in the distance. “Kamisato Ayaka, aren’t you supposed to be home by now? The sun is setting.” She was fairly certain that Ayaka should have been home hours ago, just as the sun had begun setting. But it seemed that it was fine since no one was frantically searching for her. No soldiers, no Thoma. Well, Thoma was probably still held up in Tenshukaku.

“No one minds when I’m out late,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I am perfectly capable of defending myself.” That might be true, but nighttime is still plenty dangerous. Especially for someone like her. A notable figure in Inazuma. No one knew what could happen.

Emmeline didn’t answer, choosing to look toward Yoimiya’s direction. They were still playing. Emmeline didn’t know how long they usually played, but it probably wouldn’t last until the sun was completely gone.

“If it eases your mind somewhat Emmeline, I can walk her back to Komore Teahouse,” Yoimiya offered after she had returned to them. “We can chat when I return.” Emmeline was about to protest, but Yoimiya didn’t let her, assuming that she wanted to make sure Ayaka was safe when it was anything but that. Frankly, Emmeline didn’t have time for chats with Yoimiya, since she could just talk with her as they walk with Ayaka.

Emmeline wouldn’t be able to stay for long. Watching Yoimiya and Ayaka’s figures go deeper into the city, she sighed as a way to convey her emotions which were that of exasperation as she hastily wrote a letter for Yoimiya, one that told her she had already left for other important business. Something she had planned for the night.

Emmeline wrote her request to Naganohara Ryuunosuke to hand the letter over to Yoimiya when she returned on another paper since it seemed like a better way to communicate with him rather than just screaming while hoping her voice would register in his brain. The old man nodded after skimming over her words and then he took the letter. Emmeline bowed politely as he did so, waiting for him to put it away before leaving.

She was going back to Tenryou, so her protest was valid. If only Yoimiya had let her talk. It seemed like a better plan that she would tell them she didn’t have time for any more talks and would walk Ayaka to Komore Teahouse before going to her stop right before Tenshukaku. She wasn’t planning on entering the Shogun’s abode.

She was planning on seeking out a certain detective from the Tenryou Commission.

series: stories of a time long past

word count: 4.1k

author: ostellaria

#stories of a time long past #genshin x oc #yoimiya x oc #ayaka x oc #kamisato ayaka x oc #thoma x oc #genshin impact x oc #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #also on ao3 #fem oc

12 notes · View notes