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janaispunk · 14 days

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joel miller - oneshots - part 1

fic recs masterlist - please check the tags and warnings on each fic! if you enjoyed a fic, please show the writer some love <3

fool me twice by @inklore

you should be my only girl, comfort came against my will by @undercoverpena

fucking your best friend's brother, i might kill my ex & pillow queen by @beskarandblasters

squirming by @frannyzooey

little black dress by @hellishjoel

sweet spot & for you, i would by @javiscigarette

sequins & happy birthday by @trulybetty

i did something bad, but why's it feel so good? & sylvia plath in the toilet by @louswrld11

my girl now, biting down & that pretty girlfriend by @psychedelic-ink

sweet dreams are made of this, quit it & some rotten man by @iamasaddie

old dogs don't change & body language by @futureman

develop by @missredherring

call me by @macfrog

a sheep in wolf's clothing by @jupiter-soups

where you want your gift, girl? & she a bad lil bitch, she a rebel by @thetriumphantpanda

you're a mansion with a view by @atticrissfinch

sundown by @bageldaddy

sleepless by @covetyou

flesh and metal by @swiftispunk

what do you need? by @whatsnewalycat

sick days with joel miller by @bearsbeetsbeskar

shared by @swiftispunk & @joelscruff

looking back by @eupheme

no closer could i be to god & grab the bull by the horns by @proxima-writes

red light by @kiwisbell

observations by @ezrasbirdie

hypothermia & my protector by @morallyinept

traitor by @chaotic-mystery

what you need by @endlessthxxghts

truth or dare by @joelscruff

moon, a hole of light, trust fall, made by hand & where you sleep by @tinycozycomfort

little mouse by @josephquinnswhore

someone to lean on by @cavillscurls

attraction spell by @jksprincess10

sweets & old man by @hearteyesforjoel

mystery by @honeyedmiller

wake by @notjustjavierpena

born lucky, under a bad star by @softlyspector

curled in by @bonezone44

unlikely friends & it takes time by @sweetercalypso

no control by @fhatbhabie

love me better, kiss me back & be my daddy by @bastardmandennis

never enough by @amanitacowboy

sugar rush by @beardedjoel

go ahead and cry, little girl by @party-hearses

flannel by @romanarose

strawberry by @joelsgreys

vicious by @sinsofsummers

ensnare & knife play by @ozarkthedog

#fic recs #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction

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elliebarker · 11 months

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one of the many. ( e williams )

category: modern!college/university!ellie x female!reader : angst, fluff

summary: after her devastating heartbreak with her first girlfriend in highschool, ellie swore off dating, everything she did was casual, non-committal. that was until you showed up. (basically logan and rory troupe but make it happy)

warnings: alcohol consumption, implied smut, “friends with benefits”, cheating(?), use of the word “baby”, a somewhat copy of rory and logan’s fight, fuck boy!ellie (LMAO I’M SORRY).

word count: 2.1k

it had been almost three years since ellie’s first, and only, breakup with her ex-girlfriend, cat. she was older now, more mature, i mean for god’s sake she was a junior in college she couldn’t still be hung up on some stupid girl from highschool. that is why she had resorted to this. one girl in today, another one tomorrow. no attachments. casual. she was hanging out in a cramped party at her friend's house, sipping something alcoholic, with one, two, girls on her arm, laughing and giggling and tracing their fingers up and down her fore-arm tattoo. she was, enjoying herself, she guessed. the party life wasn’t exactly dull, it was the crowd she was surrounded with, a bunch of drunken girls over-exaggerating their laugh so that she’ll go home with them. she wasn’t opposed to it, if fact she probably needed to let loose and celebrate the compilation of one of her tests, she just hadn’t found the right girl yet. that's when she spotted you. an absolutely gorgeous girl, trying to find your way through the crowd. and she immediately took the opportunity to…introduce… herself.

“hey girl,” ellie said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, her action causing your spaghetti strap to fall slightly lower on your shoulder. “i’m ellie, what’s your name?” she asked and you introduced yourself, pulling your strap back to a more comfortable position, and smiled up at her. fuck it ellie thought i’m just gonna go for it. “wanna get out of here?” she asked, earning a smirk and a cheeky ‘sure’ from you as she led you out of the party’s front door.

ellie woke up and stretched her fingers, sore from last night, to see your body draped in and out of the sheets of her bed, still resting. her heart fluttered a little but she chose to ignore it. she sighed, clearly, you didn’t know how this worked. but it was early, and she had never slept with you before, so she gave you cut slack, she’d find a way to get you up and out of her apartment later. a few minutes passed and your body started to feel the lack of ellie’s presence. you woke up in a dingy bedroom full of music posters and scattered clothes. one pile, of which, being yours. your legs were sore as you stood up and grabbed your clothes off the floor, with a little shame in realizing the reality of your situation. you eventually got up all of your belongings and went to find ellie.

“hey,” you greeted, voice hearse and sleepy, as you walked up behind ellie’s sitting figure in the living room. she was wearing new clothes, jeans and a shirt, layered with a flannel with her hair half up pulled into a lazy barely-ponytail. her eyes racked up your body, hair messy and outfit sagged from it being thrown off the night before. “so, um, do you want my number or? i’m sorry i haven’t really done any of this before…” you stuttered on your words.

“look,” she said getting up from the couch, “i like you,” she began, “i really do. it’s just i’m not really into all that relationship crap, you know? i don’t feel like i should be tied down to someone.” she explained, moving her hand to rub the back of her neck.

“oh no i get that,” you lied, “i just, was hoping we can still…hang out.” you said, trying to come as casual as you could.

“oh no, definitely,” ellie said, smirking, as she looked you up and down. you kissed her on the check before you said goodbye. and that’s how it was. at least once a week you’d be over at her place, ‘hanging out’. it was nice. nice, until, “hey,” ellie said whilst scrolling through her phone, looking over at you gathering up your clothes, “down to go to a party?” she asked.

“sure!” you said, a smile rising to your face at the anticipation of spending time with ellie, outside the arrangement the two of you had. you went inside ellie’s bathroom, it was small and a little dingy, in order to fix up your hair and get ready to face the outside world. once you were both ready to leave, ellie locked the front door behind her and walked you to her car. it wasn’t until you were both buckled into her car and driving down to some girl’s house with her hand on your thigh that you realized you and ellie would be out together in public for the first time. i mean, sure, you’d see the other girls ellie was hooking up with but she decided to come to the party with you. you. ellie eventually pulled up to a house and slipped out of her car, with you not far behind. it was obvious with the loud music and yelling coming from the white brick house which one would be entering. you slipped through the front door with ellie by your side and went around to make conversation with the few people you knew here. you knew ellie wouldn’t want you clinging to her side the whole night. more than a few moments passed and pop music remixes blared through low-quality speakers all around the house. you did your best to socialize, and decided to look around and find ellie. luckily, she was in sight. on the other side of a heep of sweaty, dancing bodies. you were going to make your way over until an arm stopped you. the arm tan and delicate resting atop ellie’s knee whilst she sat atop the kitchen’s barstool. you felt a green-monster flash of despair, both anger and sadness. of course ellie wasn’t yours, but fuck, did your delusional-ass-self really think you meant something to her? something more than just a girl she fucks? acid rain fell from your eyes as you stormed your way out of the crowded jungle of drunken bodies. time had passed and you’d gone numb. you’d rationalized it. you and ellie weren’t exclusive, you knew that. so why did that girl fucking bother you so much? it wasn’t her fault, of course, she didn’t know. and that's the thing, know what? exactly, nothing. that’s what you were to ellie, nothing, disposable, replaceable. but your whole pissed-off attitude disappeared into a mear thought when she approached you, body lanky and oh so attractive.

“what’s with this whole ignoring me thing?” ellie laughed, leaning against the wall next to you, looking over your pouting frame. you didn’t want to start anything, god knows you didn’t, but the edging creepy feeling of jealousy washed over you.

“what was that?” you asked simply, not-answering her question with another.

“what was what?” she asked, seeming genuinely confused. you sighed, then began again, uttering the first answer to a question since the conversation first started.

“her…” you said, looking around the room for the girl ellie was with earlier, “that…girl…you were all flirty with.”

“oh,” ellie sounded surprised, “that’s dina,” ellie laughed, “another, friend, of mine.”

“friend?” you asked, as if you doubted her use of the word, “that’s what i am?” you asked, jestering to yourself, “a fucking friend?” you saw the gears turning in ellie’s head, the fight or flight kicking in. she composed herself without the slightest reaction that she was ever the least bit scared, to the untrained eye that is.

“yeah.” ellie’s voice grew impatient and angry, as if to say, ‘i don’t have time for your crap’, “that’s what we agreed upon.” ellie moved her hand from her hip to in front of her, “friends.” her stern voice and your overwhelming guilt and regret was building up and you felt tears starting to form in your eyes. you let out a,

“y’know what? i- i can’t fucking do this,” before your voice could break and left the party, letting you walk yourself home. it wasn’t until you reached the welcoming doors of your bedroom that the tears that were welling in your eyes finally fell. and they fell fast. you sobbed into your pillow all night, so much so, when you woke up your pillow was still damp. you knew you couldn’t do it anymore. you slumped off your bed, and made sure to take care of yourself. you showered, did your skin care, put on something more comfortable. you opened your phone, scrolled to ellie’s contact and pressed ‘call’. there was only one ring until,

“hello?” she called out your name.

“we need to talk, ellie.”

you walked through the mountains of fall leaves and cold air to reach her apartment. you planted a solid two knocks on her door and she immediately opened the door, you could tell she was nervous. her nails were picked at and her eyes darted everywhere around the room but you. the tension was thick, and you knew you had to settle, or rather end, it.

“ellie, i don’t think we should see each other anymore.” you bluntly stated.

“ugh, c'mon is this about that stupid shit last night? you're still hung up on that?” ellie questioned.

“look it's like you said, you can’t be couple-y with me and i get that it’s just i’m a ‘girlfriend’, ellie, i have ‘girlfriends’ not…friends.” you explained, used your hands to display a pair of air quotes when you pronounced the word friends. “i’m sick of…i’m sick of being one of the many, i can’t do it anymore, that’s it okay? i can’t be your friend anymore, i thought i could be different, but i can’t, i’m sorry.” you huffed out the big speech you’d crafted on your way to her apartment. after an erie second of silence, ellie spoke.

“don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“i get it,” ellie said, rubbing her hands together trying to settle her nerves and her voice at a calm level, “i get what your doing.” ellie accused you.

“i’m not doing anything,” you stated, plainly, confusion written all over your face, wondering where she was going with this.

“if that’s what you want, a…a girlfriend, then just come out and say it okay? don’t make me sit here and worry and feel like i fucked up, don’t make me pace around my apartment, don’t come here saying ‘i can’t see you anymore’ don’t fucking do that! i’ll be your girlfriend? alright? that’s what you're really saying huh?” ellie lectured you.

“that’s not what i’m saying, ellie.” you tried to explain, but she kept going on,

“no, no, but that’s what you mean, don’t you?” she sighed, putting her hands on your waist, “c’mon, i’ll do it”

“what?” you gasped.

“i said i’ll do it, okay?” ellie forcefully stated, “i’ll be your girlfriend, it’s either all or nothing baby.”

“you can’t be my girlfriend,” you pushed her back.

“who says i can’t? huh?�� ellie’s hands slithered their way back onto your waist.

“um, you, last night!” you declared, recalling her aggravated tone from the night before.

“oh come on! last night was last night, forget about it, right now is right now and i want, scrap that i need you, don’t– don’t leave me sweet girl.” ellie pleaded, begged you. you placed a hand on your hip in an attempt to display fake confidence.

“you have a hundred girls on speed dial.” you scoffed, disbelieving of this ‘new’ ellie.

“who cares about them? they don’t matter to me.”

“look,” you began, “i know you, i know your type, commitment is not your thing and that’s fine! non-commitment isn’t mine so it's better if we just go our separate ways.” you turned to leave. ellie’s hands, previously placed on your waist, went up to arm and turned you back around to look at her.

“just let me try,” ellie said, looking deeply genuine, “if i say i can do this, then i can do this.”

“ellie–” she interrupted you calling out her name, with your own.

“do you really want to stop seeing me?”

“no,” you stuttered, “but i can’t–”

“‘cause i don’t wanna stop seeing you.” ellie smiled at you.

“are you sure–?” she cut you off a third time, this time with her lips. waves crashed and goals scored in that moment. her lips, never so delicate until this point, landed on yours and connected each other. it was utterly and absolutely euphoric. her lips were soft, softer than other times you had kissed. and it was then you knew. it was then you both knew. you were the one. she didn’t want anyone else. only you. her girlfriend. and she was finally proud to call you that.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #college!ellie williams #college!ellie #ellie tlou #tlou fanfiction #ellie angst #ellie williams angst #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fan fiction #ellie williams fanfic

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strawb3rryshortcak5 · 1 year

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When You Wash Your Hair

simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

Summary: It has been 13 months since Simon has been properly home. The day before he left, the two of you got into an agonizing argument. Not knowing whether or not you will be there when he gets home, he silently walks up to the house.

Contains: SFW, angst to fluff, ooc Ghost (he is a cold man out on the field, but he is mostly a softie for you), descriptions of yelling, arguments, anxiety, abandonment, swearing, crying, anger, and also a bit of kissing, hints of alcoholism but its mentioned briefly

A/N: This is my first time writing a fanfic on tumblr so i apologize if this is shite 🤭 Let me know if there is anything i should improve on. Enjoy this long asf oneshot of our babygirl ghosty 🫶💞 Also!! based on the song ‘when you wash your hair’ by Matt Maltese

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This all started out with you voicing your concerns about your relationship. The feelings of abandonment you felt every time he left for a job and the worry and anxieties that followed after, not knowing whether he was going to come home safe or in a hearse. It scared you, you loved him, but the lack of communication during the time he was away was killing you.

You cried trying to tell him how it felt. You sobbed on the floor of your shared bedroom, telling him that you were growing apart. You never wanted to stop loving him, you didn’t think it was possible. But you could not do this to yourself by staying. It was painful.

It started to get heated when he shut down. He stopped looking at you as he sat further onto the once warm bed you two had slept in together. He grunted, and pushed himself up. Without looking back at you, he slowly marched to the other side of the room. He swiftly opened a drawer on one of two dressers you owned, this one specifically for his SAS attire. It carried his weapons, his private files, obviously his clothes, and some other miscellaneous items he kept hidden. He grabbed the black duffle that sat next to it and started packing. You sat on the floor in quiet disbelief as Simon started carefully folding and stuffing clothes into the bag.

“Simon, you can’t be serious right now.” Your once sad and lonely voice slowly drifted into an angry yelp.

Furious you felt as he continued not responding to you, you stood up and stomped over to him, grabbing what he was holding and tossing it to the side.

“What is your problem!?” You squealed as he stared at you. His face devoid of any kind of expression.

He softly moved from his kneeling position into a standing one. Keeping eye contact with you as you searched his body language for anything you could use to answer your question.

“My problem? What is your problem Y/N? You knew what you were getting into when you got with me, and now all of a sudden its a surprise i have to leave? Get a hold of yourself.” He said, starting to raise his voice.

He pushed past you to grab the pants you had thrown to the other side of the room. Stiffly walking back to the duffle and kneeling down once again. The truth is, he hated fighting with you. He hated seeing you so devastated at the fact he had to leave. He didn’t want to leave, but long ago he had gotten numb to the feeling of homesickness. Of course he missed you, but he clearly prioritized his job over you. Everyone knew this.

Not knowing how to respond to your husbands words, you walked out of the bedroom and practically ran down the stairs to the living room. Sitting down on the couch and putting your hands onto your face, covering it. Thinking over the situation and gathering the proper words to say, you decided when he came back down you would speak to him again.

A couple minutes later he descended the stairs, duffle and work boots in hand and passed your frame on the couch to go straight to the door. All the words you wanted to say were forgotten and what came out of your mouth shocked the both of you.

“If you leave right now Simon, i can’t promise i will be home when you get back.” You said, sternly. Eyes widening ever so slightly at your own sentence.

“This is my bloody job Y/N!” He bellowed. “I have to go, regardless of how you feel. If you leave that is not my fault. Do whatever the hell you want!”

Dropping his packed bag back onto the floor, He twists around to look across the room at your form. You were shaking at his response. Not from fear or sadness, but from what only one could describe as poisonous rage.

“Get out.” The calmness of your voice made the silence that came after it more deafening.

Wordlessly, he tied up his boots, grabbed all of his things he had previously collected and left by the front door, and walked out.

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He was finally home. Taking a taxi from the airport to what he used to call he private safe house, he sat silent the whole drive. He was nervous. Walking up to his own house feels surreal. The nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach begins to feel painful. Anxiety fills his body, nonetheless he continues on.

The red light of the evening

The cotton that you wear

They cover up your neck this way

Adjusting his baklava and swinging his duffle further onto his shoulder, he digs in his pockets for his keys. Nearly dropping them as he pulls them out, he unlocks the door. He quickly notices that the sound of water running is most prominent in his ears. Thin walls.

“Y/N.” He says quietly. “Thank god.”

Placing his stuff down and removing the rest of his heavy gear, including his mask, he walks towards the sound of what he assumes to be the shower. He starts to sweat as he ascends the stairs. The bathroom door is slightly ajar as he creeps up to it, pushing it open slowly.

Your calm and naked crying

Washing off Chanel

From the edges of your neck this way

You don’t hear the door open, too concentrated on lathering your loofa in soap and scrubbing yourself down. Simon bought you this bath set. It had been such a wonderful surprise when he brought it home to you. Your tears flowing even more as you thought of him. You didn’t leave the house after the argument, but you did call your mom. She told you that it was completely your decision if you wanted to leave and that her advice would not have mattered anyways. So you followed the direction of your heart and stayed.

Paying back attention to your surroundings, you see a large burly figure through the slight transparency of the shower curtain. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you yelp and pull the curtain back clumsily, enough to see this figure but not enough for them to see anything but your face.

You did some things that you forgot

Drinking wine and smoking pot

You tried to be someone you are not

Simon’s eyes soften at the sight of your surprised but tired gaze. Before he had walked up to see you, he noted the amount of empty bottles of wine laying on the floor of the living room. You had been drinking, quite a bit. This concerned him as you were not a person who drank often. Only having a shot or two when going out and certainly not drinking at home.

“Simon?” You whispered dropping the curtain and snatching the towel you had left next to the sink.

Wrapping yourself up, you step out of the shower. Not speaking a word after that. You stared at him, hard. Searching for potential wounds or new found scars on his face and arms. He doesn’t move. Your tears begin flowing again, faster than last time.

“I am so sorry, my love.” He states, taking a few steps forward and finally actually entering the bathroom.

You don’t know what to say at all. You didn’t want to forgive him. Fuck that. But deep down you knew you had already forgiven him the second he walked out the door in the first place. Covering your mouth as you began sobbing, you look to your side and back to him.

“You are a fucking asshole.” You say, nothing but sadness laced in between your words.

Marching forward you grab your husband and pull him into a tight hug, him returning it immediately. You wrap your arms around his waist and hold his shoulder from behind. He grabs your water soaked head and brings it into his chest, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

The apology comes out easier than he expected it to. He apologized for everything you thought he wasn’t aware of. He apologized for leaving you alone. He apologized for prioritizing his job over his wife. He apologized for constantly leaving socks on the floor of your bedroom and everything else in between. Swaying you back and forth as you sobbed in his arms.

“Its okay, its okay.” You whispered over and over again as he held you. Interrupting his apologies quietly over and over again until he was done.

Pulling yourself off of him slightly you grab his face with your hands and look up into his eyes. Moving your hands up his face, you eventually run your fingers through his hair and return back down to his cheeks.

Now the morning sweeps you up

You take your evening outfit off

“Join me?” You question, quickly gazing back at the still running shower and then back to his pretty eyes. dropping the towel as you do so.

“Of course.” He whispers lovingly. Silently taking off his clothes as he follows you back into the shower.

You run your shower and lean back your head

He kisses your lips as you close the curtain. Kissing him back with everything you have, you equally as fast pull away. Muttering a quick ‘you smell’ as you move to stand behind him, grabbing the shampoo bottle and squirting some into your hand. He hums blissfully as you begin massaging his scalp. When it’s scrubbed enough, you turn him around and back him into the flowing water of the shower head. Letting the soap wash away from his hair.

“Thank you for staying. Fucking hell, i wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you left.” He smiles a bit as he says this and you are quick to lock your lips once again. More passionately this time, him knowing in his heart that you are his forever. He will always be grateful for you.

I love when you wash your hair

#If this is bad please forgive me i am not a professional fanfic writer yet 🙏#cod ghost x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley #call of duty #simon riley angst #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii

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ilovepedro · 6 months

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Deja Vú | javier peña x f!reader

Summary: You and Javier, your best friend and neighbor, have been hooking up for a while now. He’s infiltrated your daily life, lingering in your thoughts, seeing him everywhere - you’re unable to function without him crossing your mind. However, nothing has been exclusively established by you two. At least not until shit hits the fan when the two of you go on dates with other people. Will things between you and Javier turn into something more?

Word count: tbd (it’ll probs be long i can’t control myself)

Rating: 18+ MDNI (All ageless blogs will be blocked.)

Series warnings: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, lil bit of enemies to lovers at some point, idiots in love, miscommunication trope, flirting, mutual pining, some angst, Javi is a fucking idiot bc he is a man, jealous!Javi, possessive!Javi, protected and unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), fingering, oral (f receiving), spanking, some ass play, creampie, aftercare, reader speaks and understands Spanish, reader is female and has hair you can pull but has no other physical descriptions, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, translations will be available at the end of each chapter.

A/N: Mood board does not depict reader, she is completely faceless through and through. This is loosely based off Deja Vú by Beyoncé because how could i, Nini, not write a fic based off of a Bey song??? if y’all don’t know me, i am Beyhive 4L 🤞🏼i was listening to B’day and it’s so Javi coded to me, it’s crazy

Divider by @saradika

Full series here! 🫶🏼

As promised, my lil 200 followers celebration (and my WIP Wednesday) so, snippet under the cut!

You shut the door before he can answer, huffing out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in, and lean against it. What a long fucking night. Padding into the bathroom, you remove your makeup and sigh into your towel. You stare at yourself in the mirror and bite back tears.

Shaking your head, you will yourself not to cry - refusing to shed tears for him. You walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from one of the cabinets. Opening the fridge, you reach for the open bottle of wine. Sighing, as you’re reminded of Javi, having shared the bottle with him after a hookup a few days ago.

You fill your glass to the brim and chug half of it, slamming down the glass on the countertop. You drag your feet towards the living room, plopping down on the couch. Your head hangs in your hands as you curl into a ball.

“Javi!” You perk up at the sound of a woman calling his name. Rising from the couch, you press your ear against the thin wall that separates yours and Javi’s apartments. “Sí, Javi, sí!” Your brain is short-circuiting as you hear her moan Javi’s name. You can’t help but let your jaw fall open, shocked that he’d be so bold to rub this in your face. Tears of anger and heartache well in your eyes. You attempt to storm off until you hear your name.

A man screaming your name - Javi screaming your name. Everything goes silent. Your ears are ringing and your body is hot, flooding with emotions as your head spins. There’s no way any of this is happening.

Suddenly, you hear shuffling and shouting from outside. Running to peer out of the small peephole at the top of your front door, your jaw drops again at the scene playing out in front of you. Cassandra, the woman from earlier in the night, is fixing her clothes while screaming at a shirtless Javi in the hallway.

i’m excited for this one! it’s like seeing the novelas in my head come to life on the page lol this is very self-indulgent for me

some moot/npt tags: @joelsgreys @nostalxgic @party-hearses @daydreamingmiller @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @javierpena-inatacvest @amanitacowboy @undrthelights @gracieheartsspedro 🩷

ty @mandoisapunk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @jenispunk for the wip wednesday tags <333

#fic: deja vú #javier peña narcos #javier peña #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javi peña #javier peña fic #javier peña smut #wip wednesday

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zh-lele · 10 months

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TOO FAST (m)

▪︎Pairing: Mark Lee x female reader

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

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

▪︎Word count: 12.6k words

playlist | Pictures taken by Taeyong | Drifting series

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

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

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

Don't they see it too?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

"You're all wet."

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

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

"You know what's missing tonight?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you talked to Johnny?"

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

He shakes his head no.

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

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

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

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

1. You hit them stones and you broke your home

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

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

"Mark, hurry up!"

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

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

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

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

You, however, were worried and scared for him.

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

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

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

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

But that wasn't happening that night.

"No fucking way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're a smokestack."

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

"Excuse me?"

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

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

"And how would you know?"

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

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

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

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

He would finally return all that attention to you later.

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

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

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

"The problem is… I like Mark."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds lovely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may fancy me, but you love Mark.

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

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

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

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

"You need to get out of here."

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

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

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

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

Or at least more attached than you already are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please tell me the truth."

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

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

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

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

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

"You sure?"

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

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

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

"Mhm?"

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

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

3. Permission to crash, collecting damages, boy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You coming back to bed?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's always been easier to ignore all that.

"Can we just– not have this conversation?"

"Are you fucking him too?"

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

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

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

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

"You did a little cleaning," he repeats.

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

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

"Where is Taeyong's necklace?"

"Huh?" discomposure shows in your tone.

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

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

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

Meeting his teary eyes, yours fill with tears too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't an easy process.

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

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

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

"But how do your decisions make you feel?"

"I feel selfish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi."

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

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

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

"I was hesitant to come."

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

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

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

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All of you," and he finishes.

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

5. Loving you almost feels like something

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

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

"But I never lie."

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

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

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

"Maybe we should become a married couple."

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

"You know I don't cook."

"Then forget about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When no ones around me, you lost and found me

I was surrounded

With open arms

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

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

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

"What is this?"

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

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

"And what are you doing for Taeyong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark smiles big and nods.

"Yeah, I think he would have."

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

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

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

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#nct fanfic #mark lee x reader #mark lee fanfic #mark x reader #zh-lele #candy colored cars #too fast #nct 127 fanfic #mark lee smut #nct smut

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chaotic-iguana · 7 months

Note

PLEASE I'm requesting any Pedro boy taking care of sick reader and being all cute I just. I'm so sick rn please I need some new delusionals in my mind

a/n: please gws sending u the best hug and soup ever i hope you feel better (and have a javi to take care of u). did my best considering i havent written in a while, lmk what u think

feeling better

javier peña x reader

warnings: fluff, sickness | 0.36k | masterlist

“cariño?”

javier’s voice rung out in your shared apartment, a tremor of anxiety creeping into his tone at the sight of the scattered blankets, clothes and tissues gracing your living room floor. he shut the door softly, footsteps silent as he inched closer to the bedroom at the sound of your sniffle. gently pushing the door open, he stuck his head inside and found you curled up on the bed, balled up in what looked like-was it four-multiple blankets, shivering with a near-empty box of tissues on the bedside.

“oh, honey.” walking up to you, he caught sight of your half-closed swollen eyes, your nose and cheeks tinged red as you sneezed again. bringing a hand to your forehead, he shushed your whine when his fingers pulled away.

you cracked an eye open, hissing against the sunlight to watch his furrowed brows and eyes wide with worry. making a valiant attempt to say “go away, javi ‘m sick, it might spread,” you groaned and half-babbled incoherently, trying to roll yourself away from him, just getting yourself tangled in the blankets in the process. he huffed at the sight before gently gripping your ankle to get it out of the mess you’d made, planting a kiss on your forehead before bending to pick up the used tissues littering the floor under the opposite wall.

your eyes have fluttered shut by the time he turns back to you, and the fact that you’d insisted you were alright just this morning paired with the stubborn pout of your lips - even in sleep - makes him smile, before shaking his head and getting to work. time to bust out his mother’s fail-safe chicken soup recipe.

three days later, when the shine returns to your eyes and your fever finally flushes out, you make a joke about how much of a mother hen he’d become when you were sick - hovering, panicking, setting alarms for your medicine and refusing to leave your bedside at any given time.

which is why you aren’t too surprised when a week later, javi’s the one in bed.

at least you’re stocked up on medicine. and chicken soup.

hello loves, thank you for reading mwah. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3.

taglist: @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis, @pawnshopb1ues, @amanitacowboy, @party-hearses, @planet-marz1, @chiogarza, @jenispunk,

dividers by @saradika

HUGE THANKS TO @bastardmandennis for looking over this ily sm

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roachmattea · 1 month

Text

you're falling asleep freeze frame tidal wave i'm not tired yet you threw your books into the river the first time i tasted somebody elses spit being back here makes me hot in the face you told me to skip school you hung up the phone and i asked you what was wrong we woke up to the thunder is that a hearse or a limousine your clothes in the dryer your hair on the shower wall broke in to the screened in porch i drank the dregs of the champagne alone you said dont go changing longing for your short hair to grow back to the way you like

#lucy dacus #um. first lines of lucy dacus songs save me #monologue #kal woukld like this

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homunculus-argument · 10 months

Text

Things I saw today on my visit to Helsinki:

Three rabbits in broad daylight in the middle of an open field as the bus drove by. Two of them were beating the shit out of each other.

It looks like those 90s style crop tops with short cap sleeves are back in fashion, countless of girls wearing them.

A laughing woman trying to pull a large dog into a vet's office. The dog wasn't having it.

An idiot needlessly crossing the same road twice in an attempt to find a path with more shade (me).

A 90s style goth wielding a black umbrella as a parasol to shield herself from the sunny day.

A tourist bus with japanese writing on the sign plate.

A child outside a fast food place screaming as if in pain, due to being forced to endure the torture of having sauce wiped off his face. Nobody involved in this situation seemed to be enjoying it.

Rainbow flags everywhere, in shop windows and on one person's balcony, in pins and clothing, even a whole staircase painted with the colours.

A woman walking a tiny mexican hairless, that looked like a really bulky, broad and tan bald chihuahua. Imagine if The Rock was a really small dog.

A very dapper older gentleman in flowing pinstripe trousers and a floral pattern shirt, walking and talking with a buff early 20s dude in a pastel polo shirt, who looked far too clean-cut and tidy to be sporting the elbow spiderweb tattoo that he had.

The flag of Ukraine flowing over the central train station.

A man with a convenience store hot dog running to escape a particularly persistent and aggressive seagull (also me).

A comic book store with real oldies like Star Trek and classic Donald Duck comics on display at the window, which had been there for so long that the colours had faded into nothing but the shades of blue and pale pink.

A spandex biker halting an electric scooter by attempting to dodge the faster vehicle by halting in the middle of the bikepath sideways, therefore physically blocking the entire road.

An old hearse, painted dark brown and decorated with fur dice.

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mlobsters · 4 months

Text

winchester side hustle

digital painting, 80+ hours - details and drawing video under the cut

ever since i saw glenn sloggett's cheaper & deeper photograph, i wanted to draw it with the boys. then when i saw this promo still, i thought the vibe fit just right with the cheeky hearse. hours of research and fiddling and torturing this poor painting and i'm calling it as good as i can get it done. i struggle with creating new lighting and shadows, not to mention missing parts of the car that i needed. dean's face gave me fits, yet again. and sam's seemed to look less like himself the more i worked on it. but i'm pretty proud with how the clothes came out, if nothing else.

song: power couple by labrinth

crazy enough to swear I'll die for you, yeah they don't know shit, don't know who they're fuckin' with it's the power couple

from my ridiculous amount of research, i've tentatively determined the car (or parts of it at least) was a ~1969 ford galaxie that was extended somehow and the rear end replaced to have a more traditional hearse opening. i've started calling it the frankenhearse in my head.

#supernatural #myart #spn fanart #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean #spnart #glenn sloggett #drawingvideo #spn #budget burials #digital painting #cheaper & deeper #art process #digital artist #digital art #labrinth #power couple #ok mental note i'd love to make a fanvid for them with this song

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charg3rs0ck3t · 1 year

Text

Anti-heroism

(Alt title- “Save me?”)

TASM! Peter Parker x (vigilante) reader

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of domestic crimes, reader kills someone (not too graphic), almost death, knives, it’s really fucking long, some fluff.

((Unedited))

———————————————————————

Not everyone is worth being saved.

———————————————————————

The first time you really met Spiderman, your hands were around his neck. You were slowly tightening your grip, but, as you looked up to watch the life leave his eyes, something you had eagerly awaited, you stopped as he began to mumble.

You knew that voice.

God fucking damnit.

———————————————————————

You hated heroes. Hated how they were considered salvations to a broken society. Maybe if the rich gave a shit the divide wouldn’t be so great.

Society is run off greed.

And yeah, sometimes the rich do give a shit, you weren’t saying thats the prime evil, the problem comes when assholes use chaos and desperation to make quick cash.

New York City was a prime example of the cesspits designed by and for humanity. In the beginning, there was no night that went by without the sound of an ambulance and a hearse in pursuit with last nights leftovers.

Now they just skipped the ambulance and went straight in with the hearse.

The city chewed people up and spat them out dead.

Heroism is dangerous. It is a false alias for mass destruction and major loss of life, and yet claims to be for the good of the people. A core of wickedness, hidden in a faux utilitarian shell. A being not whole unless causing harm and calling themself in favour of those who they massacre.

Heroism is a plague of the mind, but it doesn’t acquaint to the evil it fights. In concept, the idea was perfect. That’s where you came in.

Neither hero nor villain, but one who admits and atones to their wrongs without a need to do so. You had no image to uphold, doing what was right and paying the cost that took.

At least.. at least until you decided to catch the attention of the ‘local hero’.

———————————————————————

Growing up in New York City had its perks, one such being direction. But it was still a big city, things where constantly changing, so it wasn’t uncommon for you to drop into an alley a block or so over from your intended destination.

Usually, this was fine, however how were you to react when you come face to face with The Spiderman adjusting his costume and packing away casual clothes into a duffle.

Clearly, he didn’t know either because as he seemed to be adjusting the material at his shoulders, he turned a caught a glimpse of you.

There you two stood, at a stale mate, perfectly acquainted through previous minor conflicts and slightly contrasting morals. He began to panic, it was dreadfully obvious when all he could seem to do was gape like a fish.

“Don’t worry spider-boy, knowing what you look like would take all the fun out of it!” You exclaimed, turning your back and walking away, chuckling to yourself as you scale a wall onto another building. Hoping to finally enjoy some peace.

What you didn’t expect however, was for him to follow you.

“Where are you going?” He said, trailing just behind you. He didn’t exactly know why he had followed you up here, but you confused him so and he was intrigued.

Peter knew he was no distinguished labelled hero, Hell, he was reminded by the papers every day. He knew and he accepted that, but he had every intention to be one, no matter what.

You however, you perplexed him. You seemed to hate the evil in the city, and so you did something about it. But you hated being called a hero, you didn’t do anything by the book. In fact there were times Peter found your methods barbaric and oddly personal.

He had watched you beat the literal shit out of your fair share of criminals, but you’d really let it out in cases of domestic crimes. For being so violent, you were so passionate and so caring to victims.

But you just didn’t want to be a hero. Trust that he knows that, he’s asked you on multiple occasions and that black eye from the last time he snuck up on you still aches on occasion.

“None of your business.” You retaliated to him tiredly, soon following with a yawn. You were exhausted, Rightfully so however. You had been parading around since your class ended and it was almost 11 PM by now.

All you wanted to do was get home, finish your coursework, take a bath and sleep.

But here you were, with an eyesore in tight spandex on your ass. You couldn’t go home with him tailing you, so you’d have to go horizontal to your apartment. Sitting on some random roof and hanging your legs over a darkened alley.

Hoping to have lost him, you glanced over your shoulder, only to see him staring at you from across the roof. You sighed, getting out some protein bar and opening it. Eating away as you stared into the busy streets.

The city truly never slept and amongst the ugliness and sorrow, the chaos and twinkling lights seemed ever beautiful and you smiled at the thought.

“Why do you do it?” He muttered as he sat next to you. Getting a hum in response only prompted him to continue. “I mean, you say you hate the city, that you’d leave it first chance you have.. but somewhere in there you must love it, or you wouldn’t do this, put yourself in danger just for the innocent.”

“That’s a dark way of looking at it Spider-man, I thought you were meant to be this place’s glimmer of light!” You laughed a little, majorly just trying to release the harsh tension. “It’s not the city, it’s the people, it’s the people who this place don’t deserve. I think no matter where I was I would have ended up like this because people need something to believe in.”

“Superhero speech! That was totally a superhero speech don’t even deny it! I got it all down!” He yelled accusingly but in a light tone, pointing at you. It was fond, as if you were just two old friends bantering with each other. Even if you did push him off the roof in response with a loud ‘would a superhero do this asshole!?’

But you knew he would catch himself, that he expected it was coming.

You hated heroes, but this one just seemed to be the exception.

———————————————————————

Peter was a sweet boy, respectful, but he was pained.

You could tell he was always hiding a deeper pain, sorrow he never let himself truly feel, sorrow he may never cure himself of.

He was your best friend, a shining ray of hope even through all the dirt, but even the brightest rays where darkened and scarred by the ugly smog that was the city.

Every time you talked to him, every happy moment, he never seemed to let himself truly enjoy it. He seemed to live in the future but always worry about the present.

How can one hope to fix the present if they treat it as the past? Simple answer, you can’t.

———————————————————————

It was another night in New York, even the lume of the many billboards couldn’t shine upon every shadowed corner. So, evil continued in the darkness.

You already hadn’t been having a great day, your job had double booked you for 2 meetings and you had spent hours being yelled at for trying to point out the issue. Plus, you had to miss one of your lectures because the meeting went over by an hour. So really you were just sick of today, wanting nothing more than to curl up at home with a bottle of wine and some shitty tv.

But, unfortunately for you, one of the gangs you’ve been trailing, notedly unsuccessfully, for the past month finally left a huge clue. They would be sending out another shipment tonight, dabbling in special enhancement drugs that made most people go insane.

So here you were, sat on a rooftop watching some goons bicker in-front of the entrance of the warehouse. You were calculating how long until the anonymous tip you’d send to the police would take to dispatch. Either way you had a good Fifteen minutes before anyone came running.

At least, that was until Spiderman decided to grace you with his presence. A presence that you really didn’t need right now, especially when already peeved off.

“What are we doing?~” He whispered mockingly, getting a glare in retaliation. But, not content with that answer he repeated the question again.

“Oh lord give me patience, or atleast a fucking knife.” You muttered to yourself. “ ‘we’ are doing nothing, you, you are going to leave me alone and go save another cat from a tree and I, I am going to go actually make a change in this city.”

He just laughed and shook his head at your response, “oh cmon! Why can’t we be partners! An iconic duo! Like Batman and Robin, Bonnie and Clyde or something!”

“We are not going to be either of those thi- wait shut up for a second.” He began to open his mouth but closed it as you stared intently below, the doors of the warehouse opening mockingly.

“Stay here!” You whispered, the last thing you needed was his moralistic hero speeches as you were using some guy as a punching bag. So as he stood obediently, you scaled down the building to an open window, Three stories high.

The room you entered seemed empty and cold, as though no one had been inside in years. Merely a week prior, their main base of operations was set up in here. It was all a trap.

But who had known you would be coming?

You got your answer in the form of a sharp stab at your side, looking down to find a knife expertly lodged in your flesh. It didn’t seem fatal or anything at the time, but it definitely hurt like a bitch.

Turning around to see the man, hands now covered in your blood, was effortless, even more so as your body seemed to simply flow, contorting in quivers of motion as you eventually left him a bloody pulp, dead, sprawled still upon the floor.

You couldn’t continue, you were tired, woozy and bleeding. Shipment or not, you would have to do this another night, plus you definitely couldn’t be around when the police turned up.

Seeing the flashing lights and hearing the sirens was what drove you to stand up and finally clamber out the window. Admittedly, not as gracefully as usual, but you got a free pass since the knife was still lodged pitifully into your side.

———————————————————————

It comes to a point in a persons life (typically as they’re jumping and weaving from one rooftop to another with their only intention to get home and patch up a literal stab wound), when they wonder if it’s all worth it.

This was that moment for you. As you stumbled from another roof, almost falling into the bustling streets below, you had to take a moment to catch a breath.

Turns out, even that seemed a bad idea because as you closed your eyes, you heard a whoosh of air and the thump of the hero, the one you seemed to come to know so much of, landing next to you.

Today really wasn’t your finest and all you seemed to want to do was sleep. It was infuriating and nothing was going your way.

“What do you want?” You hissed at him, you were in no mood to entertain. All you wanted was to close your eyes, maybe have a little nap, just so you could finally get home tonight.

He took one long look at you, staring at your slumping figure, drooping before him.

It was depressing to see you like this, he didn’t know what happened in the 20 minutes it’d been since you parted, but you were not in a good state. He was worried, and maybe, just maybe, he was scared.

As he went to go pick you up, or at least help you to your feet, his arms wrapped around you. His fingers finally trailed to the bloody hilt of the knife and he gasped, it was light and restricted, but he was shocked nonetheless and didn’t hide it well. He pulled his hand back and observing the reddened substance on his hands, before his eyes landed on your face.

“Calm down, it’s not toxic or anything- it’s just blood- not all of us can be ‘mr I never get hurt in fights’.” You slurred and hiccuped out the sentence, trying to uphold the typical rivalling ‘banter’ you two thrived on.

But He didn’t laugh.

The blank eyes of that mask just bore into yours, especially when he seemed to take in every detail of the injury.

“You are so lucky I care!-“ He was angry, thrashing his arms and pacing back and forward. “If I didn’t I’d shove you in a hospital right now and let them expose you to the world! Shove you off and not let you be my problem.” He was being mean, spiteful, but he was also saddened.

“If I recall Spiderman- you were the one who bothered me.” You laughed in a hushed tone, at least before grabbing at your side as a sharp sensation jolted through it. It hurt and you let out a soft sob.

“My name is Peter, If you’re gonna die here, tonight, on this shitty run down roof, you deserve to know my name.” He was downcast, turning to face you, to grasp a reaction. All he could see was the small shape of a smile under your own mask. How could you just sit there and smile at him? How could you do this to him at a time like this?

“I know, I’ve always known Pete. I probably wouldn’t have put up with you for so long if I didn’t…” you whispered out cautiously, causing his head to whip in your direction.

“How- wait! Wait- No- Please tell me it’s not you! Please (Name)! Please No!” He ran over, dropping to your side and ripping off his own mask before gently going to remove your own.

So you smiled at him, it’d been a few days since you last saw his real face. Even tear stained, his was your favourite.

“I’m sorry Pete, I didn’t mean for it to go this way. I knew, I knew since the first time I met you in costume. I tried to kill you, my hands were around your throat. You only escaped that night because of your voice. So maybe.. maybe this is karma? Maybe this is what I get for killing all of these people! Hell, I don’t regret it, maybe that makes it worse, but what does it all matter anyways if I die on this rooftop tonight?” It all came out in a blur, maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was fear, you couldn’t tell.

“You’re not gonna die tonight, not now I know it’s you. I’m gonna make sure you live.” He was crying, big tears welled up in his eyes, spilling onto his reddened cheeks.

“You can’t save everyone Peter, I know you want to, but you can’t. You can’t save me, not from what I’ve done and not from the consequences of that.” You knew you had done terrible things, and you knew that you didn’t regret a single one. You didn’t regret anything, except maybe dying without apologising, without telling him how you feel.

“No, no I can’t. But you can save yourself.”

———————————————————————

It all went by in a flash, there were moments when you were semi-lucid. You could look around, take it all in, but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t see faces.

You had been treated, not professionally and definitely not in a hospital, but well enough. You would live.

Finally waking up, you felt exhausted. You craved the idea of sleep, but you detested the days of nightmares you had been trapped in.

Not speaking when awake was something you could handle, but being stuck in a constant terror of false reality drove you insane. You saw Peter’s face in them, he was always distorted and full of rage.

“I hate you.” He’d say

“I will never forgive you.” He’d spit.

“If you had died, I’d have one less criminal on the streets to worry about.” He’d hiss.

You knew it wasn’t real, but it hurt all the same. Whilst you knew that those things he was saying were all in your dreams, all the things you had done were very much real.

It was cliché. You had only once rethought your path before now, that was the first time you had ever met him. He was a small boy, hardly could stand up for himself, but he was something good, infinitely flowing with hope for a better future.

Now here you were, trudging your way from the made up bed on his apartments couch. You’d been here many times before, when he was significantly less aware. Before, it always felt like home, but now it felt like even the walls had eyes that looked upon you with hate, pity and betrayal.

If anything, you wished you could apologise to this place you loved so much, to the lies you told under this sturdy roof and to the cement foundations that had fallen akin a victim to your actions.

You stood outside Peters room for a long while, staring at the Chipping paint at the corners of the door. Debating returning to the couch, but before you could retreat back a voice rang from within the room.

“Are you coming in?” He seemed calm, composed and confident.

Entering the room, he seemed all but that, he seemed anxious and at the same time relieved, he was scared and he was happy. He was confusing.

Walking forward was subconscious. Peter often struggled getting to sleep so you had slept in his room many times.

This time was different though, you weren’t just here because your study date ran over.

He gestured to the empty space upon the bed, so you tucked yourself under the duvet. His bed was comfortable, but you wrapped an arm around him and rested your head upon his chest. Your bodies both suddenly began jolting, he had begin to silently sob, and so you laid there, quietly shushing him as he cried, arms wrapped around him.

Finally the world felt right again, maybe he could save you, because If the world felt this good all the time you wouldn’t have to fight.

“Never do that to me again” he muttered finally.

“Okay.. I love you..” you murmured in response, nuzzling your head further into his chest.

“I love you too, we’ll talk in the morning.” He shuffled slightly to place a delicate kiss on your forehead before falling asleep with you finally in his arms again.

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streaminn · 11 months

Note

"Soooo..." Enid starts awkwardly, scratching her hands. "How are... things?"

"My heart is still beating." They walk to a door, Enid pushing it open for the smaller woman. "So terrible."

"Okay." They stop talking.

Enid walks behind her, staring at the top of her head. She's small. Enid remembers holding her after the Hyde. She hadn't finished growing yet and she was still a good bit taller than Wednesday.

(She remembers pressing her bloody, mangled nose into the seer's neck and inhaling and just trying to drown in the warm scent of fresh ink and black coffee.)

(She remembers tasting it on the back of her tongue for two weeks.)

They finally get to the book signing stand that Wednesday (Ms. Addams, she calls her in public. And private. She only calls her Wednesday in her head.) Has set up. Enid can the the line stretch out of the door.

The amount of people who loved her book and grin having it signed makes Enid nauseous. She wonders if the money would get taken away if she left.

(She wonders if Wednesday would notice.)

She stays in her place, right behind her charge. Watching for any suspicious behavior or weapons that are poorly concealed. It wouldn't be the first time someone snuck a blade past security while she worked.

It takes 3 and half hours before the people are gone. Enid's feet are sore and the room was hot so now she's hot, her clothes sticking to her skin just enough to make her irritated. She grinds her teeth together. She knew she shouldn't have worn her coat, but she just had to be cozy. She really should've just taken it off and held it, but she had to look scary.

How could she look intimidating if she's there holding an a jacket like a coat hanger?

Wednesday stands up and flexes her hands, pressing on the backs and rubbing small circles in them. On her wrists.

"Come with me." She turns and just starts walking to the exist door, not at all waiting for Enid to process needing to move for the first time in 3 and a half hours.

"Oka— okay, gimme a sec, damn." She jogs over to get behind her charge, walking behind her so she can not get fired.

Wednesday goes to the glass doors, pushing them open. They almost swing back and smack Enid. Rude.

"I will not give you a moment." Wednesday snarks, stepping on to the street. It's finally dark out so Enid can enjoy the freezing air. It's way better than the too-hot room she was in before.

"Where is the car?" Enid questions, looking for the hearse that the author was known for riding in.

"You'll see it."

"That doesn't help me."

"Who said I was trying to help you, Sinclair?"

Enid bites down on the comment she wants to say, crushing it in her teeth and swallowing it.

(She ignores the way not hearing 'Enid' makes her heart ache.)

The street is long; the building the book signing was in is at the end of the street.

They've been walking for 15 minutes and Enid still hasn't seen the hearse. They taken 7 turns and backtracking at one point and Enid has yet to see the damn vehicle.

"Ms. Addams, are you certain the car is on this street? Or here at all?" She can't help the sarcasm from soaking her voice.

"The hearse was stolen." Wednesday says calmly, hands clasped together over her lower abdomen like a corpse.

"What?!" Enid yelps into the air. "What do you mean it was stolen?!"

"Have you forgotten English, Sinclair? And here I was, thinking time aged you well." Enid's mouth goes dry, teeth pressing together so hard it feels like they're going to break in her mouth.

"What— how do you know it was stolen?" Enid feels her muscles tighten in stress. She feels the fabric of her shirt stretch with it.

"The hearse was on Rockefeller Street, a 2 minute walk from the entrance doors of the building. It's not there; it was stolen."

"σκατά." Enid growls lowly. Wednesday shivers from the cold. "It can't be that hard to find a goddamn hearse, right? How the hell do you even steal a hearse? Isn't it different from a normal car? Should we call the cops?" The short woman shakes her head.

"No. There's a microchip in it. If nothing else, we can remotely explode it." Enid chokes on her spit.

"Explode it?! What if they abandoned it in a... children's hospital?! You could kill someone!" Maybe this isn't the best conversation to have in the dead of night, in the middle of the street.

"The microchip has a Global Positioning System in it. We would know if they left it somewhere. And how would they get it into a children's hospital?" Enid groans in exasperation, dragging her claws down her face.

"That's hardly my point." Wednesday keeps walking, bringing Enid god-knows where.

"Make better points, then." Enid lifts her hands and mimes strangling the shorter woman, biting her teeth together in anger.

"Do you know where the hotel is at least?" Enid asks. Wednesday takes a left.

"Yes. I'm not an idiot." Enid laughs shortly.

"Says the one who lost a goddamn hearse."

There's a big water fountain with a bird statue on it. She thinks it's a phoenix.

They turn one more corner and Enid gapes at the giant, shining hotel. Big lights, and gorgeous flowers in the front.

Wednesday walks through the large front door, Enid pushing them open.

There's a massive front desk, what has to at least 7 workers taking names and buzzing people in and handing out cards.

Wednesday goes to the one on the far left, handing the man standing there a black card. He runs it, waits, then hands both the black card, and 2 golden-rimmed white cards to her. Wednesday turns and hands Enid one of them

"263. 7th floor." He says. Wednesday walks off, Enid offering a half-bow and muttered 'thank you' before catching up to her.

"Why is this hotel so big?" Enid asks, walking next to Wednesday. The hall is expensive-looking, golden paint in fancy patterns and statues of animals and people.

"Because it houses a large amount of famous names. It's all marketing to the narcissists of the industry."

"Uh-huh. And, pray tell, are you included in this list of 'narcissists'?" Enid asks.

"No."

"Why?"

She's ignored.

Wednesday walks up to an elevator, pressing the up arrow.

Enid lifts her fist, talking in to it like a microphone.

"So, Ms. Addams, what are your plans for the future of your book-writing career?" She aims her 'microphone' to Wednesday, smirking at the glare she gets.

"I plan on writing an obituary on my bodyguard. Spoiler: she ends up dead in a mysterious hotel fire." The elevator dings and the door opens, the two stepping inside.

Enid takes her fist back to herself as the doors close, smiling.

"Well, Ms. Addams, if anyone should know how werewolves work, it should be you. You always pride yourself on your accuracy in biology. You should know that werewolves are pretty resistant to fires. How would a fire kill a werewolf?" She turns her hand back to the author as the elevator starts going up.

"She's on the 7th floor. I'd write her falling out of the hotel. Onto a spiked stone pillar that just so happened to have been perfectly aim to skewer her as she fell." Enid takes her hand back as the doors open, spreading her arms out as they exit together.

"Well, you heard it here first, folks! Wednesday Addams hates werewolves!"

"First off: no." She says curtly, counting the doors numbers to find theirs. "And second off:—" she swipes her card in the door and pushes it open. "—if your hands are out, how can the microphone pick up your voice?"

Enid stammers, trying to find a way to snap back.

"I— well, you see—" her voice dies in her throat as she and Wednesday walk into the room. It's nice.

Black and gold walls, well-kept flowers and potted plants, a minibar in the corner with costly-looking bourbon, an oddly large bed, a nice carpet.

She understands why Wednesday splurged on this place.

"I think the price was worth it!" She says, stepping in to the center of the room. It's larger than her living room.

She does a few spins and twirls, enjoying the freedom of movement.

"How much was it?" She does a hop.

"60,000 dollars." Enid falls on to her knees.

"What? You said... 60,000 dollars?" Wednesday nods like nothing happened.

"Yes." Enid mirrors her nod mindlessly, staring blankly at the floor.

She stands up and walks to the bathroom, flipping the switch. There's a little standing-shower with a frosted glass door, already full of expensive goods on the inside.

She genuinely considers stealing them.

The sink is huge. it's broad and as long as her bed at home. She could sleep on it.

She turns and flicks the light back off, exiting the room.

"Ms. Addams, did you— no." She glares.

Wednesday turns around, facing her.

"What?"

"No, fuck. Why is there only one bed?"

"What?" Wednesday says in panic, snapping her head over to the oddly small bed. "Damn. I thought I fixed that."

"Fixed what?" Enid asks. She can feel fear building in her body; tightening around her joints and choking her. "You knew it was like this?"

"Yes—" Enid feels like she's going to cry "—however, that was before I knew I would be accompanied by anyone else. Mother didn't tell me you'd be coming with. Or anyone at all." Maybe she should sleep on the skin and its counter.

Enid bobs her head, mindless and afraid.

"Yeah, yeah. Coolio, that's." She feels light-headed. "Great!" She throws her arms out. "It's cool." She takes her coat and tosses it onto the floor, getting on her knees and moving it out.

"I'm gonna sleep on the floor." Wednesday hums.

"Here."

Enid looks up just in time for a pillow smack her in the face.

"Wha?" She takes the pillow in her hands, looks at it, then looks up to another pillow whacking her again.

"Why?!" She yelps.

"Because I like being uncomfortable while I sleep." She throws another pillow and a massive blanket. "And I'll hang myself from the celling if I listen to you whine about back pain."

"That got dark..." she mumbles.

'When doesn't it with Willa?" She thinks.

She swallows.

"Thanks."

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

Wednesday is doing another booking-signing, this time in a room with air-conditioning. Enid still wears her coat.

It takes 4 hours this time, but it's easier without the sensation of her shirt melting into her skin.

The doors are different in this building. They're frosted like the ones in the hotel. She likes the texture on her hands.

Outside is nicer near this building, too. There's a little more wildlife and a little less busy business men and women angrily snapping at their phones.

The air is colder still. There's little bits of snow occasionally, one landing in her eye at one point.

"Did they find the hearse?" She makes idle conversation.

"Yes. The thief was killed by a hit and run, and they found the keys in them."

"Damn." She says. "Wait, in them?"

"It was a bad hit."

Wednesday shivers again. Enid can see her barely tense a smidge, squeezing her hands slightly harder.

"Do you... want my coat?" Wednesday stops dead in her tracks, staring straight ahead.

"What?"

"My— my coat? Y'know, I don't really need it and you keep shiverin' and the last thing you need is to get sick." She's already taking her coat off, placing it over Wednesday's small shoulders.

"I—" Enid drops the jacket on her. Wednesday takes a pause. She wraps a hand into the neck of the jacket to stop it from falling. She stand static for just a moment longer before continuing to walk.

"Okay."

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

(Wednesday looks so cute in Enid's Hello Kitty jacket, it eases the pain of missed calls and nights wondering what went wrong. Just an ounce.)

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

The floor is cold, Enid learns. Very cold. Even with her thick blanket.

Wednesday still has her coat, snuggling into it in the bed.

Enid almost wants to reach up and grab it. And Wednesday.

She turns over and faces the wall. The floor-to-celling window has a gap between the floor and curtain. She can see city lights faintly glow.

She closes her eyes and tries not to think about procrastinating phone calls and nights dreaming of fresh ink and black coffee.

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

This time, Wednesday has an interview. Conducted in a nice little office. No cameras, which meant Enid stayed besides her the entire time. Enid busies herself with reading the tags on her coat.

60% Fleece, 40% cotton.

Bianca gave it to her for her birthday in second year.

Wednesday didn't celebrate with her.

She lets go of the tags.

There's a book stand. A range of authors and names and ideas. She's been wanting to get in to writing, as a hobby. A way to spend the time that isn't out of her house or just mopping while listening to K-pop and watching Kitchen Nightmares.

She grabs the only book of Wednesday's, flipping through to a random page.

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

The Hyde is right behind her and she can't wolf out to save herself or Wednesday or anyone.

There's the sound of it growling and yowling like an animal. It sounds so close.

She runs so hard her feet and knees and bones hurt, like someone's beaten her black and blue with a sledgehammer.

An arm as big herself swings through a tree, a hand grabbing it and throwing it at her; she barely ducks under it. In evading it, though, she falls onto her stomach.

She slams her hands onto the ground to push herself up, but the Hyde jumps on top of her, swiping a far too big hand across her back.

It rips her skin and slashes some muscle in her back, paralyzing her. Or maybe it's the fear doing that.

She feels blood in her mouth and spits it up, coughing.

The Hyde swings its claws again and she can feel it tear through her, leaving marks in the ground below her.

"Wil—" she almost hacks up a lung. "Willa— pleas—" the Hyde grabs her head, tightens—

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

She wakes up to her hand breaking her water bottle in half. She liked that water bottle, so there's a drop of disappointment in her ocean of fear.

That's really all she feels, isn't it? Fear. Not anger at not being helpful enough to save anyone. Not hatred at herself or the Hyde. She's just so afraid.

She's afraid, and disappointed and sad and— oh.

She was wrong, actually. There is more than just her drop and the ocean. There's the salt of the fear-water: she's sad. That's her waters, then.

She's an afraid, sad ocean with a drop of disappointment for her cracked, broken water bottle.

Her head snaps to the side, looking at the edge of the tall bed. There's no one in it.

She sits up and looks around in a panic, head turning this way and that. She thought maybe Wednesday was just closer to the opposite edge of the bed and she couldn't see her because of the angle, but no. The seer just isn't there.

Enid stands up and twirls, because fuck. She's lost her friend charge. She's going to get fired.

'Maybe Wednesday died. Maybe I failed to keep her safe.'

She swallows her fear and grabs her hunting knife, clipping it to her belt. She grabs her phone and turns to the balcony to see if there's any passing ambulances or cop cars that could lead her anywhere.

She doesn't even get to the door before her brain processes the short, dark figure on the balcony, arms crossed and assumedly balefully glaring at the streets below like she was personally offended by everyone down there.

Enid opens the door, sliding it open. The frosted glass feels nice on her fingers.

It's extra cold outside, in her thin sleep pants and loose tank top.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She hisses. She's tired. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I wasn't aware I owned you a 24/7 update on my whereabouts, Sinclair." Wednesday shoots back.

"When you my fucking charge? And it's the in the middle of the night? In a high crime-rate city? Yeah, you kinda fucking do."

"I owe you nothing." Enid walks to the edge. She leans forward, supporting herself on her elbows.

"You make it very hard to not throw you off this."

"Death would be nice." Enid tenses her jaw and stares down. They're 7 stories up with more above them. Enid likes that. They snuggly in the middle. Like the chocolate in a s'more.

Wednesday still has her jacket it. The air is pretty cold. That must be why

(That has to be why.)

"How have things been? Since we last spoke, I mean." Wednesday raises an eyebrow at her.

"We spoke earlier. The only thing that's happened since then is you asking me that."

"That's not what I meant, smartass. But you knew that." She says sarcastically.

"Oh?" Wednesday turns back to the city below. "I guess you haven't lost your bite completely. It's just been so heavily dulled it couldn't cut paper."

"Woooooooow. I think that might count as the first time you've insulted me using a pun." Enid grins.

"I—" Wednesday faces her, shoulders drawn up. "I didn't make a pun, Sinclair."

"Oh, but I think so." Enid lifts off her arms, settling her hands on the fancy stone. "A pun about the werewolf losing her bite? That's a pun."

"I thought puns had to be on purpose to be puns?"

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'pun not intentional'? I've said it to you before."

"No, you haven't."

"Yeah! Back in Neve—" she goes silent. Wednesday's twitching lips drop. She stopped almost-smiling because of Enid's need to hold on to the past.

"Why..." She rubs her hands together. She chooses to stare at her hands. "Why didn't you... y'know, not come back? To Nevermore, I mean."

('To me.')

"I." Wednesday squeezes her biceps, jaw setting so hard it looks like it hurts. Enid has to stop herself from brushing fingers against her skin.

"I can't tell you. I'm... sorry, Enid." She's whispering, now. Enid likes the way she says her name. "I wish I could."

Enid takes a deep, slow breath. It barely helps her. Her arms and legs feel numb and cold.

"C'mon," she thoughtlessly reaches up and brushes the other woman's shoulder. Her hand feels warm and fuzzy.

"We need to go to sleep. Your thing with that magazine is at, like, 9. It's—" she takes her phone out and checks the time. "—1:43. If we don't sleep now, we might not sleep at all."

"I can sleep on command." Is all Wednesday says before turning around and opening the door, leaving it open for Enid, who closes it behind them.

Wednesday is wrapping herself up in Enid's jacket as she faces the small woman.

Wednesday must not notice her. She leans against the wall, just... staring. Admiring. She knows she shouldn't. She should aim her head at her feet and swiftly settle into her makeshift bed.

But she's only a needy, lonely woman. Who's been wanting something for years. She thinks she deserves to indulge herself in a few moments of sight-seeing.

She walks slowly to her section of the floor. The floor feels less cold now.

She sleeps easier. Just an ounce.

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

The magazine interview goes poorly. Extremely poorly.

The interviewer condescends the entire time, which Wednesday surprisingly deals with, ignoring the redheaded woman's faux-superiority. She doesn't challenge it or say anything of it.

If this happened back then, Wednesday would be in cuffs with the interviewer dead.

The interview goes from bad to fucking terrible when the interview manages to set Wednesday off.

"Yes, and well, I mean, we both know that those characters are pity-showings, yes?"

"Excuse me?"

"The werewolves, I mean." The woman does a little flick of her hand absent-mindedly. "The only light they should have on them is the one of an auctioneer's stage, amirite?" She laughed heartily, then. The sound dying in her throat as Wednesday jumps over the large mahogany desk, strangling the woman.

"How dare you?!" Wednesday yells into the quickly-bluing woman's face. "HOW DAR—"

"Ms. Addams, please!" Enid hooks her arms under Wednesday's, yanking her off the redhead before she actually murders someone.

"ENID, LET ME—" there's a clatter and the door opens and people rush in. There's shouts and orders being yelled out. Enid drags Wednesday out of the room, then eventually out of the building.

"Good jobs, Ms. Addams!" Enid only lets Wednesday go when they've left the building. it's almost midday, so there's a lot of people out then their night-trips. Enid lowers her voice, "you might've just killed your career!" Wednesday scoffs. They start walking back to the hotel.

"I've been caught in worse scandals than attacking a bigoted interviewer, Sinclair." Enid feels pressure behind her eyes.

"But you didn't need to get in trouble for me." She taps her heart quickly with her hand, desperate for Wednesday to understand her unneeded actions. "I'm just me!"

"Have you ever considered that being yourself is why I did that?" Wednesday snaps.

Enid stops walking. Wednesday doesn't.

"Being... myself?" She whispers to herself. She considers running after her charge, but she can't see her anymore.

For the first time since she passed her test, she's not next to her.

(It's all too familiar to after first year.)

She turns around and walks to a little burger place she saw before. Wednesday didn't notice it and Enid didn't want to make her feel forced and required to go there. That would've made her feel bad.

The place is cozy. She orders the biggest burger they have and sits in the corner.

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

She wonders what would happen if she didn't return? Would Wednesday look for her? Would she call?

Would Wednesday miss her if Enid was the one to leave?

She walks back to the hotel through the slowest possible route, taking her time in petting dogs and talking to animals she finds in trees.

One of the robins she spoke to really got her.

She's been out for hours; the sun is setting.

She purposely ignores her ringing phone. Wednesday's called ID showed, so she set it to vibrate.

She'll lie and say it was like that the whole time if she's questioned.

She swipes her card in its reader to push open the door to their room. Wednesday isn't in there, so Enid takes the liberty of making her charge's bed and readying for bed. Her toothbrush sets next to Wednesday's. She needs to change it soon.

When she hears the door open, she ignores it. She tries to.

She can her Wednesday's heart beat faster, if she focuses hard enough. Is her heart okay? It doesn't sound like it. It's way too erratic. Quick.

Enid can't help but wonder what has her heart beating like that.

Is she stressed by what's happened? Maybe.

Is she concerned about the interviewer? Absolutely not.

Is she worried for Enid?

The werewolf turns over and closes her eyes and strangles those thoughts like Wednesday did.

Sleep doesn't come easy at all that night.

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

The next day is worse than the day before it. Because at least then she had something to do: she needed to return to the hotel room before Wednesday, she needed to ignore her calls and her thoughts.

But now?

She has to sit behind the seer and pretend that she's okay. Like the idea of closeness isn't so, so tempting. Enid is a stupid fly looking at a honey-coated flypaper.

She tightens her hands. She back stage of a live show, watching around Wednesday careful to make sure no one tries anything.

The host decides to not bring up what happened yesterday, smartly. Enid thinks it might not even be out to the public. The interviewer will no doubt try to press charges on Wednesday.

Clearly, she doesn't know the Addams' family lawyer. Enid heard they got a person who admitted to murder in a court of law acquitted fully.

The person was mostly likely Wednesday herself.

It's fun being on a big set. It's not the first time she's been on one, but there's always a sense of wonder.

Leaving the building is a challenge. For Enid, anyways. She gets hit in the face with the revolving door. Wednesday points at her and calls her an idiot.

It's nice. There's banter again and it's not so painful to breathe. She still calls her Ms. Addams, and she still gets called Sinclair but it's better than nothing.

There's a little lake she found during her alone time, and she think Wednesday should get to see the massive duck there.

"Look!" She says. "There! It's that giant duck. That bitch is—" her ears pick up the sound of rustling bushes, and she turns around, thinking it's a racoon. Maybe a stray cat. She likes to imagine it's a black cat.

She laughs, "do ya think it's a cat?" She walks slowly, crouching lowly to be sneakier.

"You look stupid." Wednesday says from behind her.

"Ha! You'll be... singin' a different tune? Is that the idiom? Whatever, that's what you'll be doin' when I found this cat?" She pushes a bush aside, clicking her tongue.

"You look stupid." Wednesday repeats.

Enid opens her mouth to reply herself, but it's cut off when the maker of the sound lunges as her.

It's person, with a sliver knife.

"Shit," they growl. They're small. "I thought you were the rich one."

They aim the blade right at her throat, but she slams her boot into their stomach, sending them into the thicket. They managed to stab her, but because of her kick, they slammed the knife into her stomach.

"Ack!—" She stands up. The knife's blade has studs on it, locking it in her. She rushes to the bushes and stomps on their stomach before they can get up.

She drops to her knees and slams her fist into their face. It goes on for a while. She stopped counting after the seventeenth hit. They're out cold.

"Call the cops." She says to Wednesday. There's blood on her knuckles. She broke out a few teeth.

Good.

"And an ambulance." She grabs the knife's handle, making sure it says in her.

"There's no outcast-helping hospitals within an hour long drive." Wednesday says, lifting her phone to alert the police.

"I'll help you at the hotel." Enid laughs, pained and whimpery. She picks up her attacker's body, climbing up the small hill that lead to the lake.

"Sure, 'cause they'll just let a bloody, dirty woman into their fancy-pants hotel. I'm sure they'll give me milk and cookies, too!" She rumbles. Wednesday ignores her.

She probably should be less snappy and more worried, but adrenalin in a hell of a drug. She's finished dumping the knocked-out person on the side of the road by the time Wednesday has followed her.

"The authorities have been alerted. We're going to the hotel." Her tone leaves not a hair for argument.

But Enid's not one to be bossed around.

"They will not let me in. Best case, we get told to leave. Worst case, we lose the room and you get picked by the media for being with a dangerous, wild outcast. Imagine the headlines!" She hisses. She really should accept help, but it's been days of ignoring her feelings and thoughts and she's so tired.

"I would rather need to clear my name a thousand times over than watch you sit in pain. Or die." Wednesday starts walking down Phoenix Road, the one with their hotel.

"There's a back entrance. It's for employees." Wednesday leads her behind the hotel, pushing open a service door that says "Employees Only." In big, bright red letters.

"We shouldn't go here. It's not for us." Enid whispers.

She's ignored as the author pushes open another door. Enid walks into the room.

A fucking staircase. The knife is burning, now. Her adrenaline is wearing off fast.

"Any chance you could carry me?" Wednesday stare blankly at her.

"You're a bear of a woman and I'm— what is it you called me before? A "teeny-tiny black kitten who can't hurt no one?" You can walk." Enid huffs.

The first floor is the hardest. She starts smacking herself and yelling to make it through.

"And here lies subtly." Wednesday says as they make it to the fourth floor.

"I got stabbed and you're still mocking me." fifth floor.

"Maybe if you weren't acting like an orangutan, I wouldn't have any thing to mock you with." Sixth floor.

"I'm trying to not break down and sob from pain right now. I could use a lil' support, Ms. Addams." Seventh floor. She pushes the maintenance door open for them both.

Wednesday uses her card to let them in, dropping her bag on the ground thoughtlessly. She kneels and opens it, digging through it like a racoon.

"Bathroom." She points at the bathroom's door. "Sit on the counter. I'll be there in just a moment."

Enid nods and walks to the fancy room, pressing the switch to turn the lights.

The counter is surprisingly comfortable to sit on. Or maybe her body is too focused on the goddamn knife in her body.

Wednesday, true to her word, joins her after just a moment. She has a box with her.

"Take your shirt off." Enid coughs.

"What?!"

"For your wound, Enid." She takes out disinfectant. "I can't help if you don't let me."

"That's rich coming from you, princess." Wednesday stops completely in grabbing out bandages.

"What did you call me?"

"Sorry. It's the pain. I can't think straight." Wednesday takes out cotton balls and sets them down.

Enid hesitates. "Ms. Addams... I can't take my shirt off."

Wednesday's head flicks over to her.

"Why?"

She points at her stomach. "Knife." She says, oh so eloquent.

The seer grabs her coat belt and folds it, holding it in front of Enid's mouth.

"Bite."

Enid swallows and opens her mouth, letting the smaller put it in her mouth. She bites into the thick leather.

Wednesday grabs the handle. "Prepare yourself." Enid bites harder and grips the edge of the sink. She nods.

Wednesday rips the knife out, ribbed edge catching and pulling.

Enid screams into the leather, tears filling her eyes. It's not even the first time this has happened, but she usually deals with it faster. Before the adrenaline can run out.

Wednesday quickly grabs her shirt and lifts it up. The werewolf barely has the sense to lift her arms up.

She looks at Enid's stomach, runs the water and cups some in her hands, cleaning out the dirt from her failing.

She mutters as she takes and pours disinfectant onto a cotton ball. She presses it on the wound, muttering an apology when Enid grunts.

"This would be easier if you shaved." Enid wonders why this is the time to talk about that.

"Sorry I like myself and my body, dork."

"The hair makes it harder to clean." Wednesday takes a roll of bandages and taps Enid's ribs with a quiet 'arms up'.

"Sorry I didn't plan on getting stabbed while showing you a fatass duck! If I'd known that would happen, I woulda had a spa day!" She tries so hard to ignore how close the author's hands are to her. Almost touching her with every round.

Wednesday folds the end once she's used the entire thing, leaving it secure on her skin.

"We need to sleep. You need to sleep. You need to heal." Enid walks over to her place on the floor. She's stopped by a hand on her wrist.

"What?"

"You're not sleeping on the floor." Wednesday steps past her and grabs the pillows, throwing them on the bed.

"What?" Wednesday takes her blanket and tosses it onto the bed.

"Sleeping on the floor while you're injured will only hurt you." She takes a hand and digs through the black comforter, pulling a Hello Kitty jacket out. She hands it to Enid.

"Put this on." Enid thumbs at the soft, worn fabric. She lifts her arms with a wince, sliding her arms into the sleeves. She doesn't zip it.

She slips into the cover on one end of the bed. She expects Wednesday to do the same. What she doesn't anticipate is for Wednesday to crawl under the comforter, and shuffle to Enid.

"What." It's not even a question anymore. Just a statement. "What are you doing?"

"Comfort." Is all she gets in reply. Wednesday snuggles her face into Enid's chest.

"I'm fine." She wants to snuggle back.

"Who said I was comforting you?" Is what Wednesday says.

"What?" Wednesday leans up, grabs the open edges of Enid's jacket and presses a kiss to her lips. She tastes like coffee.

Enid goes limp as her brain is overloaded with... something. She wishes she could name it.

"We will talk later." A kiss to her cheek. "Sleep." Enid nods.

"I love you, Enid."

She swallows down her racing thoughts.

"I love you too... Willa."

It's the best sleep she's had in years.

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

Enid wakes up to a hand smacking her face. She swats at it, grumbling.

"Noooooooooooooooooo." She pulls her blanket over her head, blocking out the small amount of light that pours in. "I'm cozy."

"We have a busy day, Cara Mia." She pushes the blanket down and stares at Wednesday.

"What did you call me?"

"We need to leave in an hour. Be quick." Wednesday just... walks out of the room, all dressed up. Enid stares at the sleeves of her jacket.

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

"Hey, Wednesday?" She asks lowly. They're in the back of a stage. Wednesday is a guest speaker at a book convention. Something about the way horror affects the world, or something nerdy like that. "What, exactly, is our relationship?" The feeling of soft lips on hers is still there.

Wednesday stares her. Her eyes are so soft.

"We'll talk when we get back to the hotel." Wednesday's cue gets called, the crowd roaring at her name.

She pulls the taller woman down and kisses her again.

"But do know that I love you."

She walks past the curtain, waving at everyone. Enid wonders if she could fake a sickness to get them back to the hotel early.

-Writer Anon.

holyshit was this a rollercoaster

AND THIS ALL HAPPENED IN A WEEK???????????

DAMN WEDNESDAY, ATLEAST TAKE ENID OUT FOR DINNER FIRST

and omygod, there was only one bed and then the tending of wounds,,,

wednesday shivering at enid's use of greek, we know what you are wendesday. We know what you are!!

Just the lil snippets of them pissing each other off, my gosh, i love them so much. Im glad they made up by the end, makes me wanna cry ;-;;

then even with all that, wednesday is still willing to go beat up an interviewer. A DECADE AND SHE'S STILL WILLING TO DO THAT

i didn't expect the ending, like wednesday really just cuddles up to enid like that 😭 totally fair, we need that comfort. Im happy that wenclair got together in the end, GOOD FOR THEM!!!!

then wednesday acting like what happened totally didn't happen the next day after sleeping together is so funny

atleast they're gonna talk it out, like actual adults

good for them!! good for them :)

and as always, i love your work writer anon, do you have any personal thoughts on it? like how you thought up the flowers and such for your other works?

#bodyguard enid au #writing #writer anon #wenclair

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sistervirtue · 1 year

Text

YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS

welcome to sistervirtue dot tumblr dot com. those of you who have read my url...seen my icon...may be wondering: who is this woman? who is Sister Virtue?

as the @original-character-championship bracket begins, I would like to take the time to introduce you to her. go on. take a seat.

[art credit: @/omusubigender, @/citrus-sours, @/kkbardd, @/pcktknife, @/celebiis, @/citrus-sours]

Sister Virtue is a not-quite woman not-quite of the cloth with a bit of a scowl and an unholy attitude problem. Formerly a cherub known as Theophania serving in the appellate choirs of heaven, she judged human souls and debated the dogma of heaven day in and day out.

Although a perfect machine of heaven, Theophania was not heartless. Through her friendship with the Archangel Gabriel, whom represents human souls and their interests in the courts of heaven, she learned about those she judged.

And I am going to let you in on a secret. Angels and demons are both creatures of passion, just their passion turns in different ways. Demons experience passion for the self. Angels turn their passion towards God. And for Theophania, her passion turned in a different way-- towards those silly little animals whom she watched day in and day out. (Even you!)

So when Gabriel came lamenting of the Seraphim's decision to bring forth the end of humanity, she may have done something a bit drastic. Drastic like stealing the Eye of God, an important artifact containing the summation of all knowledge, and then slamming it into her own skull in order to hold it hostage and kick up enough of a fuss that the angels acquiesced and agreed to come to some sort of truce. The ultimate blasphemy.

She would be felled. If she cared so much about those silly, stupid animals, she could spend the rest of eternity proving they were worth it. Shoved into a body made of flesh and her powers largely sealed behind seven penances, Sister Virtue is tasked with protecting humanity from all threats divine or diabolic. She cannot die; [officially banned to prevent any loopholes or complicated litigation later] but she can give up... but doing so would mean damning all of humanity in the entire process.

After crash-landing into a convent and taking the administrative lead of the attached school (now known as Eschaton Academy) Sister Virtue is establishing a network of those both blessed and possessed to aid her in the arduous process of keeping people safe, all while trying to figure out what it means to be human herself.

So Why should you vote for her?

Let's face it, we're not in high school any more.

Coming of age stories for teens are fun, but sometimes... you don't really start coming of age until your 20's, 30's, 40's... Virtue, 37 human years old, is here to show the journey of growing into your skin even if that comes after high school.

2. She's hot as hell.

A nun in her work uniform, Sister Virtue at heart is a truckin', smokin', wrestlin' uncle of a woman, and her casual attitude and casual attire reflect this. And let's face it. A woman who hates wearing shirts and has a happy trail is a god-sent gift for all of us.

[art credit @ koiiluvz]

3. She's just a bit weird.

She named her car (a self-"upgraded" hearse) the Popemobile. She smokes cigarettes because she likes the taste. She doesn't mind nudity, but gets shy eating in public because digestion is just a little too intimate for an angel. She loves paperwork. Sometimes she regurgitates the angel equivalent of a hairball.

4. Don't know about all this original universe lore? She's got a D&D Iteration.

You can find her character sheet here-- She;s a tanky fallen aasimar paladin with 3 different ways to intimidate. Because you don't even need a gun with an attitude like hers.

5. She'd vote for you

At the end of the day, Sister Virtue is someone who runs on love. Love for all of humanity. Including you. Even if you don't believe in Virtue, virtue believes in you, and you should believe in you too.

Questions? Concerns? Comments? Check out my eschaton academy tag. Or pop into my inbox or dms.

(she even has emotes. art credit @/pcktknife, @/citrus-sours, and @/GR4FF1T1 [on toyhouse] )

#eschaton academy #sister virtue #VIRTUESWEEP2023

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mattodore · 5 months

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tagged by @wldestluv-rs and @rottengurlz <3

OCS as OBSCURE ASSOCIATIONS with Matthias

ANIMAL: wolves / cougars / birds of prey

COLORS: silver / ice blue

MONTH: april… it’s his birth month

SONGS: he has a playlist, but some personal favorites for him are temptation by michelle gurevich, bring me back a dog by iamx, and total depravity by the veils

NUMBER: 9

PLANTS: aconite / thistle / dogwood

SMELLS: saffron / amber / wood / leather / powder (et cetera, et cetera... matthias wears strong cologne so i could go on and on for this one)

GEMSTONE: apatite / hematite / snowflake obsidian

TIME OF DAY: 5-7 am

SEASON: winter

WEATHER: a hail storm—freezing rain that stings the skin and hail that cuts it open

SKY: dawn

PLACES: drowning under the bloodied ice of a frozen lake / walking through a garden atrium with humidity that plasters his clothes to his skin

FOOD: ciasto ze śliwkami

DRINKS: red wine

SEASONINGS: pepper

ELEMENT: water

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: aries

MAGICAL POWER: resurrection

WEAPONS: torn knuckles / belt / wire

SOCIAL MEDIA: this is the doesn’t-like-technology guy… there’s seriously zero associations i can come up with here. he’s meant for sending heated love letters and waiting an unbearable fortnight for a response.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: lip stain

CANDY: jawbreaker

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: trapped in a casket in a dark hearse / kidnapped and thrown in the back of a trunk

ART STYLE: classical realism / baroque

FEAR: drowning / sleep

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: hellhound

PIECE OF STATIONERY: a heavy paperweight that’s just a chunk of raw stone

THREE EMOJIS: 🐺🩻🩸⏳🍷📖♟️

CELESTIAL BODY: eris

tagging @birdietrait, @hell-dusk, @stinkrascal, @veone, @void-imp, @zohrou, and @rainymoodlet

#river dipping #oc extras #matthias evanoff #echthroi #paused catching up on my mentions to do this last night after i saw nene tagged me in this only to fall asleep as i was looking up gems 🚶#the chamomile tea i drank hit me out of nowhere #but yeah…#weapons: belt/wire……. he’s a strangler 😁#was going to add dog to the animals list but like......... wolves are dogs anyway and it's like okay okay dog motif we get ittttt #staring at these answers for a couple minutes to make sure i don’t wanna change anything like i’ve done with theo’s multiple times now 🧍#think this is good…#SO GLAD i just opened my activity before i posted this!! ty for tagging me in this too becca MWAH MWAH MWAHHH 💏#holding hands with both of you and skipping around #i’ve got things to do today but i’ll come back in a few hours to finish going back thru my activity 🧑‍💻

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whoops-all-whump · 2 years

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Updated whump list for Detective Conan (+ Magic Kaito)

I recall seeing someone post a list of all the whump moments for detco but I thought I would add on since the recent episodes have some more. I’ll also add in Heiji and Kaito moments since they’re pretty good whump as well :)

Edit: Big thanks to @/mizzmilkyway for giving me a list of Rei whump!

Conan/Shinichi whump:

Episode 1: hit on the head and given a poison, his body “burns up” and has a painful transformation

Episode 2: thrown against wall and beaten with a baseball bat

Episode 20: pinned against the wall with a knife

Episode 35: thrown against the wall and sprains his ankle while attacking the culprit

Episode 38: gets choked by the culprit

Episode 43: gets kidnapped

Episode 48-49: has a high fever and collapses, has a painful transformation

Episode 68: pushed off a balcony

Episode 97: forced to inhale chloroform and is locked inside a basement

Episode 118: gets stabbed by a fleeing culprit (not really but everyone thought he did)

Episode 132: has a fever and passes out from running across a burning bridge

Episode 142: almost falls off the balcony

Episode 188-189: gets shot and has to have surgery (my favorite <3)

Episode 191: almost transforms back into Conan, passes out and collapses

Episode 193: collapses and actually turns back for real this time

Episode 231: thrown on the ground by culprits, jumps out of an exploding bus and arm is bleeding

Episode 263: grabbed and restrained by unknown person

Episode 311: has to hide in a coin locker, almost gets discovered, hyperventilates and passes out

Episode 321: gets kidnapped again, hands are hurt from trying to escape

Episode 331: falls in a river, arm is in a sling and loses voice

Episode 345: knocked out by his own stun-gun wristwatch, kidnapped by Vermouth, knocked out once more by sleeping gas

Episode 376: tries to save Ran during a river flooding and almost drowns

Episode 418: gets “shot” (he’s just acting but it’s realistic enough)

Episode 521-523: falls in the river, has amnesia (its actually the culprit disguised as Shinichi but audience doesn’t know that yet), and transforms back into Conan while screaming in pain

Episode 527: discovered by culprit and is restrained by tape and locked in a tomb

Episode 547: gets kidnapped. again.

Episode 554-555: sprains his ankle, almost gets electrocuted by taser

Episode 564: restrained by bank robber and threatened with a gun

Episode 586-587: knocked out by taser

Episode 622-623: knocked out by his own soccer ball, tied up with tape

Episode 642: has a cold

Episode 672-674: drinks juice laced with sleeping pill and gets kidnapped (he’s actually faking it), gets held hostage with a gun

Episode 705: hit on the head by a tennis racket and knocked out

Episode 716: grabbed & restrained by culprit and locked in a room

Episode 775: hides in the trunk of robbers’ car but is discovered and threatened with a knife

Episode 795: falls off his skateboard and injures his arm

Episode 804-805: knocked out by taser and trapped in a building being demolished

Episode 845-846: kicked in the stomach, tied up and trapped in a hearse, almost gets killed by a car crusher

Episode 869: falls off a cliff

Episode 913-914: kidnapped, pushed out of a moving car

Episode 927: panting and transforms back into Conan

Episode 940: falls off a bridge into the river and almost drowns

Episode 1037: body is freezing because of a blizzard, a bunch of snow falls on him, he passes out and is taken to a hospital

Episode 1057: discovered to be eavesdropping on culprit, kidnapped and wrapped in a cloth, thrown off the roof, hands are hurt

Movie 1: caught in an explosion, hits his head and is taken to a hospital

Movie 2: leg gets stuck and almost drowns

Movie 4: pinned on ground and almost gets stabbed

Movie 7: cornered by assailant with a sword

Movie 8: falls off the rooftop

Movie 9: on a sinking ship, saved by a rescue helicopter but almost falls off

Movie 10: attacked by culprit and falls off a bridge into the river, leg is wrapped in a cast

Movie 11: almost drowns

Movie 12: hit by a wrench and is knocked out

Movie 13: has a nightmare about being discovered by Gin and made to watch Ran get shot, beaten up by Irish, gun is pointed to head

Movie 14: thrown out of a blimp (he gets thrown off a lot of things huh?)

Movie 15: caught in an avalanche and almost runs out of oxygen

Movie 16: caught in explosion and is bleeding

Movie 17: is helpless to save Ran from drowning and cries (really only sheds a tear but eh)

Movie 18: targeted by a sniper and hurts his leg

Movie 19: almost drowns

Movie 24: in a train crash, head is bleeding

Movie 25: held hostage with a gun to his head (he’s actually pretending)

Movie 26: thrown against the wall and beaten up by Pinga, almost drowns in the ocean

OVA 9: has a fever and a nightmare, collapses from transforming back

Lupin III vs Conan TV Special: passes out from the cold and thin air inside an airplane

Lupin III vs Conan Movie: shot in the arm and held hostage

The Disappearance of Conan Edogawa TV Special: forced to inhale chloroform, has amnesia (he’s actually faking it)

Episode ONE The Great Detective Turned Small: reanimated scene of Shinichi being made to swallow the poison and has a painful, burning transformation

Manga Special Chapter 8: sprains his foot

Heiji whump:

Episode 118: shot in the stomach and in an ambulance

Episode 223: dangling off a cliff and gets stabbed in the hand by an arrow

Episode 263: hit by his father and told to stay out of the case

Episode 323: held captive and injured by culprits, threatened with gun and knife

Movie 3: gets into an accident on his motorcycle

Movie 7: gets into a swordfight with the culprit, almost gets stabbed

Movie 17: gets shot in the arm

Kaito whump:

MK Special Episode 4: stabbed because of a witch using a voodoo doll of himself, trapped and burning in a magic circle

MK Special Episode 7: hypnotized and trapped in an illusion

MK1412 Episode 5: same as episode 4 of the MK special, just reanimated

Movie 3: is shot by an assassin midair and crashes into the ocean

Movie 23: tazed, shot in the arm by police, wrapping himself in bandages

MK Manga Chapter 34-36: gets stabbed by glass, bleeding out and collapses

Rei whump:

Episode 1029: injured by bullies

Episode 1038: taken hostage, restrained and mouth is taped

Episode 1053-1054: taken hostage, knocked out by assailant

Movie 20: handcuffed to pole, beaten up by Akai

Movie 22: caught in a bomb explosion, arm injured by crashing through glass

Movie 25: forced to wear a collar bomb, hurt by a grenade explosion, injured by helicopter crash

#whump #anime whump #whump list #dcmk

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