#i feel very stunted but like i’ve grown at the same time. it’s very strange | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tsukishumai · 3 years

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pairing; iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader genre; fluff, brothers best friend to lovers warnings; oikawa!reader, alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, making out, swearing wc: 3.7k+ summary; after years apart, your big brother finally flies back to visit home. Eager to show off just how much you’ve grown, you invite him over to your new apartment for dinner. It was supposed to be sibling bonding time; so why was Iwaizumi Hajime walking through your door???

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If there was one thing you hadn’t expected from Tooru moving half way across the world, it’s that you would actually miss him.

You had been such a pain in the weeks leading up to his departure. Not only did you create a poster counting down the days until his flight, but you had thrown all your things into and claimed his (much bigger) room before he could even get started on packing his things. You scoffed when he said you’d miss him, going so far as to wear a party hat and bringing confetti to the airport when you dropped him off.

You really did enjoy it, at first. You no longer had to fight over who used the bathroom first in the morning, or who got to pick what to watch on TV. There was no one coming into your room randomly to ask you stupid questions, and the walks home from school were suddenly a million times quieter.

You don’t know when you started lecturing him for forgetting to call, or sending him care packages because it’s almost impossible for him to find Mirin in Argentina. But you had bawled your eyes out when he couldn’t fly back for your high school graduation, and you were forced to come to the realization that you, in fact, missed your older brother.

So when he called to say he was coming home to visit, you could feel your bones vibrating with excitement. Although you spoke to him everyday, it had been years since you’ve seen him in the flesh. You were still just a teenager when he left, a little brat poking fun at your brother’s tear-streaked face as he tried to hug you goodbye.

Now, it was your turn — tears disgracefully staining your cheeks as the snot bubbles around your nostrils. Oikawa laughed when you threw open your apartment door and immediately bursted into tears, rushing forward to engulf him in a tight hug.

“Come on, y/n,” he chuckled, patting you on the shoulder and pushing you off, “I know it’s been a while, but this shirt’s designer, please.”

You step back and smack him hard on the chest before diving right back into his embrace. Oikawa rolled his eyes and finally wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze in greeting.

You were eager to show him your apartment, one that you had leased and furnished all with your own hard work. You showed him the plants that you had miraculously kept alive for longer than a week, and he teased you for the family photo you had framed in your living room.

“It looks much bigger in person,” Oikawa commented as you led him to sit down at your dinner table, an assortment of different dishes and sides you had spent hours making spread across. “And since when did you know how to cook?”

“I’ve always known how to cook,” you rolled your eyes, grabbing two beers out the fridge and setting one down in front of Oikawa, “I just never bothered to cook for you.”

“And here I thought you might have gotten nicer over the years,” Oikawa clutched at his heart, feinting hurt before giving you a sad smile, “But this place is great, y/n. You’ve done really well.”

You could feel a sort of strange pride begin to spread across your chest, one that had made you grin a little wider and sit a little straighter. Suddenly, Oikawa lets out a dramatic wail and drops his head into his hands.

“You’re all grown up, and I missed all of it!”

You sighed, a crooked smile on your lips as you pat Oikawa on the shoulder.

“I know. You gave me abandonment issues.”

Oikawa’s head shot up out of his hands, a twisted snarl on his face as he looked at you in shock. “Wha— how could you say that?!”

You laughed at his distress, and Oikawa had started to say something snarky back. But your exchange had been rudely interrupted by four loud knocks. Both of you quickly turned your head over to the front door, your surprised and confused expression the complete opposite of Oikawa’s excited smile.

“Don’t be mad, y/n-chan,” Oikawa started, and nothing good had ever come from that sentence, “But since I’m only in town for such a short time, I kind of, sort of, invited someone else over tonight.”

Oikawa abruptly stands up from his seat, quickly dashing away from the daggers you were glaring at him and waltzing over to your front door. You felt your heart slowly sink into your stomach. You were undeniably upset, having expected to spend some real bonding time with the brother you’d only grown close to over a screen. He was just two years older than you, but the both of you had spent so much time arguing in your teenage years. Now, as adults, you thought this was your chance to really hang out — and he’s still pulling irritating stunts like this.

You had your lecture for him prepared and ready in your head, but when Oikawa swings open the door, any and all negative feelings that you may or may not have been experiencing just a moment prior had quickly dissipated into thin air.

Standing across the threshold of your apartment was your old high school crush, and your brother’s best friend — Iwaizumi Hajime.

Iwaizumi looks at you with a bright smile that made you feel as if you had been transported back in time. Butterflies that you thought long gone flutter their way back into your belly, bringing a heat to your face that left you silent. Iwaizumi must have mistranslated your expressions, as the corners of his lips slowly curl downward, and he turns to face Oikawa with a hardened scowl.

“You didn’t say I was coming,” Iwaizumi said, sighing and rubbing a hand down his face. Though, he was right about that.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa greets, completely ignoring Iwaizumi’s accusations and pulling his best friend through the door before slamming it shut. “SO glad you could make it tonight. Y/N made a ton of food!”

You hastily stand up from your seat, rushing to greet your new guest when Iwaizumi turns to give you an apologetic bow.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” he says politely when he stands back up, lamely offering you a bottle of sake in greeting. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Iwaizumi-san, please,” you finally find your voice. You hurry over to take the bottle from his hand, offering him a soft smile. “It’s not an intrusion at all! Come in, come in.”

He returns your smile with a relieved one of his own, finally shedding his shoes and entering your living space. Your heart was pounding like the rhythm of a taiko drum, and you thought it was impossible for them to have not heard it.

You lead the two boys the short distance from your foyer to your dining room table, Oikawa plopping down in his seat to your right and leaving Iwaizumi to take a seat directly across from you.

“I didn’t know you were back in Japan, Iwaizumi-san?” You questioned him as you prepared another place setting and grabbed another beer from the fridge.

Iwaizumi gives you a grateful nod, his fingers softly brushing against yours as he grabs the cold bottle from your grip.

“I just got back a couple of weeks ago,” he answered, watching you as you take your seat, “Something I thought your brother would have mentioned when he should have told you I was coming.”

Iwaizumi glares at the older Oikawa, who quickly raises both his hands up in the air in surrender.

“Do the details really matter now in this situation?” Oikawa squealed, quickly grabbing his own beer and raising the bottle into the air. “What matters is that the three of us are back together! Why don’t we cheers to that!”

You shared an exasperated look with Iwaizumi before the both of you rolled your eyes and begrudgingly raised your own bottles.

The clinking sound of colliding bottlenecks had been quickly followed by an oddly harmonized ‘itadakimasu’, and it was this that finally cut the ribbon of tension that had momentarily filled the atmosphere.

You forget just what a force the Iwaizumi/Oikawa combo truly was, having been deprived of the harmonious chaos the two often created whenever they were together for years. But now, the floodgates had been opened, and you were swept away in the current of nostalgia, all while trying to reconcile with the very new reality you were finding hard to believe was yours.

Everything about this was familiar. Your brother complaining about your cooking, yet still eating three full plates of food. Iwaizumi purposely antagonizing Oikawa with subtle jabs and back handed compliments. Oikawa asking you to take his side, so naturally, you take Iwaizumi’s because he helped you put the empty dishes in the sink. The two stayed bickering about anything and nothing, but the soft look in both their eyes and the way they leaned back against the chair and laughed told you that this was something that was sorely missed.

Yet somehow, none of it was the same.

The three of you still sat at your dining room table, and at first glance, Oikawa was hardly any different. His chest was just a bit broader, hair just a few inches shorter, and his skin had been kissed by the sun in a way it hadn’t been before. But then you see that his shoulders were no longer carrying the heavy burden he had placed on himself for years, and you notice his smiles had finally begun to reach his eyes. He now speaks to you with a gentleness to his tone that had never been there before, and his laughter had ceased to be laced with bitterness and discontent.

Oikawa’s hand moved so animatedly in the air as he talked about the cultural reset he had to go through in Argentina, but when Oikawa spoke of his new home, you knew he finally found a place he belonged.

Iwaizumi segues into a story about his roommates from America, and you could hardly see any shadow of the boy you once knew in the man that now sat in front of you.

Iwaizumi had always been handsome, but now he was drop dead gorgeous. His jaw looked so sharp, you were sure you would cut yourself if you dared to run your fingers along his skin, but you wouldn’t mind if it meant you could your thumb across his bottom lip. He filled out his shirt too perfectly, the outline of his pectorals barely starting to peek through the thin fabric. When he crosses his arms, you notice the veins that travel along the planes of his muscles, and you wonder what it would feel like if they were wrapped around you.

You move eyes up from his chest only to be met with hazy, verdant irises.

You froze in your seat, eyes locked with Iwaizumi’s as you try not to smack yourself on the face.

He caught you checking him out.

You felt your throat dry up at your attempt to gulp, ready to live with the humiliation for the rest of your life, but your despair had turned into irrational hope when Iwaizumi lightly licks his lips and smirks.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek.

“So, your own apartment, a job in the city,” Iwaizumi now turns the conversation to you, “Who would have thought Babykawa would be the most stable one out of all of us.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, cringing at your old nickname, “Do I look like a baby to you?”

“You’ll always be a baby to me,” Oikawa reaches over and pats your head, “but seriously. I’m really proud of you. You’re all grown up.”

Oikawa’s vision may have been blurred by the tears in his eyes, but you could clearly see the way Iwaizumi had looked at you up and down.

“Yeah, you definitely are,” he mumbled, reaching for the sake bottle the three of you had been drinking for the past hour. But when he tries to pour into his empty glass, not a single drop came out.

“We finished it,” you pouted, crossing your arms in a huff.

“Nooo, I want more,” Oikawa whined, banging his fists on the wodden table.

“Stop, you’re going to break the damn thing,” Iwaizumi snaps, and he tries to shake the bottle down for any ounce of liquid that might have been trapped inside. But alas, the bottle was dry, and the fridge had been devoid of beer ten minutes ago.

“Y/N, go buy more drinks,” Oikawa demanded, pointing at the door, “I saw a convenience store a few blocks down.”

You groan at Oikawa, rolling your eyes at him. But you weren’t ready for the night to be over, so you moved to get up from your seat and grab your keys.

But before you could go anywhere, Iwaizumi shoots an arm out to keep you in place, giving Oikawa the dirtiest look.

“Oi, shittykawa, it’s the middle of the night, and you’re going to order y/n to go out alone?” Iwaizumi lectures, “What the hell is wrong with you? Argentina make you forget your manners or something?”

“Ahh, I’m sorry, Iwa-chan, I can’t understand you with that American accent,” Oikawa childishly retaliates, but Iwaizumi just gives him a hard look.

“Damn it, fine, I’ll go,” Oikawa mutters, getting up to grab his coat, “Make some snacks while I’m gone.”

You stare at Iwaizumi slack-jawed. Oikawa was always such a pain in your ass, you could never get used to how easily he bended for Iwaizumi.

Though, you can’t deny you’d bend for —

Your thoughts were interrupted with the slam of your front door.

“That was impressive,” you commented, and Iwaizumi chuckled.

“That’s nothing,” he replies, waving a hand in front of his face, “Thanks again for letting me crash your dinner.”

You smile at how suddenly the previously confident Iwaizumi had melted into the nervous bundle in front of you, as he fiddled with his glass and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well, the bottle of sake made up for it, I suppose,” you joked, sighing dramatically, resting your arms on the table. “Though, your second mistake was only bringing one bottle.”

A comfortable silence fell amongst the two of you as you both leaned back on your chairs, and Iwaizumi’s gaze rested on your face. His cheeks were tinted red, and the corner of his lips had been upturned so slightly, that if you hadn’t been staring at him all night, you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“I’m glad to see you’re still the same you,” he sighed out, now fully letting his smile rest on his lips.

There was no stopping your lips from returning his smile with one of your own, and you felt incredibly stupid for feeling so giddy over something that wasn’t even really a compliment.

“And I’m just glad to see you, Iwaizumi-san,” the words involuntarily tumbled from your tongue, the creeping onset of inebriation beginning to loosen your lips.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at you. “What’s with the Iwaizumi-san? What happened to Iwa-chan?”

You recall the moniker you had adapted from your older brother, having called Iwaizumi that for nearly the entirety of your relationship.

But that was a different you. And this was a different Iwa. And a part of you didn’t want to drag old aspects of your connections with him into the present.

A bigger part of you wanted to make new connections.

“You don’t like Iwaizumi-san?” You ask, leaning forward to rest your head in your hands. You stared up at him through your eyelashes, copying his move by licking your lips, “How about I call you Hajime instead?”

You could tell Iwa had been taken aback from the way his eyes widened and his mouth dropped, but he was quick to regain his composure.

He leaned forward, dropping his arm down onto the table and ghosting his fingers along your arm.

“If you want to call me Hajime, you have to earn it.”

Your door bursts open in nearly the same you way your heart wanted to burst from your chest.

“I’m back,” Oikawa said, “They only had apple soju. Which, you know, I’m not complaining.”

Oikawa returned the scene, oblivious to the conversation that had just taken place a few seconds prior. Iwaizumi takes the bottles of soju from Oikawa and casually fills his glass, and yours. He sneaks a glance at you before placing the bottle down, and Oikawa complains about having to pour his own drink.

The night continued on as normal. You laugh at Oikawa’s story about how he accidentally bought 60000¥ worth of pineapple at the grocery store, and Oikawa sputters when Iwaizumi tries to teach him English phrases.

But now, you find your eyes staring at the handsome, green-eyed man in front of you much more often than you’d like to admit. And your breath is stolen from right out of your lungs whenever you find him staring at you too.

Four, five, six bottles of soju later, and Oikawa’s passed out on your couch with a fleece blanket draped over him. Iwaizumi was still sat at your dining room table, arms resting on the table as he laid his head on top. Competitiveness may be something they never outgrow, because as soon as Oikawa mentioned a drinking contest, you knew it was game over.

You move past him and into your kitchen, deciding to get a head start on your dishes in an attempt to calm your nerves.

It wasn’t all in your head, was it? Iwaizumi was definitely flirting with you. Well, at the very least, you were flirting with him.

Just as you finish washing the final bowl, Iwaizumi enters the kitchen. You quickly shut off the faucet before you slowly turn to face him, stomach flip flopping in its place as you fought the food and drink threatening to crawl back up your throat.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” you teased, leaning back against the counter and crossing your arms, “Have a good nap?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t react to your quip, half-lidded eyes honed in on you through an alcoholic haze as he slowly steps in to close the distance between you two.

He doesn’t stop until his chest is mere centimeters from yours, and you use every ounce of your willpower not to shrink away.

“Call me Hajime,” he leans down to whisper in your ear, placing his hands on the kitchen counter on either side of you. You were caged into his arms, and you shivered as his breath fanned down your neck. “I have a confession to make.”

“What?”

Iwaizumi pulled his head back, smirking down at you.

“I asked Oikawa if I could come tonight.”

You felt yourself sober up at his words, straightening your back so you could look him straight in the eye.

“Why?”

Iwaizumi shrugged, moving his left hand from the counter to stroke a finger along your jaw.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. A part of you was afraid that one wrong turn would instantly shatter the illusion you had fallen under. Another part just wanted to stay caged under Iwaizumi forever.

You felt the warmth of his hand cup the back of your neck.

“Can I kiss you?” every word brought Iwaizumi closer until his breath fanned across your lips. The shadows of his face had been so close to yours, the scent of beer mixed with his cologne started to make your head spin, and you weren’t sure which way was up.

All you knew was that the moment you nodded your head, Iwaizumi bends your head back and lowers his lips onto yours.

Iwaizum felt so plush against you, his kisses felt as rich as velvet and softer than silk. He moved his lips against you in a smooth rhythm, his hand cupping your face while the other arm wraps around your waist.

You feel yourself being lifted off your feet, stabilized by only Iwaizumi’s embrace. You brace yourself against his chest, slowly snaking your arms up to wrap around his neck.

Iwaizumi pulls you even closer than you thought possible, licking and nipping at your bottom lip, asking for more. You could feel your heart beat faster and faster as Iwaizumi nearly whimpers against you, begging to be accepted.

As soon as you parted your lips, Iwaizumi enters your mouth, swirling his hot tongue against yours, making your heart do somersaults in its cage until you felt your knees begin to buckle.

Iwaizumi swallowed your moans with his mouth, and you cling onto him as if he were your only anchor in this spinning room.

The sound of glass breaking had abruptly interrupted your ministrations, causing the two of you to jump so far apart, you were on nearly opposite sides of the kitchen.

You turn to the living room, starkly reminded of the brother you left passed out on the couch. While he was still sleeping soundly, he manages to remind you of his presence by accidentally knocking over the lamp on your side table.

You and Iwa simultaneously let out a sigh of relief.

He looks at you. You look at him.

It started with a giggle, which soon evolved into a snicker, and a few minutes later you and Iwa were nearly on the floor laughing.

When the laughter dies down, Iwaizumi helps you clean up the broken shards that scattered in your living room.

You go to throw the glass away in the trash, and you come back to see that Iwaizumi moves to a spot by the front door, kicking his feet at imaginary rocks.

“I better get going. It’s getting late,” he said, finally looking up to face you.

You nodded silently, a stupid smile on your face as you still found yourself at a loss for words.

Iwaizumi turns to leave, but suddenly looks back at you nervously. “Can I call you later?”

You had no idea Iwaizumi could be so charming.

You close the distance between you two, placing a hand on his shoulder and standing up on your tip toes to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Get home safely,” you say, “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

The grin on Iwaizumi’s face was blinding.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Good night, Hajime.”

#hello besties I know it’s late but please read this omg 🥺#hqcorenet #hanimehub #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi drabbles #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu imagines #iwazimu imagines

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byunbaekby · 4 years

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

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

—DAY ONE.

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

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

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wants you.

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

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

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

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

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

“You’re giving it up or something?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying,” he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TASTE.

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

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

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

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

He hums in response, turning to look at you.

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

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

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

Does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a puff.”

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

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

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

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

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

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” is his response.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops.

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

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

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but I…”

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tease me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

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

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

Cocaine.

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

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

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

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

“So, can I have some?” You ask again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathless, you nod without words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

Luckily, neither will find out.

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

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

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

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

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

But that hadn’t happened.

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

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

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

—THE FIRST BURN.

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

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

When he wakes, you’re burning up.

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

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

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

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

It’s the cocaine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

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

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

God, he’s fucked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

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

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not alone.

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

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

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

He’s too late. Maybe much too late.

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

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

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

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

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

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re different now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

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

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

He’s learned his lesson.

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

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

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

“It’s not that, I—”

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

“... Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

“That was the last time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

Driving My Baby

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 2,183 (i can’t drabble)

Summary: Dean doesn’t know about your mad skills behind the wheel, but it turns out there’s nothing hotter than seeing his baby driving his Baby.

Warnings: implied smut, language, fluff, dean’s bow legs, references to the fast and furious franchise

A/N: was originally gonna post a slightly angsty 2-part dean fic next, but decided against it in light off recent events lol. there’s really no plot or substance here, just some light floof. (and yes, the title is a reference to the song ‘you’re having my baby’)

MASTERLIST

The roar of Baby’s engine rumbled to a halt as Dean glanced over at you, “Alright, so you gonna sit tight while I go scope this place out?”

You sent him a close-lipped smile, trying your best to repress the excitement bubbling within you. “Mhm!” you concurred with a bouncy nod, pausing to sneak a quick peek at his shapely behind when he stepped out of the car, “I’ll try and see if I can get a hold of that morgue guy again.”

Walking over to the passenger side, Dean bent down to kiss you through the open window. “Mmkay, I’ll be back soon,” he mumbled against your lips, before turning to commence his search for the potential vamp hideout you suspected was in the vicinity.

“Oh wait! Dean!” you called out, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yeah?”

“The keys?”

Dean looked down at his pocket where the Impala’s keys were safely nestled and then back up at you with raised brows.

“You’re not gonna leave me in here like a dog, are you?” There was a subtle hint of amusement in your voice, but also a challenging edge, as well as a slight pout which you added for good measure. You knew he could never really say ‘no’ to you.

And as expected, Dean returned to deposit the keys into your waiting hands. You gave him a wide smile in return, “Thank you! Love you!”

Your boyfriend narrowed his glimmering green eyes at you, imparting one last suspicious glimpse in your direction as he grumbled somewhat warily, “Love you too,” and then finally sauntered off for good.

Biting your lip, you watched with bated breath as his figure grew smaller in the rear-view mirror. Normally, you would have enjoyed the exquisite vision of what you often dubbed his ‘sexy ass bow-legged swagger’, but this time, it was when Dean was no longer in sight that a devilish grin broke out across your face.

But really, who could blame you? You’d been a car enthusiast all your life, and classic cars were your weakness. “It’s just you and me now, Baby.” Your fingers glided along the dashboard.

With Sam on the bench due to a broken ankle (courtesy of the werewolf from your last hunt), you and Dean had driven out to Piedmont to take care of this vampire case on your own. So now after two years with the Winchesters, you finally had a chance to explore the front seat of Dean’s Baby, his pride and joy, the glorious, refurbished 1967 Chevy Impala.

When you’d joined forces with the brothers, it was readily agreed upon that you would be better off riding together in the sleek American muscle car, so you ditched your stolen, rusty 2003 Honda Accord and never looked back. Since there was a giant moose to accommodate, you were naturally relegated to the back seat, and rightfully so, but boy, did you miss the thrill of being in the driver’s seat.

You were always a bit of a demon behind the wheel, and it’d been ages since you’d gotten the chance to flex your driving skills. Back when you and Dean first got together, he promised you joyrides (and other recreational activities) in Baby, but the hunting life never seemed to let you get it on.

Sliding across the bench seat, your lungs released a contented sigh as you wrapped your hands around the leather-bound steering wheel. Dean’s bowlegs, however sexy, were not the same length as yours, so you pulled the lever beneath the seat to adjust its position to your liking. Perfect.

You took your time getting to know the ins and outs at the helm of the Impala, though it seemed like none at all had passed when you suddenly heard Dean’s deep voice cry out.

“Y/N!” Your eyes shot up to the rear-view mirror to find an image of the older Winchester running towards the car. “We gotta go!”

Well that’s strange, you thought. Dean never ran – not unless someone, or more often something, was chasing him… Oh shit. Had he somehow woken the vampires? But the sun was still thriving; how much could they retaliate out in the open at this point during the day?

“We gotta get outta here! Now!”

Dean’s voice was much closer now and if you’d learned anything from your experiences hunting with the Winchesters, it was to never doubt your boyfriend’s commands. He was a seasoned pro and possessed instincts like you’d never seen. It’s a good thing you’ve also got some of your own.

Plunging Baby’s key into the ignition, you started the car without hesitation, allowing yourself only a second to relish in the thunderous purr of the engine below you and the incomparable feeling of glee that always sprouted in your chest whenever you were sat at the wheel of a powerful, capable vehicle. Indeed, the adrenaline was already rearing.

As Dean approached the car, you quickly reached over to open the passenger side door for him. “Get in the car!”

“You- Wha-“ Dean stumbled for a split second, so accustomed to taking the driver’s seat. “Y/N, they’re awake and they’ve got bikes – a bunch of Harleys!” he continued to explain, as if that would get you to move out of his designated spot.

“OK, so hurry up!” you yelled again.

Seeing no better option, Dean hastily climbed into the car. Just as he got in, your ears picked up the unmistakable resounding growl of revving motorcycle engines. From the sound of it, they couldn’t be too far off. So when Dean slammed the door shut, your foot came down fast and heavy against Baby’s gas pedal, propelling you forward with an aggressive lurch before you whizzed off, burning rubber and leaving nothing but flying leaves and dust in your wake.

“Jesus!” Dean bellowed; his eyes had grown to about twice their usual size.

You paid him no attention though, too busy reveling in the delightful buzz that vibrated through your body starting from your fingers and toes, where you could feel every unit of Baby’s intoxicating horsepower, and travelling up your limbs until the exhilaration settled deep within your very core.

Stealing a glance at the rear-view mirror, you caught sight of the monster-driven motorcade advancing considerably, so you decided to take the next available turn as an attempt to throw them off. Things were getting truly exciting now.

“Vamps on bikes? Really?! And covered in leather?” you huffed mirthfully with a shake of your head.

But it was Dean’s turn to ignore you. He was clutching at his door tightly, as if afraid your driving might somehow hurl him out of it. In fact, when you took the first corner without warning, Dean just about fell over.

“Woah! Slow down, Toretto!” he shouted in alarm, looking over at you as if you’d grown a second head.

Seeing you’d managed to surprise the vampires with your unexpected maneuver however, a loaded smirk was your only reply.

It took you about twenty minutes to get the vamps off your tail, during which time Dean managed to recover from his initial shock and began instead to absorb your radiant form. The look of exuberance on your face and the utter determination in your bright eyes, mixed with the mischievous tug of your lips, and combined with the all-around liberated and euphoric aura that surrounded you was sexy as hell, not to mention your sheer competence. All of it astounded him and caused his blood to flow to places he could not have foreseen.

You seemed to be completely at one with his esteemed Baby, handling her with perfect control and aptitude, and all the while enjoying yourself so very much. It was something Dean never knew you were capable of, but more so, it was something he never knew he needed.

Dean had always loved how much you loved and appreciated his car, but this made him feel like he was seeing you in a new light; it made him feel like he was falling for you all over again. That devilish glint in your normally kind and virtuous eyes, your ever jubilant and fervent love for life after enduring so much pain and grief, the way you never ceased to amaze and surprise him – it was all gloriously heady and irresistibly addictive. His teeth couldn’t help but pull at his lower lip, emerald eyes glazing over with lust and adoration as he stared over at you in the driver’s seat.

So when you ultimately pulled into an empty clearing, not wanting to lead the vamps straight back to your motel room, Dean was at a loss for words.

“So, a bloodsucking motorcycle gang, huh? Can’t say I’ve seen that before,” you speculated in a cheery, nonchalant tone, feeling perfectly satisfied after your little stunt driving escapade.

Dean, on the other hand, appeared not unlike a fish out of water with his furrowed brows and pouty lips which appeared undecided as to whether they should remain open or closed.

“That was… I just- You-… I don’t even know…” he ran his hands through his hair, pulling the short strands forward roughly, “What just happened?”

You sent him a small, innocent shrug, rather amused at his adorably stuttery response.

“You never told me you could drive like that.”

“You never asked,” you replied truthfully.

“Fuck, Y/N. That was… so… incredibly…”

What? Your curiosity was killing you. Dean’s opinion always mattered to you and at the moment, you could read a myriad of emotions upon his face. He looked stunned and confused, perhaps a bit frightened, but at the same time awed and impressed, and maybe even – were you reading that right? – slightly… aroused?

Dean lowered his voice to answer your unspoken question, “Hot,” he finished emphatically.

You heaved a breathy laugh, “Yeah?”

“Fuck yes! Baby, that was incredible. The way you handled Baby like a fucking pro, the little faces you made when you were living for the thrill of the chase. The skill, the speed, the Tokyo drifting, all of it. Goddamn, you are so sexy when you’re driving my Baby like that.”

“Well that’s a coincidence ‘cause I also happen to find you amazingly sexy when you’re behind this wheel,” you joked lightly, “In fact, I think seeing you drive this car might’ve been part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

“And I think I just fell in love with you all over again,” came Dean’s suave response.

You giggled a bit, but soon sobered when you saw his gorgeous eyes cloud over with wanton desire. One minute you were dwelling in the heavily charged sexual tension that seemed to consume the entire car, watching his gaze wander down to your lips while yours did the same, and in the next your mouths met ferociously as your bodies swooped forwards simultaneously, crashing together in the center of Baby’s front seat.

You moaned into the kiss, your hands finding their way around Dean’s ridiculously broad shoulders and up to his thick neck. When you were forced to come up for air, his lips began to work their way down to your collar bone. “Mmm, god Dean.”

“Seriously baby, that was such a turn on,” he rambled across your skin, “I didn’t even know driving could be so hot.”

Your laughter was really more just an exhalation of air. “Are we finally gonna do it? Are we gonna christen Baby now, thanks to your newfound kink?” you whispered salaciously, your brain already presenting obscene images of the two of you re-enacting something akin to the infamous Titanic scene.

Dean paused for a moment, allowing you to rip off his outer layers with relish before he brought his large hands up to cup your cheeks. “See I wouldn’t call it ‘newfound’,” he started, dazzling forest orbs boring into your soul, “Cause I’m pretty sure it only turns me on when it’s you behind the wheel, and I’ve always had a kink for you.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to keep the smile off your face, “You are such a smooth fucker sometimes, Dean Winchester.” And with that, your lips and bodies collided yet again. His strong hands held you impossibly close while yours ran joyously across his expansive chest before travelling down to find the zipper of his jeans.

“Ungh, wait a sec,” you pulled back a little with knitted brows, a playfully incredulous tone taking over your voice, “Did you call me Dominic Toretto earlier?”

“Well, yeah. You were driving like a madman!” Dean exclaimed candidly.

You smirked, “So does that make you Letty Ortiz?”

“Sweetheart, I will gladly be the Letty to your Dom anytime you want… I still can’t believe you just took me on a high-speed car chase, that was fucking awesome! Just wait ‘til Sam hears about this one!”

Laughing as you pulled him back in, you shut him up with your tongue as it invaded his mouth, pausing only to smile against his luscious lips, “Mmm, well maybe he doesn’t have to hear about this next part?”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading, feedback always appreciated! oh and here’s a look at some new stuff at lexicolor.redbubble.com :)

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x male!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #my writing #text #fanart #lexicolor #redbubble

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ailec-12 · 3 years

Note

Ahhhhhhh congrats to reaching 100!!! It‘s super deserved! Could I request something for House Potter, please? Like, maybe something with Sev and Sirius along the lines of hurt/comfort? But no pressure, if that is too much or would be too fast-forward into the story! :) thanks!!

Thank you so much, Anon, you're so sweet! I'm sorry you've had to wait so long to see this prompt done —I hope you'll actually see it!—, especially since it was the first one I started to write back in October. I just got a little stuck with it halfway through, but I loved it and hope you'll enjoy it, too.

I decided to take today off to rest and, though I know I probably shouldn't have, I couldn't help sitting down and finally finishing this prompt. I don't have the energy to edit it, but I wanted to post it anyway.

So, this is set in the future, but let's imagine Sev and Sirius have made no progress whatsoever in the meantime. Also, the Potters have either moved out or gone on holiday.

Also on AO3.

No Harm Done

He told himself, as he took James’s broom without breathing a word of it to anyone, that it was okay. James did let him have it, so it was none of Sirius’s business what Severus did with it. A voice in his head begged to differ, but he ignored it and ploughed on.

He was nervous and excited, although, in all honesty, it was hard to distinguish one feeling from the other. After all, the clench in his stomach and the tingling in his fingers seemed to fit well together. It was the first time he would be flying alone and his mouth had become completely dry long before he had sneaked out the broom. Still, he had no doubts about wanting to carry on with his plan and Sirius, who had come to watch over them and was currently sleeping on the sofa with Harry, did not ever need to know.

The day was clear, if a little windy. Severus mounted and kicked the ground once, firmly. The broom took off at once and he gripped the handle tightly before relaxing his grip ever so slightly.

Flying felt great, exhilarating. Any fears he may have harboured stayed well below him.

He was not confident enough yet to try some of the stunts that James performed as easily as breathing. However, he enjoying riding higher than any of the adults would likely have allowed as well as going round and round in progressively smaller circles. He was enjoying himself so much that, when he started to descend, he miscalculated the higher speed he had achieved. When he saw the ground come closer far too fast, he pulled up the handle abruptly and the broom responded with a sharp jump. Startled, Severus saw his own fall in slow motion: the way his hands failed to regain hold of the wood, how his body flew a bit higher than the broom and how the ground greeting him face first. The world around him went deadly silent.

The impact left no air in his lungs. He tried to take a breath and succeeded after a few desperate attempts. The pain came afterwards. Gingerly, he sat up to examine the damage. Although the grass had surely softened his fall, one of his arms hurt from the wrist to the elbow. His jumper was covered with green stains, as were his jeans. Luckily, he had not ripped anything off, but his knees hurt when he stood up.

All these thoughts were forgotten once he spotted the broom. James’s racing broom, the once he had used for matches at Hogwarts. Severus’s blood ran cold. If he had broken the damn thing…

His hands were shaking uncontrollably when he took it, but his heart began to beat again as he observed no major damage. There were some sticks that stuck out of place and a few scratches on the handle that would not look amiss in a well-worn broom —that is, if James did not keep his in prime condition. He was bound to notice, Severus knew, fearing the moment. He might be lucky enough that James may just think he forgot to fix it before putting it away the last time he rode it. Severus was aware that he was not half bad at lying and, although it left a bitter taste on his tongue sometimes, he was too much of a coward to take the blame if he could avoid it.

And yet, his thoughts were useless, for he never had the chance to do any of it. Halfway through the house, the back door slammed open and revealed Sirius, thus freezing Severus on the spot.

“Where the—” Sirius started to yell. Then, he saw Severus and strode in his direction. The boy gripped the broom, but did not move. “What the fuck, Snape? You were flying?”

His hands were trembling again as he offered the broom. He had been caught, so there was nothing to do but manage the damage.

“I didn’t break it, it’s fine,” he said mulishly, as if that could cover up the fact that he was unable to look up, instead keeping his eyes focused on Sirius’s tight fists.

“What the hell happened to you, though? Did you roll down a hill? Wait, did you fall while you were flying?” Sirius did not snatch the broom while berating him, as Severus had expected. “Fuck, you’re hurt.”

His tone became strangely flat when delivering the last sentence and the boy was unsure how he should interpret it. What could Sirius plan to do with that information?

“I’m fine,” he snapped, just in case.

Sirius’s fists relaxed a little.

“Really? So blood just comes out of your knee on occasion?”

His black eyes snapped down and he saw a darker stain than the ones from grass and dirt. His cheeks became warmer and he faced Sirius’s smirk, offering a scowl of his own.

“I’m fine. May I go to clean up?”

His heart was beating very fast. What if Sirius said ‘no’? Severus did not understand why that was so frightening. The most the man could do was not let him get out of his dirty clothes, maybe force him to stand in a corner all day until Lily and James got home past his bedtime. Sirius could not hurt him, they would not allow it —they had promised. And yet, Severus waited with bated breath for the answer.

“Let me check first. I don’t need anyone come down on me ‘cause I neglected you.”

For some reason, that did it. Severus dropped the broom and made a dash for the door that led inside the house. ‘Stupid,’ he would think a second later, when he realised he should have run in the opposite direction, even if the open field did not feel any safer when the other was a grown wizard with a wand.

Before he was aware of what was happening, there was something encircling his waist and trapping him.

“L– Let me go!” He could not help the way his voice sounded high pitched and scared. He did not want anyone to know he was scared.

He hit Sirius’s arm and tried to kick him, too. He struggled for a while and did not stop to see whether he was doing any real damage. He felt numb and detached and maybe fear was still there despite his best efforts.

“Ow, ow! Snape, stop! Bollocks, you twat, I was j– Okay, that’s it!”

And then, the ground under his feet disappeared. He may have let out a pathetic shrill until he got hold of himself, shut his eyes very tightly and kept still. His breathes were the only sound for a short second. Then, a likely livid Sirius carried him inside the house, stomping all the while. He took him to the living room and put him down in front of the couch. Nearby, Harry was playing with his moving animal toys.

“Sit down,” Sirius growled and Severus obeyed.

At the same time, Harry stumbled over them and demanded,

“Sev, play!”

The older boy only shook his head, leaving Sirius to explain just in how much trouble he was at the moment.

“Harry, I’ve got an important mission for you,” Sirius said, solemnly but still warmer than he ever addressed Severus. The toddler looked up. “You watch that Snape stays put till I come back, all right?”

Harry nodded, reciprocating the solemnity, and turning back around, repeated his request to play together. Severus refused in silence, letting his hair fall on his face and focusing on not letting fall the tears that had started to gather in his eyes.

He had mucked it up really badly that time. He had panicked and attacked an adult —a man that James considered his own brother. The world was a blur and his ragged breaths flooded his ears.

“Snape.”

An impatient voice broke his train of thought. Minutes could have passed, or perhaps hours. He looked up and saw a very irritated Sirius holding up a familiar blue bottle in one hand and his wand in another.

“Calmer now, aren’t you?” the man huffed. “Roll up your trouser leg, let me see what we’re dealing with.”

Severus shook his head vehemently. He did not understand what was going on, but his eyes were still fixed on the wand. His breathing was still making that horrible sound.

“Hurt?” pipped up Harry somewhere next to him.

“Yeah, mate, Snape’s hurt and too ruddy stubborn to let me help.”

Help? What did Sirius understand for help when it came down to a brat like him?

“No ‘Nape, Sev!” Harry corrected all of a sudden, drawing Severus’s attention to the pair.

There was a small chubby finger pointed at him and, when he looked at Sirius —his face, not his wand—, the man had a bemused expression.

“Right,” he said after a moment, turning his terrible grey eyes towards Severus. “Well, Sev, will you please roll up your trouser leg so I can heal your knee?”

Sirius dragged the short nickname with all the smugness he was able to muster and the boy found he did not like it any better than hearing his surname.

“I’m fine,” he tried once again, but his voice sounded small and frightened as his anger failed to rise.

Sirius let out a weary sigh and handed him the blue bottle. After looking between the children, he decided to put his wand between his teeth. Then, with no hurry, he proceeded to pull up Severus’s damaged trousers himself.

The bottle trembled in his grasp. The boy bit his lip and tightened his fingers around it. Staying still was his only task now.

Sirius was excruciatingly slow until he finally revealed the cut on his knee. It had stopped bleeding and clearly did not merit so much care, but there was no comment on it or the mess it had made. In fact, for once, Sirius forwent his habitual cutting remarks and kept mostly quiet, only speaking to assure Harry that everything was okay.

Severus was pretty sure he stopped breathing when the wand came near him. Yet, he did not move. He felt something warm and, when he looked down, the cut had disappeared. A cold feeling ensued as Sirius washed the dry blood away with a cloth under Severus’s fascinated gaze. The bottle was taken from his hands as Sirius began to apply it on his knee, even though the bruise had not appeared yet.

Next, the man rolled up his other trouser leg.

“Does it hurt here, too?”

Severus was about to shake his head again, but Sirius was staring at him intently and the boy knew his lie would be caught.

“Just a little,” he mumbled, looking back down.

Some balm was applied on that area as well without another word. Severus pondered whether he could ask for some for his wrist and elbow, but Sirius proceeded to examine his arms himself. The boy could not help a sharp intake of breath when Sirius took hold of his wrist.

“This has swollen.”

“It’s not broken,” Severus hurried to assure.

Sirius frowned at him, although he did not look angry.

“No, it’s not, but let me…”

And he moved his wand in a different pattern until both the redness and swelling had faded away. Still, he applied some balm there and on his elbow. Severus had no idea whether he should be more surprised that Sirius was healing him or that he apparently knew where to look for injuries.

At long last, they were done and Sirius obliged Harry by sitting him on his lap. A dense silence settled between him and Severus, who tried to still his fingers by burying them in the hem of his jumper. Eventually, the boy was the one to break the quiet.

“The broom…” he started, peeking at the open door, in the direction where the magical object remained lying on the grass.

“Accio Prongs’s broom.”

Harry was very excited to see his father’s broom flying towards them and Sirius let him grab the end of the handle while he examined it. Severus could not relax completely, but at least the man’s face was not giving him any more reason to panic.

“We’ve all fallen on our arses while riding; more than once, actually,” Sirius remarked, almost offhandedly. Then, he looked up, straight into Severus’s black eyes. “There’s no harm done, so I suppose no one needs to know… as long as you’re careful next time and let someone know before flying off.”

The unexpected reprieve from Sirius of all people took a moment to register in Severus’s brain. He hurried to wipe the shock off his face and nodded with all his might.

“I will, I swear!”

The man looked at him for a bit longer, until he turned to his godson with a big smirk.

“Harry, you up for beating Severus at Exploding Snap?”

#Harry Potter fanfiction #Severus Snape #Sirius Black #House Potter for Children in Need #A Hotchpotch of Feelings #HP #My fics #Prompt #100 Followers Celebration #*#I could swear I wrote Severus had bitten Sirius!#I think it's hilarious I've spent months thinking that happened but then I reread the thing and that image was nowhere to be found #It happened tho #Sev just didn't register he had bitten Sirius #Ask Ail #anonymous

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quokkacore · 4 years

Text

GREED: moonlight [oh sehün] (m)

part I of all your gods are fake

summary: sehün craves control. he craves power. he craves and craves and you give your all to satisfy him. you give, and give, and give. but will it ever be enough?

pairing: cultleader!sehün x fem reader

genre: smut, light angst, light fluff

warnings: language, descriptions of cults, graphic descriptions of sex, unprotected sex (dont be a fool wrap ur tool), spanking, sir kink, orgasm denial, french kissing

song rec: jonghyun - moon ♡ bleachers & sia - like a river runs ♡ arctic monkeys - all my own stunts

word count: 4.3k

a/n: this was originally posted to my old blog on november 16th, 2019.

masterlist

You were in your bedroom when he came to you. This, you found strange. You were perplexed when you turned to see Sehün of all people, when you heard the door open and close.

He never came to you—it was always who went to him when he summoned you to his chambers. But you’d received no summons, and yet here he was, decked in his usual red and black regalia, rings adorning his long, slim fingers, dark hair swept up away from his face.

“My Lord.” You greeted him with a bow of the head, keeping the formalities should anyone be eavesdropping. He hadn’t given you permission to address him as anything other than his official title yet, not during this visit.

Such was one of the many rules of the sect; one, if given permission by one of the Seven to address them by their earthly names, could do so only for that occasion. Upon meeting them again, they would have to address them by their official titles, the lords.

“To what do I owe the honor?”

Sehün leaned back against the door of your humble room, and crossed his arms. “I didn’t see you at the worship this evening.”

“I wasn’t feeling very well, My Lord, forgive me. Healer Choi gave me permission to sit out tonight, you may ask her if—”

“It’s alright, Y/N. You’re not in trouble. I just wanted to see you.” He took a step closer, and you swallowed the lump that had grown in your throat out of anticipation.

Having someone so powerful in such close proximity was always intimidating to you. Especially when you knew what Sehün was capable of, both in your private affair and when it came to preaching to the masses.

You’d found yourself tangled between Sehün and his bedsheets for the first time almost a year ago, when he was tipsy on wine and requested a willing girl of age with specific physical attributes in his bedroom. Young women willing to serve their Lord Greed who lived in the Sanctuary were called for, you amongst them, and the moment his eyes fell upon you, you were chosen.

Lord Envy will receive many prayers tonight, you’d thought, as the other girls eyed you with jealousy and contempt as they were escorted out of the room.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, sweet girl,” He said, taking a step closer and snapping you back to the present. Cold blue eyes met yours, and you looked away almost immediately.

“You… thought of me,” You replied, as his hand came up to your chin, pulling it up so you were looking at him once more. He nodded, eyeing your face.

Sehün was beautiful, you realized for what seemed like the millionth time. He was scarred and mangled and terrifying but his features, up close, seemed to be flawless. Everything about him was contradictory. His scars gave him a rugged, worn look. His hands were calloused and rough.

And yet, when he walked into a room he radiated an aura of regalness. He always held his chin up high, despite the fact that he already towered over most of the people he was surrounded by anyway. When he looked down at you, it made you feel powerless and weak. It didn’t surprise you that Lady Fate had chosen him and his brothers as living incarnations of the gods.

“I did,” He murmured. His grip on your chin had tightened, but only slightly, and his face was inching closer and closer. You could feel his hot breath fanning your face, and you fiddled with the hem of your modest white dress.

His lips brushed against yours but he still hadn’t kissed you, not yet. Sehün lived to tease, he wanted you to want him, to plead and beg and cry for him to take what he knew was his, has always been his and will likely always be his. He took most of his pleasure in winding you up before taking you apart, piece by piece.

Instead of kissing you, his hands found yours, and he gripped your wrists so you couldn’t move away from him. Your heart rate began to increase at the thrill of him not wanting you to get away from him, despite the fact that if you asked, he would let you go and leave you be.

“I may be cruel, but I’m no monster. Not to you,” He’d told you the first time you denied him.

His hands forced your wrists up, and your hands found their way to his chest. He slowly forced you against the wall.

“I was worried when I didn’t see you today, so I had to come and make sure my sweet girl was alright.”

You sighed at the pet name he’d given you, the one he always called you. His lips were still resting against yours, and when he finished his sentence, his tongue darted out to swipe at your bottom lip, and you gasped at the sensation. He took advantage of this, quickly slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You knew what he liked, you’d learned so much over the times he’d taken you, and you immediately responded by meeting his tongue with your own. No matter how often you did this, it never failed to arouse you, the sensation of wetness sliding against wetness. The messiness that came, as eventually, spit started falling out of both of your mouths and onto your chins. How obscene yet pleasing it felt when Sehün pulled away, only to swipe away the drool that had fallen onto your chin with his own tongue.

A whimper escaped your mouth, and your small hands tightened into fists, scrunching up the fabric of his shirt.

“M-my Lord.” Your voice was trembling, weak, as you’d become wound up, already waiting for him to touch you.

“We both know that’s not what you’re supposed to call me when I come to fuck you,” He growled, and your eyes flutter shut. You nodded, feeling your arousal spike when he uses the vulgar word.

“Tell me, Y/N, what is it you want?”

“Please touch me, Sir.”

His grin was wicked, nose coming down to brush against yours as he swooped in for another filthy kiss. He let go of your wrists, and his large hands quickly found their way to your thighs. He squeezed them harshly, before murmuring into the kiss, “Up.”

You obeyed wordlessly, hands winding around his neck as you wrapped your legs around his slender waist, dress hiking up as you did so. He carried you both to your bed, and sat, you straddling his lap.

“Look what you do to me,” He sighed, grabbing the back of your neck and gently forcing you to look down. He was already hard, and you grab one of his larger hands, pulling it towards your panties, which are slowly getting wet as your arousal grows.

“You do the same to me, Sir.”

Sehün immediately pulled the cotton fabric to the side, rubbing up and down your slit. “Is this what you want, sweet girl?”

You inhaled sharply, hips beginning to rock against his touch before you nodded.

Suddenly, his free hand delivered a spank to your ass, and you whined, head falling against his chest.

“Words. Use your words, darling.” His voice was stern, dark. You knew better than to poke the sleeping bear, and nodded against his chest before speaking again.

“Y-yes, Sir. I want it.”

His other hand was still stroking up and down your slit, now purposely avoiding your clit and ghosting over your entrance. The friction was slowly driving you mad, the pleasure was there but it was barely enough. You would do anything for him to do anything else.

“Where do you want my fingers, Y/N? Inside you,” He pushed in the tip of his middle finger, causing you to keen against his neck, “Or on your clit?"

He pulled his finger out and dragged his hand towards your clit, tapping it ever so lightly. Your hands twitched at your sides, not knowing whether you were allowed to touch him or not.

"P-please,” You said. Your words were gone. This was what Sehün could do to you.

When you’d first heard of the Sect of Seven you didn’t believe their “godlike powers”, but now you understood, now you truly believed. Sehün had an effect on everyone—greed was his power, and you were feeling it strongly now, reduced to mere whimpers and thoughts of only more, more, more.

Another hit rained down on your ass, and you squirmed in his grip.

“Words!” His growl was louder now, bordering on angry. “This is your last warning, darling. I’m not going to repeat myself again. Use your fucking words.”

You took a deep breath, then another, when you felt Sehün’s free hand run up and down your back, calming you despite the domineering aura he had about himself.

He knew the effect he could have on people, and he could always tell when it washed over you. This was him trying to snap you out of it just a little bit, and often did this to relax you enough to respond when you were having difficulty speaking.

“Inside,” You gasped finally, raising your head to look at his face. “Fuck me with your fingers, please, Sir."

His smirk was almost as wicked as he was, and he held up two of his fingers to your mouth. "You know what to do.”

His eyes watched your own intently as you sucked his fingers into your mouth, ignoring how the tacky, dried spit on your chin makes the sensation of opening your mouth feel strange and almost tight. You hollowed your cheeks, and he chuckled darkly.

“The next time I have you all to myself, I’ll make you suck my cock.”

You nodded enthusiastically at the idea. Sehün was so big, and having him stuffed down your throat was always a challenge that got you rewarded nicely.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, fingers still crammed into your mouth. “I remember you were so innocent the first time I fucked you. Now look at you, so eager for me to do whatever I want to you.”

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, trailing it down to your exposed core. “Take off the dress,” He ordered, before finally putting a finger inside of you, setting a slow, tedious pace.

Hands trembling, you forced your hands towards the hem of the white dress, hiking up the skirt, before pulling it up over your head, dropping it at Sehün’s feet. “The bra goes too.”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

You unhooked the bra, tossing it away from you. Finally free to just bask in the sensation of Sehün’s finger caressing inside your walls, your hands balled up into fists, no longer able to keep your hands off of him.

“M-may I—ah!—please touch you, Sir?”

His free hand guided your smaller one to the hardness in his pants. “Get me ready to fuck you, sweet girl.” His voice was quiet, husky, and you licked your lips in anticipation.

“Yes, Sir,” You said for what felt like the millionth time that night, and he smiled down at you, before spanking you again, and you cried out in surprise.

“I-I did what you told me to!”

“I know,” He answered, grinning, “It’s just cute to watch you squirm when I do it.”

You whined. “Sir, please don’t tease—”

“Just jerk me off, sweet girl.”

You eyed him defiantly for a moment. His finger stilled inside of you, almost challenging to disobey. You decided quickly it was better not to, mouth latching to the point below his ear, silently and swiftly unbuckling his belt and dipping a hand into his pants.

His dick was hot and hard, pulsing. You could have sworn it twitched once you finally wrapped your hand around it. He hummed in satisfaction as you pulled him out, letting go of him briefly to spit into your palm. You gripped him again and began to move your hand at the speed he was finger fucking you.

It was no surprise to you that after a few moments of this he sped up his pace, and so do you.

You were moaning against his skin now, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses along his jawline and his free hand came up to pull on one of your nipples, the nub now hard and sensitive. His rough fingertips dragging aggressively across your skin, leaving you mad with want.

When Sehün asked if you could handle another finger, you didn’t hesitate, begging for more, then finally keening in satisfaction of the slight burn that came when he gave into your request.

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, hands exploring each others’ skin despite having touched many times in the past.

“Play with your clit,” He said eventually, fingers still fucking in and out of your pussy, “Use one hand on my cock and t-touch your clit with the other one.”

Your head tipped back as you obeyed, adding even more pleasure when your hand teased your clit, before setting a quick drag of back and forth, back and forth.

“F-fuck, Sir, o-oh my god!”

You could tell when Sehün was beginning to lose himself in the pleasure; his eyes scrunched shut, his breathing became heavier than it already was. His free hand, which was gripping your waist, gripped it tighter, and you relished in the crushing but not unbearable pain in your side where his fingers were, knowing that there would be bruises in the morning.

Eventually it came, the familiar coil winding you up and leaving you charged like a livewire, causing your movements to become frantic, moving wildly against his grip.

“S-sir, I’m close!”

In response, he slipped in another long and calloused finger. You cried out his name, before gasping as you realized what you’d done.

You’d just called one of the Lords by name without his permission.

His fingers stilled inside of you, swiftly removing them before flipping the two of you over so he was hovering of you. He looked furious, as he spanks you again.

This time, however, it landed on the nipple he’d been tweaking, before pulling out both of his fingers, and you wailed, a woman possessed.

“Sir, please!” Your pleading was loud, ragged, voice reedy with desire.

His hand gripped your chin once more, this time much more harshly. “Why should I give you anything when you won’t behave? I never gave you permission to say my name, darling. I should just leave you here and not come back.”

“No,” You begged, “No, sir, please, I-I’ll be good, promise!“

He pushes a few strands of hair out of your face, before pressing a harsh kiss against your lips. His hands grabbed yours, pinning them above your head and leaving you powerless.

"I’ve denied you once,” He said, “I won’t hesitate to deny you again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded, expression stoic. His steely blue eyes were dilated, almost black with desire. “I’m going to fuck you now. You know what to tell me if it gets to be too much."

You hummed in agreement. "Moonlight, Sir. That’s the word."

He smiled down at you softly, eyes turning to crescents as he broke character for a moment. "That’s a good girl.”

The way he could easily shift between harsh and kind left you feeling as though you had whiplash.

He kneeled on the bed, unbuttoning his crimson red shirt and exposing his toned skin to your eyes. You watched, bewitched, as he stripped down, bare as you.

He lowered himself once more, caging you between the mattress and his long, lithe body. You felt your face heat, and although you couldn’t see, you could tell you were blushing. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, his swollen, chapped lips never failing to take your breath away.

You felt one of his hands reach down, and moments later you gasped into the kiss at the sensation of him rubbing his length between your folds. “Sir,” You said, between kisses, “I’m gonna die - if you don’t do anything soon.”

He pulled away, resting his nose against yours. “You’re too dramatic, darling.”

You gazed up at him, taking in his appearance. His chest was heaving, hair mussed and now falling into his face, his prominent cheekbones and broad shoulders flushed. His expression was dark-but you weren’t sure if that was because of the way the shadows hit his face or because of the lust he felt.

“Se-Sir, p-please.”

“Please, what?” He said, rocking his hips experimentally, still not fucking into you, and you threw your head back in frustration, “You need to tell me exactly what you want, sweet girl.”

You licked your lips, gathering your words as you opened your eyes to stare wantonly at him.

“Fuck me, Sir. Do whatever you want to me.”

He nodded with a smirk, and you could practically feel his ego swell, right before he pushed into your cunt.

Sehün, after so much teasing, wasted no time in setting a punishing pace, groaning in satisfaction. “You’re always so tight, Y/N. Ah, fuck!”

You wrapped your legs around his hips, wordless at how rough he was thrusting into you. You wanted to grab at him, run his hands through his hair and down his back, but he’d already grabbed your wrists again, manhandling them above your head so you were practically at his mercy.

He rested his head against your shoulder, laving his lips against your skin, now damp and glistening with sweat. The heat radiating off of both of your bodies as you writhed against each other seemed to make the temperature in your bedroom rise, sweat dripping from your bodies and mixing with each other’s, making the slide of his skin against yours come even easier.

His thrusts were incessant, but that didn’t stop you from thrashing in his grip when he hit a spot inside of your walls, causing you to cry out, eyes rolling back into your head and his pace turned sluggish, as the tight clenching of your pussy around him caught him off guard.

“Say my name,” He ordered, one hand letting go of your wrists to come play with your clit, now swollen from your vigorous touching and the way his pelvic bone seemed to grind against it.

“F-fuck! Sehün, harder!”

He complied, thrusts soon shallower and slower, but harder as he rocked into your tight heat. Your moans were garbled, mumbling complete nonsense and not even you knew what you were asking for with your constant begging of oh, please, and more, more, more.

Soon enough, the feeling returned, and his pace was no longer controlled, hips moving erratically against yours. All rational thought had left both of your minds, the two of you fucking against each other like wild, feral animals.

“I’m gonna come soon,” He grunted, “F-fuck, Y/N, you’re so good.”

Your body felt like it was on fire, toes curling when you felt the sensation of an oncoming orgasm return again, and you mentally pleaded, a little more, please, please, please.

Your voice was shrill when you voiced your request, but you immediately regretted it. He pulled out of you, eyes filling with tears and crying out in anger when the feeling was lost.

Your eyes raked down his long, tan torso to find his large hand wrapped around his cock, pumping vigorously and giving you a beautifully frustrating sight to watch, propping your sweating body onto your elbows as he kneeled above you, his voice hoarse as he groaned.

“Where should I come?” He asked, but you knew you wouldn’t get a say. His tone was teasing despite the breathlessness in his voice, and eventually he came down to hover above you, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes screwed shut and mis mouth tipped open, as he came on your stomach.

Your hands came up to run slowly through his hair, now damp with sweat, grounding him and ensuring he wouldn’t get too lost in his throes.

When he returned to his senses, panting heavily, eyes gleaming with a predatory glint, he grinned down at you. “My sweet girl.”

You pouted up at him. “You didn’t let me come.”

“Why should I?”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, you were interrupted as his lips pressed against yours again, and you barely even noticed when he flipped you over, not until he pulled away to lie his head on your pillows. You looked him over once more, and you raised an eyebrow.

“You’re still hard?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” He murmured, “I’m young. I’m a god.”

You took in the sight of him, face flushed, dark hair messy, icy blue eyes watching, piercing through you and pinning you down in your spot.

One of his hands dragged down your chest, finally dragging his fingers through the cum on your skin, before both of his hands came to grip your hips. He eyed his stiff cock for a second, before his eyes came up to find yours. His eyebrows furrowed, and you could tell he’d just had another one of his wicked ideas.

“Tell me you love me, and maybe then I’ll let you come.”

You felt your eyes widen, and suddenly, despite all the times he’d seen you like this, you felt very, very naked, exposed, vulnerable.

Sehün wasn’t a man of emotions. From what you knew, none of the gods of the sect were men of emotions. They barely qualified as men at all—these were gods. You knew all of them had sexual partners (Sanctuary Queens, people called them, and by extension, you) as well, but had never felt courageous enough to ask Sehün or any of the other Sanctuary Queens about the power dynamics in their relationships.

However.

Sehün had never explicitly told you that this was simply sexual, carnal. There were no rules stating that a romantic relationship god and mortal was a sin–hell, the entire concept of the sect was that there was no such thing as sin, so long as no innocent person was harmed.

Sehün, no matter how ruthless he could be in battle or cunning he could be during worship, was kind. His heart, while not pure, was also not cold, but rather filled with appreciation for life, art, and you. He’d never explicitly said that he had feelings for you, and for a time you wondered if he was even human enough to have feelings at all.

You were never neglected with Sehün. He’d care for you, clean you up after sex, when you were still too overwhelmed to comprehend what was going on. He never forced you out of his chambers after sex, leaving you to rest in his bed, and if you asked nicely, he’d hold you, stroking your hair until you fell asleep. And while Sehün couldn’t cook if the entire sect depended on it, he’d still send for the chefs to make your favorite breakfasts on mornings when you were especially sore.

Regardless, Sehün asking this of you made you freeze up, and you released a shaky breath.

“Sehün, where is this—”

“Where is it coming from? Come on, Y/N. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

He sat up, coming to wrap his hands around your arms to pull you closer. His eyes studied your face, and you pursed your lips.

“Sehün…”

“I love hearing you say my name,” He whispered into your skin, pressing his nose against your cheek, “Say it again.”

“Sehün.” You felt your eyes flutter shut, going lax in his hold.

You heard him sigh. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d thought of you all day.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You said, pulling away to get a good look at him. His eyebrows furrowed, and he lifted a hand to brush a few strands of hair away from his face.

“The resistance is planning something. We don’t know what it is, yet. All we know is that a confrontation is coming… soon.”

You watched his face. He looked troubled—the warm, yellow light of your bedside lamp cast shadows upon his expression that brought out all of his flaws: every scar, every mole, every blemish that wouldn’t be seen if you were standing away from him.

This was the gift Lady Fate had bestowed upon you, to see what exactly made one of your seven gods human, and you were even more grateful to have him say what you couldn’t.

“I’m a god.” He didn’t sound very convinced. “That doesn’t mean they can’t kill me, not with all of the artillery Jongdae keeps bringing in. That doesn’t mean they can’t take you away from me, Y/N. It's… sobering. All of this power only lasts for so long."

You grimaced in sympathy, bringing your hands up to Sehün’s cheeks, longing to be close to him once more.

"I love you, Sehün.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, a confession only for him to hear. “I’m so grateful that you chose me, of all of the girls you could have had that night.”

At your words, the usual twinkle that had dimmed in his eyes returned, just not as bright. “Thank you.”

You smiled, and he did the same, before his swollen lips came down to capture yours again.

“Mine,” he murmured against your lips, “All mine.”

You pushed him away, watched him fall back onto the mattress. You shifted yourself on top of his body, the way his eyes flickered with arousal not going unignored. “Okay,” You sighed dramatically, “I did what you told me to do… Does that mean I can come now?”

He grinned, flipping you over with ease. He looked beautifully disheveled, smiling down at you.

“For you, sweet girl, I’ll make you come a hundred times more.”

#kpop smut #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #exo x reader #exo imagines #exo smut #exo scenarios #exo au #kpop au #sehun x reader #sehun smut #sehun scenarios #x exo x reader #x-exo x reader #my writing

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

Text

July 17: 2x26 Assignment: Earth

Finally finished up S2 of TOS yesterday. That was... a rough episode tbh. I’m just gonna say it: back door pilots are bad! They’re bad. If I wanted to watch that other show, I’d watch it.

Wow, they’re just really jumping right in, huh? “Here we are, on a routine mission into the past, using a time travel method that we invented nbd.”

Investigating desperate problems in the year 2020...2016.... no wait 1968.

Ooh, Spock in the transport room today. Does he have a whole extra random station there? That’s so weird; I’ve never seen that before. It’s like hidden in the corner.

Cat!! Cat!!

What a good actor. I’m still bitter that wikipedia has a whole section about the casting for “Isis the cat” that talks entirely about the human who played Isis for 2 minutes and nothing about the talented feline actor. Where did they find her? How did they teach her to act?

She has a lot of thoughts about Kirk.

I wrote down “Scully, you’ve got to see this” in my notes and I’ve already forgotten what it refers to lol. Some moment that I thought would fit well with my favorite x-files meme.

Change history, you say? Spock is intrigued. ...Admittedly, Spock is often intrigued.

“What if it turns out you’re an invading alien from the future?” Honestly...let him invade. You’re not supposed to be here anyway.

I’m pretty insulted by this. The aliens went through all this trouble to help in 1968...where are our alien helpers NOW?

The cat straight up attacked his face.

Kirk is so fond of Spock being fond of the cat.

“It’s a lovely animal. I feel myself strangely drawn to it.”

Kirk is way too confused by Seven--an allegedly human person with super-human abilities that he says come from aliens--and yet, he’s met Charlie X so??? Is this not the same?

Kirk’s got the whole crew checking in on zoom.

(I actually do like this sequence of him getting video calls from different parts of the ship.)

“Weren’t orbiting H-bombs a huge problem in 1968?” Looks at the camera like he’s on The Office. Not the subtlest bit of writing in the “social commentary” genre. I do say this with love, though. I always enjoy when they comment on contemporary problems.

“He has a totally perfect body.” Lol don’t distract these two bisexuals.

[soft meowing]

“The prisoner has escaped.” The way this is shot, it looks like he’s talking about the cat.

Hmm, I do love the decor. Very 60s. This honestly immediately feels like a different show, and a much more dated show; even when the Enterprise time travels, it tends not to time travel to... office space.

Love the little sounds the computer makes.

So is Isis supposed to be one of the fancy aliens? It’s never explained but one must assume she is.

Aw, he’s petting her paw.

So I assumed the cats sounds are real, but just dubbed. They’re not lol. Which I guess isn’t surprising: this cat makes a lot of noises! They were provided by a human voice actress.

Damn.... I want a secret bookshelf that turns around to reveal a super computer with a big screen. “Computer... play Netflix.”

That’s what Seven does in his spare time.

The computer is an AI. “Beta 5 snobbery” lol.

Where are OUR alien overlords to stop US from destroying ourselves before WE can mature into a peaceful society?

This is really masterful exposition lol. Not forced or awkward at all.

ST sure does love the snooty female computer trope.

“Get us the proper costumes.” Yes, get Spock his Requisite Hat.

Omicron IV....that’s one of the names they use in Futurama lol. Such nerds.

Another excellent Spock Hat.

I love Seven’s various IDs. Great style. I wish my driver’s license looked like those.

“Who do you think you are?” He hasn’t decided yet. That’s why he was shifting through his IDs.

Seven is not smart lol. Like, he should have figured out way faster that this lady isn’t one of the Alien Overlords. He asks her the code question, she doesn’t understand it, and he... assumes she’s just really in character? Dude, that’s what the code questions are for!!! To help you identify people! Otherwise you could just straight up ask: are you an alien?

Instead he’s like “oh, you silly alien, you’re playing with me,” and then is forced to trap her, reveal his whole mission, and ultimately ensnare her in his plan.

I want that typewriter. Voice recognition typewriter.

"My incompetence has made you aware of very secret devices." Well at least he knows.

Trained cat!

The alien overlords were killed in a random car accident. That’s ironic.

Oh look, a real rocket!

Brown pants + short sleeved shirt + tie is such a Classic 60s look.

This security guard doesn’t think it’s weird that this random dude has a cat with him? Is this part of Isis’s alien power?

Except for the part where it’s a weapon, it’s pretty cool to see all this build up to, like... launching stuff into space. Exciting.

Isis likes to be on shoulders. Just like Little Guy.

New hat for Spock. His outer wear hat, and now his fancy hat. There is something to be said for this ep, and that is Kirk and Spock in suits.

Amazing how they literally launched rockets with computers that old. Like seeing the big bank of primitive computers is totally wild. We put people on the moon that way! Amazing.

“Meow.” Lol, Isis is stressed so she’s speaking like a cat. That’s a pretty funny joke actually.

Seven is so incompetent. If he’d just let the Enterprise help, Scotty could have fixed that rocket issue in like 3 seconds.

Lol everyone’s just pulling Gary through space. Now on the Enterprise. Now in the office.

Why does this computer have a hug black screen if it only displays images on the small white circle?

"Spock and I in custody. Main characters, doing nothing, knowing nothing, totally useless and irrelevant. I have never felt more helpless." Literally what is even the point of them today? Does Spock even have lines outside of “I like the cat”?

Isis is jealous of Roberta. Is she.. in a relationship with Seven lol?

Uhura is listening to everyone in the world. She probably has a universal translator on, but I do feel like this scene implies she just...understands all the languages.

So now the warhead is armed and heading to somewhere vague... in other words, everyone has collectively made the situation worse.

....Or this was Seven’s plan all along? To scare people into ceasing to be so careful with nuclear weaponry? As someone who knows humans better than this guy, I think this is a dumbass plan.

“That’s why so many people in my generation are kind of crazy and rebels.” Same, sweetheart.

Really this is just a story about bad communication. If Seven had told Kirk his plan upfront, Kirk would have helped him. And if Kirk weren’t so insistent on involving himself in something just because he happens to be somewhere he probably shouldn’t be, we wouldn’t have this issue either. The hubris of everyone.

Overall, just a really forced narrative imo.

Or that’s how it was supposed to be lol. The Irony of time travel. By it’s nature, everything has already worked out.

Kirk and Spock are like “You’re welcome. Peace out.”

Honestly... Isis was the only good part. Such a talented cat actor!! Or trio of cat actors, I guess. Had to do all those stunts and stuff.. .amazing. I also liked the concept of Isis. How she turned into a human later just to troll Roberta. How she’s never really explained--one must assume, an alien? Plus I pretty much never get tired of human + animal teams where the animal makes animal noises and the human just understands and answers in English.

As a stand alone sci fi concept...it was okay. Kinda dated by now. The alien tech was nifty and Roberta could have grown on me. Maybe even Seven, though he left a lot to be desire. That said, the narrative relied a lot on people getting in each other’s way for no reason, which I find very frustrating.

But as a Star Trek episode....no. The main characters were just nuisances on the side lines!! I’m not even sure what Kirk’s mission here was--to try to figure out what Seven was doing? And stop him if necessary? But he never really decided if it was or not, until the point where not trusting him would basically cause a nuclear war? I don’t know, I found it all very frustrating. The melding of the original show and the spinoff was not smooth.

If I were watching this in 1968, I’d feel very cheated. THIS was the season finale? That’s it? I don’t even get a real Star Trek episode and now I have to wait months for anything new?

And what I get after all that waiting is Spock’s Brain?? I’d be tempted to quit. If I had a tumblr in 1969 I’d be writing multi-paragraph rants about how the best show on television has completely nose-dived lol.

But then there’s The Enterprise Incident, which is one of the best episodes... I don’t know, man. It’s a conundrum. I’ve only seen maybe half of season 3 but from what I remember it’s very uneven: some of the best eps (The Enterprise Incident, For the World Is Hollow, Day of the Dove) mixed in with some of the worst (Spock’s Brain, The Paradise Syndrome), plus some that are good concepts but shoddily executed (The Way to Eden). So we’ll see what I think about it when I see it all in one piece, in air date order.

#the year 2021 #2021: fandom thoughts #2021: star trek #star trek tos

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canyonmoonlily · 4 years

Text

| What Goes Up |

live! on tour series

A/N: Here comes the Smut ;)

.....

“Y/N!”

“What?” your entire body lurched upright at the sound of your name. You could hardly see thanks to the blinding sunlight streaming in through the unfamiliar window. You hardly remembered what the hotel you were staying in looked like you’d been so inebriated the night before.

“Alarm!” The same voice that had woken you from your slumber called from beyond the closed door. Oh. It was only then you noticed Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin was playing very loudly. At first, it had worked great as an alarm but you’d grown used to it and could sleep through it like a pro now.

The voice that had called for you to turn it off must’ve been one of your bandmates. According to your phone, it was already 10:30 am so you might as well start your day. You stretched and moved to get out of bed after turning it off only to find you are, in fact, stark naked.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

You hurriedly grab your robe you’d hung on the bathroom door and wrap it around you. You were scared to look in the mirror and see hickies or some indication of promiscuity from the night before. You had nothing against sleeping around, but considering you’d still only ever slept with someone once, you weren’t usually bold enough to sleep with a stranger. Which only means that if you did, in fact, have sex last night it was with someone you knew.

Like Harry.

The last thing you can remember is Harry singing along with George Harrison’s voice as you cried into his chest. Like the emotionally unstable psycho you are! your brain added.

You ripped the metaphorical bandage off and took a glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror only to find no evidence that anyone had touched you the night before. You also didn’t feel sore other than a slight headache. Considering you hardly ate, it took nothing for you to get drunk so hangovers were never really an issue for you.

You feel like you’d know if something had happened the night before. It had been a hot minute since the one and only time you’d had sex before. The only obvious differences in your appearance seems to be the absent of the makeup you’d worn the night before and your clothing. Had Harry taken off your makeup for you? Your chest contracted at the thought of him taking the time to play caretaker to drunk you.

Then you remember the way he’d kissed Kendall the night before, and remind yourself that despite the Game Night events, you were only friends. And that was all you’d ever probably get out with him. You needed to place your mental emphasis on the fact that you had him in your life at all and be grateful for that. There was no point in stringing yourself along on the hopes that one day he’d fall in love with you and the two of you would live some kind of happily ever after. Your life was far from a movie and you were far too old to be entertaining such fantasties anymore.

....

Harry watched you slip out of the green room with a heavy heart. You were like no one he’d ever met before. Last night, with all of your drunken ramblings and your little hands grabbing at his hair, calling him pretty. You had laid with your head in his lap for hours, going on about everything from George Harrison to the inherent good or evil of human nature.

He’d gazed at you adoringly, laughing the night away while the party died downstairs. He’d left Kendall alone but he wasn’t worried about her, she knew he didn’t love her. It was purely a publicity stunt, as always.

Harry shouldn’t love y/n. He knows this. Columbia records was considering signing a deal with your band, a major one that would launch your group even further into music stardom. You’d only released one album, and already had a huge fan base. Harry’s opinion the matter was of great value to the record label, and he’d been given specific instructions not to go and “make any unprofessional or romantic connections with the three of those girls.”

Harry had agreed to those terms, but that was before he knew you.

The first time you stepped into the pre-tour production meeting room he thought he was going to vomit. You’d all stumbled in late, being scolded by your manager, John. You hadn’t noticed Harry was even in the room.

You were slightly shorter than average, with all of the right curves and long, golden hair down to your waist. You donned an old Ben Folds Five tshirt and high waisted denim. You couldn’t seem to keep your hair out of your face. Your bandmates looked pained every five seconds as you whispered what was clearly absolute nonsense into their ears throughout the meeting. The way your eyes sparkled with mischeif, your unabashed goofiness nearly smacked him out of his chair. You were nothing like what he expected when he’d been told he’d be touring with an all girl band. You were the most alive thing in the room.

He knew why you were upset. It was because Kendall was wrapped around him like a fucking sloth after tonight’s show in Cleveland.

His feet didn’t consult with his mind before he found himself following your fleeting figure.

“Y/n!” He called.

You stopped dead in your tracks, refusing to look back at him.

“What is it, Harry?” Your sweet voice was a bit hoarse.

“Where are you going?” Harry’s voice was small, reminding you of your younger brothers back at home. You felt the cold armor you’d wrapped around your heart bend a little.

“To bed.” You responded simply.

“Listen, Kendall and I...it’s not—“

“Harry I didn’t ask. You don’t know me an explanation.”

“I do, though. What happened after game night—“

“—doesn’t need to be talked about it again. I’ve already erased it from my mind. Your secret is safe.”

“Secret? Y/n what the hell are you going on about?” Harry’s voice broke a bit, at that you finally turned to face him.

“I know you probably don’t want her to find out about that—or anyone to for that matter. It wasn’t very professional of us.” The shining of tears on your face took Harry by surprise, as you’d melt your words void of all emotion.

“Y/n I don’t give a shit about her!” Harry nearly yelled. “Well, no, I do care about her but not in that way.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Then why are you two making out every time I see you together? Harry, you’re not making me feel any better.”

“It’s a stunt. It’s for publicity. To keep the paps entertained.”

“Oh.”

“I....y/n, these last few months we’ve spent...” Harry can feel himself getting choked up as he struggles to meet your eyes. When he does, you can see he’s fighting back tears and you don’t know what you expect him to say next. “I think—no. I know that I am in love with you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. The skin tight, bell bottom jumpsuit you’re wearing seems to be 100000x tighter than you remember it being a few hours ago.

“You don’t have to say it back, you don’t owe me anything, I—shit. Shit I’m sorry.” His chin is wobbling now and the world’s biggest rock star is falling apart right before your eyes. But in a second, your lips are on his before the first tear can fall.

His whole body caves into yours, pulling you closer then you think you’ve ever been held in all of your 22 years on this planet. Your hands find his hair as his lips move in sync with your own. They’re soft and sweet and suddenly the only language you know how to speak. He is clinging to you like a man starved, though you know he is anything but.

“I love you. I thought it was obvious already but, I’ll say it a million times if you need to hear it: I love you. I love you. I love you.” You day in between kisses. Harry pulls away slightly to meet your eyes and can feel himself going cold. “What?” Your brow furrows at his expression.

“I just never want to forget the way you’re looking at me now.”

Then your back is against some nearby wall and his lips are on yours again faster than you can register anything that’s happening. The kiss swells into something more urgent, more passionate than before as your tongues begin their dance. His hands are everywhere, and you forget where yours end and his hair begins.

His lips begin trailing to the underside of your jaw and a moan slips out before you can stop it. He groans a response, and you swear you can feel something hard pressing against your lower stomach. Harry’s entire body has caved into yours, you standing on your tippy toes to press yourself more firmly against his willow-y frame.

“Shit-shit. Harry, someone could see—“ it suddenly dawned on you that you’re just passionately making out with in the middle of the hallway.

“Oh—oh.” Harry’s brows furrow and you see a glint of hurt in his pretty green eyes. You gently cup his face.

“No, I don’t mean it like that!” You whisper yell the reassurance. “You know I’d love to be seen with you. I just, H....I’m insecure about this kind of stuff.”

Amusement paints a pretty smirk on Harry’s face.

“You mean....sex?” He teases and you swear you could wrap your hands around his throat and throttle him if you had another 5 inches of height and actually stood a chance.

“Yes, sex, now come on.” You mock his accent and tug him away from the wall, the two of you giggling like horny teenagers.

...

Within a minute Harry has you pressed up against the door of his private bus. He’s fumbling with the strange lock and kissing you like he’s dying at the same time. You’re floating.

Once the latch clicks into place, your feet leave the ground again and your laid against something soft. The warm lighting is hitting Harry in a sinful way—he looks like the color gold personified and he’s smiling at you like you’re the Sun. He towers over you and you’ve never felt smaller. You start to wrap your arms around yourself but he stops you.

“Just let me look at you for a sec, y/n/n.”

With one last heated look he dives back into you and you’re a mess of tangled limbs again. You can feel his hands ghost over your clothed breasts and his lips ghosting over your neck again.

“God, I can’t get enough of your neck. Ya’ve got tha prettiest neck ‘ve ever seen,” he groans with a grind of his clothed, hard cock into your own clothed heat. You’re making noises you’ve only ever made before that time after Game night. And you know you’re ready to give it all to Harry. Anything he wants from you you’re willing to give.

His hands roughly grope at your breasts and you nearly scream. He’s pulling his shirt off and unzipping the top of your jumpsuit before you can do it again. Harry sucks in a breath of air at the sight of your naked chest.

“God—those tits. Just like I imagined ‘em,” he says before taking a nipple in his mouth, suckling on you like some animal. You whimper under his attention and he stops briefly.

“Angel, is this alright?” Harry looks into your eyes and holds your gaze.

“Yes, yes. T-take what you want from me.” You nod vigorously and submit yourself to him. His response is a growl you feel travel straight down to your core.

He goes back to your breasts, leaving lovebites and growling out the occasional “mine.” His lips trail down to your hips, right above your pelvis as he shimmies the rest of your jumpsuit off your legs.

Then the warmth of his breath is on your pussy and a single kiss is pressed to the front of your lace panties.

“H, you don’t have to—“

“I want to. Please.”

You nod and gulp. At this point, Harry’s seen more of your body than anyone else has and seems to be enjoying it. The only other time you’d had sex all the lights had been off and there was next to know ForPlay.

“I’ve just never had someone—do that.” You offer you an explanation. Harry freezes.

“No one’s ever eaten you out?” He asks incredulously, his head poking up from between your thighs. “What the fuck, why?”

Your cheeks heat up and you suddenly can’t make eye contact with him. “Well my ex, he and I only ever did it one time and he just...didn’t.” Harry nearly chokes on his own breath.

“You’ve one ever had sex once?” his hands are gripping your thighs now and he’s subconsciously moving closer to your face.

“Y-yeah. God this is embarrassing.” Your hands cover your now red face and tears gather in your eyes, lower lip trembling. This is not a conversation you wanted to be having but you also didn’t want to lie to Harry.

He pulls his hands away from your face and nearly crumbles at the sight of your glassy eyes. “No, no. Why is that embarrassing? You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” He coos softly, brushing away any tears that had fallen. You felt so small and seen in his embrace.

“Because I thought that maybe I was the problem? That something about me was ...off so he left me after we...you know.”

Harry audibly scoffed and cradled your face in his hands. “I’ve wanted this, I’ve wanted you for so long,” His voice is gruff and honest. “There is no one I’d rather be with right now. And that idiot ex of yours is a fucking madman because you’re never getting rid of me after tonight.”

You kiss him and feel something in your chest ache in an almost foreign way. You didn’t know you could feel like this. He kisses you back harder and the heat between you builds again. His hand cups your lace covered pussy and rubs gently over your clit and you jolt. His lips trail back down to your heat and before you can register what is happening his nose is pressed against your mound and inhaling you like some meal. A growl resonated in his chest and he begins tugging your underwear down your legs.

His tongue delves into your folds gently, teasingly. He finds his way to your clit and then sucks the breath from your lungs. You go pigeon toed and nearly scream at his assault on your most private area. You’re making noises that feel foreign as they leave your mouth but Harry laps them up along with your heat. He’s growling and letting out little sweet comments about how good you taste and you don’t know how you’re going to ever look at him without blushing again.

“H, H I’m close,” you whine out, little body shaking under the weight of his arms holding your torso down. Your hips are bucking up wildly but Harry is comepletely unbothered, giving no indication that he’d heard you at all. It isn’t until he sucks un your clit with a new vigor that he makes his intentions clear.

You’re screaming, toes curling, his name falling from your lips so loudly you’re sure everyone in the stadium can hear you. You’re fucked and you don’t even care, Harry’s cooing in your ear as tears fall from your eyes, descending from your high. He pulls your body into his and whispers sweet nothings in your ear until you come back to reality.

“Are ye alright, angel? We could just go to sleep?” Harry asks gently, warm breath in your ear.

“No, no. I want you. I’m just a little overwhelmed because no ones ever...he didn’t... make me you know.” Your face is heating up again.

“Why are you still talking about sex to me like we’re in middle school, y/n?” He laughs loudly. “I just spent the last 10 minutes face first in your pussy. You can say the word orgasm around me.”

You can’t help but laugh but also swing an arm around to sock him in the chest but he catches your hand and steals your breath with a kiss. His hands slide up the smooth expanse of your back and he straddles you, caging you to the end with his body.

You buck your hips into his, a hand snaking down to palm his rock hard member through his briefs. It feels, much larger than you anticipated. He growls and ruts against your hand like an animal.

“Please, Harry...” your eyes are hazy with desire as they meet his nearly blackened ones. He whips his briefs off and settles himself at your entrance.

“Are you sure? You’ll be stuck with me after this.” He half joked, looking into your eyes with a choking intensity.

“I’ve never been more sure. Please.”

He lets out a loud cry at the feeling of your heat around him and you’re whimpering uncontrollably at the intrusion. But you love it, God it hurts but you love it. Harry had not prepared himself for how tight you would be. It was like bedding a Virgin. Your ex must not have been well endowed, Harry thought.

Harry can’t believe how good you feel, and he’s never been particularly loud, but he’s crying out with every movement. You’re trembling beneath him, whimpering and yelping. Both of you just consumed with the other. You take his hand and place it around your throat, and his eyebrows shoot up in an expression of utter shock. He grips your throat in his hand and builds speed quickly. Milking his cock in your tight heat.

“You feel so fucking good. You’re mine now, mine.” He growls through clenched teeth as his hips snap into yours. You’re practically in tears.

“Yours. Yours yours yours.” His cock has reduced you to a weeping echo chamber.

When the two of you climax it is like the clash of a symphony and he collapses into your body, holding you closer to him than anyone’s held you before.

As you drift off in his arms, one nagging thought plagues you,

What the fuck were you going to tell your bandmates?

#smut #harry x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #rockstar!y/n #on tour #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles multichapter

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immortalcoelacanth · 4 years

Text

Ascendance of a Bookworm Oneshot: Regret

Ascendance of a Bookworm has a criminally minuscule amount of fics written for it, and as I’ve fallen in love with the anime and manga I’ve decided to add my own contribution! Or several! Depends on how the muse goes. The light novel is taking a bit of work to get through so this oneshot, as well as any others I write, will be manga/anime focused.

Word count: 898

Summary: Regret - A feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over something that has happened or been done. As he watched Main lay unconscious on the ground, with a worried Fran hovering over her, Ferdinand felt regret.

Only the sound of a quill occasionally scratching against either wood or parchment could be heard in the office belonging to the head priest. His attendants were busy completing the tasks that had been assigned to them. One cleaning up the mess that had gathered throughout the day while the other organized documents and other important things. Ferdinand was currently working on finishing up some calculations, jotting down the total on a wooden slab while noting the important bits of information on a sheet of parchment.

Unfortunately, despite his intense focus on his task, his mind soon started to wander and the typical, apathetic mask he wore began to crack. His lips twisted, turning into a frown as his brows lowered. The grip on his quill tightened as he instinctively recalled the events that had happened not too long ago.

The sight of Main, collapsed on the ground after having spent her time repenting.

His critical thinking and observations skills were something Ferdinand had worked hard to develop over the years. Taking note of the smallest of details and storing them away for later recollection was vital when navigating the political minefield that was the church. One wrong move, one misspoken word could lead to nothing but future suffering and more hassles that would have to be dealt with. In a place like this that was practically ready to explode due to the overinflated egos of the blue robed priests, such skills were mandatory for anyone.

So why, why in those moments had he forgotten about Main’s poor health?

It was a point of personal frustration for him, a sign of the lapse in his judgement and thinking skills. He was present during the negotiations, played a vital role in establishing what Main’s duties were, all with her sickly state in mind. He knew how the Devouring had affected her, stunting her growth in combination with the poor conditions she had grown up in. She was frail, fragile, and yet he had still punished her in such a way.

Main… was an intellectual, wise beyond her years and articulate, acting more like an adult than a child at times, a strange combination. She was also very headstrong and creative, but she lacked knowledge about proper etiquette. Smart, yet oh so foolish at the same time.

The oddest combination of a peasant mixed with the mannerisms and speech patterns of a noble.

Perhaps it was his personal frustrations that had clouded his judgement? For how mature and wise she acted, it was her naïve nature that constantly seemed to get her in trouble. The damage such a thing would do to her, never mind her family, he doubted she really considered the repercussions of her actions and how she portrayed herself to the other blue robed priests of the church.

Ferdinand was frustrated with her actions and lack of foresight, plain and simple, but that did not mean he disliked her or wished ill upon her. Their relationship was a complicated one, him mentoring her in the ways of the church and noble society while Main never failed to either surprise him or annoy him. It was a learning process for both of them. He valued her company and enjoyed it when she was not rambling about some topic that he could not understand.

The topic’s significance and the words she used to describe such a thing.

He let out a sigh, controlling and suppressing his emotions as his mask fell into place once more. No, it was not just the frustration that bothered him, it was the regret he felt due to his actions. Main had fallen ill because of what he had foolishly done.

His mistreatment of her, despite the reasoning he had used at the time, was wrong and he knew this. Now he had to take responsibility for his actions and make amends however, there was one problem with such a plan.

Nobles did not just apologize.

Gifts were given to express remorse and regret for the actions that had been committed and near poetic apologies were written down to communicate what the gift could not. Nobles only apologized to other nobles or those in a higher class. For a noble to apologize to someone lower in standing than them, to acknowledge a wrongdoing addressed to such a person…

He could already feel the headache forming at the thought of the chaos such an action would bring.

No, the risk was far too high if he were to say such a thing to Main in a place where anyone could hear. It would paint targets on their backs, mark him as being weak, and if the high priest found out the outcome could be catastrophic.

Main was ignorant of such things, which meant Ferdinand needed to be all the more cautious to protect himself and the strange young girl.

He had to be careful about how he went about apologizing, showcasing his intent in a way that Main would understand, even with her limited knowledge of such actions. A way that no one else would notice. Words were dangerous, but perhaps a gift might do.

A gift to provide her with the items she lacked, something that would only be perceived as a helpful gesture, and with Fran’s aid, such a plan would easily succeed with little outside intervention.

A gift to express his regret.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oh Ferdinand, you painfully complicated being, but I suppose the same could be said for other nobles! Not that I really know at this point, but I’m sure I will soon!

I hope you all enjoyed reading! For those of you on AO3 this will also be crossposted there, so don’t be surprised if you see it!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

#my story #fanfiction #ascendance of a bookworm #honzuki no gekokujou #ferdinand #regret is experienced #introspective

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theangriestpea · 4 years

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The Killing Type | Three

Summary: Just when Lavender thought things were going great with Sweet Pea, a new girl comes back to turn to turn their entire relationship upside down. Now they have to navigate a world of drug dealers, rival gangs, and co-parenting. Sequel to Mercy Killing. <ao3> <masterlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Sweet Pea x OC // eventual Jughead Jones x OC

Warnings: Underage Drinking

Word Count: 4.9k+

A/N: This chapter went to a weird place??? Oh well. I half planned on there to be more smut but it just didn't happen lol. That's probably for the best, I've been off my game lately.

Chapter Three : The L Word

When Sweet Pea finally joined Lavender at the cake, everyone began to sing Happy Birthday while she lit the candles surrounding the double-headed snake. He watched numbly, not even hearing the song end or the cheers that came after. She had to nudge him to get him to snap back to reality and blow out of the candles after making a quick wish (even though he thought wishing on birthday candles was utterly stupid, he still had some modicum of hope).

Cheryl cut the cake, divvying out a good sized piece to everyone. Sweet Pea got the first cut and the biggest slice, though he didn’t feel much in the mood for cake. He forced himself to take a bite, watching the way his ex’s eyes lit up with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to see what he thought.

Sweet Pea forced a small smile, “this is the best cake I’ve ever had.” He said honestly, it was very good. It just felt so...wrong. And he couldn’t place why. As if he shouldn’t be eating this because she got it for him. That by consuming it he was somehow trapped in this non-relationship. Maybe he was looking too far into it.

After grabbing a cold beer, Lav sat down at an empty table with her piece of cake. She watched as various serpents danced and talked, some were playing pool while others were chowing down on cake and other snacks that had been provided. She felt an incredible amount of pride for being able to put this all together for him, the afterglow of sex leaving a kind of invincible aura around her. A protective bubble if you will.

Someone sat down across the table from her and she gave a sideways glance to see that it was Lily. Lavender sipped her beer, pretending to not feel any sort of intimidation. Lily watched her eat silently for a few tense minutes.

“You don’t see what you’re doing, do you?” She finally asked, wondering how Lavender could supposedly know Sweet Pea so well, but not know that she was hurting him. It was extremely obvious to Lily who had grown up with him. Spending nearly every day with him for over a decade made it so she knew his every tell. Sweet Pea couldn’t hide shit from her and vise versa.

Lavender sighed, annoyed with this discourse already. “What are you talking about?”

Lily straightened up in her chair, “you’re hurting him but you don’t even realize it. I don’t think you can read him as well as you think you can.”

“I know he’s upset about the breakup but we talked about it. We’ll get back together when the time is right.” Lav replied, her voice growing cold. “I don’t see why it’s any of your business. You’re the reason we broke up in the first place.”

“I understand why you did it. Because you wanted us to have a chance, but I told you I don’t want his cheating ass back. It’s my business because he’s my best friend and you’re putting him through unnecessary heartbreak because of something stupid that I said, which he gladly chewed me out for later.” Lily said, trying to get through to her. “Toni and Jug said something to me too and I apologize for what I said. Maybe you’re not using him to get better. I just jumped to conclusions because I was hurt….”

Lavender waited patiently for her to continue. However, the conversation seemed to die off there. Lav had no idea what she wanted to do now. Did she take him back now that Lily had admitted to being wrong? This somehow felt like a trap. “I want him to focus on being a father.” Lav said. “I loved mine very much and I think it’s important for little girls to have a good dad in their life...and he missed out on so much already. I don’t want to take time away from her.”

Lily couldn’t help but feel a new appreciation for the girl she had deemed “the other woman”. Here she was just trying to help them keep their family together...and all Lily had done was attack her. She let out a soft sigh, regretting how unnecessarily harsh she had been.

An uncomfortable silence fell on them as Lav watched her nemesis, Kitty Rollins, approach Sweet Pea. Her grip on her beer bottle tightened as Lily watched the scene unfold. They were standing extremely close to one another, Sweet Pea was smiling and even laughed . Lavender felt anger and heartbreak all at once. They weren’t together, she told him he could see other people, but him actually doing it….that was not something she had been prepared for.

Lily watched both Lavender and Sweet Pea, instantly figuring out what her baby daddy was doing. He wasn’t actually interested in Kitty, that was evident, but he was putting on a show as if he were. It was all to goad Lavender into some kind of reaction. He naively thought that maybe if he showed her how much she still wanted him, that she’d come back. Maybe they could stop being platonic and go back to what they had.

Kitty grabbed a hold of Sweet Pea’s jacket, and Lavender nearly saw red. She had to chug down her beer to keep from losing it. “Lav, listen.” Lily said, reaching out to put a hand on top of the other girl’s. It was a very...strange gesture to Lavender. “He’s not into her, I promise. He only has eyes for you right now. He’s trying to rile you up.”

Lavender’s eyes softened as she looked back at Sweet Pea, who had chanced a glance at her before leaning in to whisper something to Kitty. The jealousy and rage returned in an instant. Even if Lily was telling the truth, it was working . “He’ll still have sex with her.” Lav said, “He had sex with me and he didn’t even know me.”

Lily pulled her hand away. “He will pretend to, sure. But he won’t actually do it. He’s too chicken shit. I promise, if they leave he’ll just drop her off at her trailer and leave her there. Trust me, he did the same thing to girls when we were taking a break just to annoy me. He doesn’t have side chicks when he’s actively in love with someone. I think...I think we had fallen apart before July even started.” She swallowed down the lump of pain in her throat. Even though she had moved on, it still hurt quite a bit when she thought about it.

Lav was staring at Lily now, eyes as wide as saucers. Her and Sweet Pea had never used the L word with one another. They weren’t ready. It was too big of a step. And while Lav had deep rooted suspicions that she did love Sweet Pea, she was almost sure that he didn’t love her back... at least, not romantically.

“He...loves me?” She asked, still not believing what Lily had just said. The brunette was unperturbed. Sweet Pea was terrible at saying those three words so it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t told her how he felt. She also wondered if Lavender also had similar issues admitting to her feelings.

“Shanna,” Lav flinched at the use of her real name. “Trust me. No one knows Nathaniel better than I do. If he didn’t love you, then he would have gone out and banged the first chick he came across the night you broke up with him.”

Lav bit her lip, nearly giggling at finally knowing Sweet Pea’s real name. He would never tell her it, even after many nights of begging and trying to seduce it out of him. “Do you think...he could be a dad to her and a boyfriend to me?” She asked, her voice obviously unsure.

Lily smiled softly, “you’ll never know until you let him try.”

The purple haired girl stood, leaving her trash at the table for the time being as she sauntered over to Sweet Pea. He was giving her a curious look as he allowed Kitty to press her body against him. “ Nathaniel ,” Lav said sweetly. Kitty’s head snapped to look at the shorter girl, eyes narrowing into a glare. Her nose was now permanently crooked thanks to Lav’s little stunt when she first became a Serpent.

Sweet Pea grit his teeth, anger flaring at the sound of his name. Lily, he thought icily, looking to his ex as she waved with a huge smile on her face. His eyes shifted back to Lav who was completely ignoring Kitty. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“You’re not together anymore, Northside slut, back off.” Kitty hissed. Sweet Pea’s gaze hardened as he pushed her away from him. He knew how the Northsiders at Riverdale constantly called Lav demeaning names such as slut or whore after her attack. They didn’t know what really happened, and the rumors made it seem like she was gang-banged consensually by a bunch of Ghoulies.

He never stood for anyone calling her either word, because he knew how much it had destroyed her esteem. “Back off, Rollins.” He hissed at her, no longer wanting anything to do with the black haired girl. He put an arm around Lav, his large hand finding the small of her back so he could lead her away.

Though Lav was stricken by the insult, she pretended to brush it off as if it were nothing. She understood why Sweet Pea took the defensive stance and appreciated it greatly. He had even forgotten that she had called him by his real name. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I’ve been an idiot about this whole thing.” Lavender said admittedly, her cheeks dusting with a shade of pink. “Lily...Lily talked to me and she’s right. I shouldn’t be hurting you like this.” He made a face, not liking that she had called him out on his feelings. “I was just worried that I’d take you away from Daisy, but I should have at least let you try to figure out how to balance us.”

He let out a pent up breath, nodding his head slowly. “So what does this mean? You want to get back together?” His heart seemed to be thudding painfully in his chest, as if it were burst free at any moment.

She turned to face him, looking up with those big hazel eyes that drew him in every time. “I know this has been really weird for both of us, Lily and Daisy coming back into your life. But I think...I really think we can work through it. So, if you want me to be your girlfriend again then I would lo-” She cut herself off, “then I would be extremely happy.”

Sweet Pea stared at her, his feelings all jumbled together like a poorly wrapped skein of yarn. “So we’re dating again?” He asked, a bit confused by her rambling.

Lav let out a frustrated groan, “yes! We’re dating again!”

He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, his heart pumping full of joy as he leaned down to kiss her with her small face in his hands. She sighed into the kiss, moving her lips against his until Fangs came up and slapped Sweet Pea on the ass.

“Dude!” Sweet Pea snapped at him, not liking the interruption.

“Are you two fucking again or what?” Fangs asked, a stupid smile on his lips. “Because I’m kinda over this whole broken up thing. Not that I don’t love sleeping with you in my arms, Lavie.”

Sweet Pea made a face at him and Fangs quickly changed his tune, “platonically, Sweets. It was a joke.” Sweet Pea rolled his eyes and pulled Lav close to him in a possessive way.

“Anyway,” Fangs said after rolling his eyes. “Let’s celebrate! Drinks on me everybody!” He yelled out, making the crowd cheer.

“Fogarty, I pre-bought all the alcohol you idiot.” Lavender said, a cute pout on her face. “Stop taking credit for my generosity!”

Fangs smirked before walking off, waving his hand at him in a goofy goodbye. “Jerk.” Lav muttered playfully before looking back up at Sweet Pea who had been staring down at her.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He mumbled at her, a blush creeping up his neck. “Thanks Rhodes.”

“You’re welcome, Pea.”

The party went on fairly late into the night. As things were starting to wrap up, Lavender noticed that Lily had disappeared even though the rest of their core group was there helping to clean up. “Where’s Lily?” Lav asked Sweet Pea who just sighed.

He ran a hand through his hair, “she keeps disappearing at weird hours. She left about forty-five minutes ago, told me to pick up Daisy and apologized for making me watch her on my birthday. She said she had something to do. Who has something that important to do at two in the morning?”

Lav frowned, seeing a foreign look on his face. If she didn’t know any better, then she would have thought that it was distraught strewn across his features. “You don’t know where she goes?”

“No.” He replied, his tone erring on the side of anger. “She just tells me to watch Daisy and leaves. Sometimes she’s gone for hours.”

Lav threw the trash she had in her hands away, “maybe we should follow her one day.” She looked up to see his thoughtful expression.

“You’re right, Shanna.” She grimaced at her name, “next time we’ll follow her and see where she goes.”

She pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Can I spend the night with you? I don’t want you to be by yourself on your birthday.”

He smirked at her, “technically my birthday ended at midnight. But if you think you can handle a crying baby waking you up in the night, then sure.”

Lav couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “I should have known you’d adjust to that quickly seeing as I used to be that crying baby waking you up all the time.”

Sweet Pea’s gentle smile turned into a disapproving look. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” He said, not liking her speaking negatively about the aftereffects of her trauma. “You’re not a baby.”

She looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. “I’m your baby.” She said cutely, trying to lighten the mood.

He rolled his eyes at her before letting out a sigh of defeat, “yeah, yeah. I guess you are. Hurry up, Princess, so we can go home.”

With the help of the others, they finished cleaning up the Wyrm and packing up the leftover food. Lavender told Sweet Pea she’d meet him at his trailer since they drove separately and she still had his key. Luckily she knew she still had some clothes stashed over there from when they were dating previously. It just seemed stupid to take it all home when they’d get back together eventually.

When she arrived, she put the food away before retreating to his bedroom, ignoring all of the baby toys strewn across the living room and hallway. She changed into one of his t-shirts and stretched out on his bed as she waited for him to join her.

About ten minutes later, Sweet Pea arrived with a sleeping Daisy. Since it was so late, she was in too deep of a sleep to wake up when he picked her up and brought her home. He put her in her crib and turned on a night light before going into his room.

He couldn’t help but grin at the familiar sight of Lavender on his bed wearing his clothes. The shirt swallowed her whole and looked more like a dress than anything. She glanced up from her phone and smiled back at him. “Hey, birthday boy.” She said, “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not your birthday any more.” She added sarcastically.

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes at her as he got undressed, stripping down to his boxers before turning off the light and laying down beside her. Lavender planted her face into his hard chest as he arms wrapped tightly around here.

They laid in silence for a few moments before she broke it. “Where do you think she’s going?” Lav murmured. He could barely hear her as her voice was muffled by his skin. She always seemed to smother herself against him whenever she got the chance. He had no idea how she could possibly comfortably breathe.

“I don’t know.” Sweet Pea said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “She’s been different since she got back. She’s always in a shitty mood. Yells at me any chance she gets. I know that I hurt her and that I deserve it but...I don’t know, something just doesn’t feel right.”

Lavender let out a small hum in response, unsure of what to say. “You should thank her.” She said finally and she felt him tense up against her.

“For what?” He asked, confused by why his girlfriend would suggest such a thing. “She broke us up.”

“Maybe,” Lavender replied, moving her head slightly so he could hear her better, “but she also got us back together. I probably would have still been trying to prove something to her if she hadn't apologized to me. I guess you and the others laid into her pretty badly for what she said.”

His grip on her tightened. “I told her she was a jealous idiot.” He hissed. “And that you were going to therapy. And...that you still need protection.”

“What are you talking about? We took care of the Ghoulies.” Lavender replied, not understanding. She had been in the clear since the dust settled after taking out the last three.

“The Ghoulies want revenge, Shanna.” Sweet Pea said. “They’ve been making threats again. Jughead may have gotten a lot of them locked away for the time being with that stupid race, but they’ll be out sooner rather than later. It won’t be good.”

She attempted to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let her, keeping his arms firmly in place. “Are you saying they’re after me again? Sweet Pea, why didn’t you tell me?!”

He could feel her heart rate spike through their chests, hear the impending terror in her voice. “They’ve got a score to settle with you, but we won’t let it happen. Okay? Fangs and I have been watching you day and night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked in a pathetic tone, no longer fighting against him.

“Because if I had then you would have been too scared to sleep and when you don’t sleep you’re an impossible bitch to be around.” Sweet Pea said, “Nothing is going to happen. We’ll watch out for you.”

Lavender huffed, her heart still racing. She attempted to shove her fear outside of her mind, tried to will herself to calm down. At least she felt safe there, in his bed with him holding her so tightly that she could barely move. It was better than being home alone. Hell, it was even better than sharing a bed with Fangs like she often did during her and Sweet Pea’s time apart. The thought of them being together again was the only thing that allowed her to slowly drift to sleep.

The next day, the young Serpents decided to go to the quarry to relieve some stress that had been building due to rising tensions with the Ghoulies. Lavender had opted to wear a sundress that was long enough to cover the tops of her thighs where her scars were. She was lounging in the sun, sipping a daiquiri that Fangs had made for everyone before they left. He filled as many thermoses as he could find to keep them from melting too fast.

Sweet Pea had bought her a new bikini so that she couldn’t use the excuse that hers no longer fit. He wasn’t totally clueless and the biggest sign that she was having body issues were the photos she had given him. Her scars had been barely visible when he knew they were thick bands of stark white against her skin. Either Toni had edited the photos or she had covered her scars with makeup. He assumed the latter.

Lavender made the excuse that she didn’t feel like swimming so she was just going to sit on the shore. She wasn’t about to go in front of everyone wearing nothing but a skimpy bikini. Though she quite loved the one he had bought for her, she simply wasn’t ready.

He walked up, dripping wet as he sat down next to her. She smiled at him softly and offered him her drink, which he took and gulped down. “The water feels great. You should go in.” He said, pretending to be oblivious to her concerns. “It’s not too cold like you thought it might be.”

She frowned, not wanting to argue with him but not wanting to go in either. “Maybe later.” She murmured. “Daisy really likes the water, huh?” She asked in an attempt to change the subject.

They watched the little nine month old, held by her mother, splash around in the water. She was giggling and babbling, making all kinds of happy noises. The others all had smiles on their faces as well. They didn’t seem to notice either teen on the bank.

Sweet Pea did not allow for her to deflect the conversation. He stood back up and quickly scooped his girlfriend into his arms. Lav grappled with him, attempting to get away as she knew what he was about to do. “Sweet Pea! Stop! Put me down!”

“No, you’re going to have fun with us.” He said angrily. “You’re not going to sit over here by yourself like a loser anymore. Christ, even Jones is out there instead of being a wet blanket.”

They came closer to the water and Lav continued to struggle, doing anything she could to get away. Anything besides physically hurting him, which she really did not want to do. “I mean it, Nathaniel, put me down!”

“Okay, Shanna.” Sweet Pea said, dropping her suddenly. She realized her mistake when her body hit the water. She screamed again at him as she righted herself as quickly as she could.

“You are such an asshole!” She screeched, attempting to storm back to shore, however he stopped her by standing in front of her. Any time she tried to get around, he’d move to block her still.

“You’re going to swim with us.” He said firmly. “Or else.”

She rolled her eyes, “Or else what? I’m not a child!”

He leaned down to whisper to her, “Or else I’ll hold out on you, baby girl. Don’t forget, I know just how much you need me to get you off.”

Lavender stopped, her face heating up even though she knew the others couldn’t hear him. “Prick.” She hissed before sinking down into the water. “I hate you.”

Sweet Pea merely shrugged nonchalantly, “sure you do. Why don’t you take your dress off so it doesn’t get ruined.”

She glared at him, “It wouldn’t be ruined if someone didn’t drop me into the water!”

Fangs swam over to them, grabbing Lav by the waist. “I can unzip you!” He said, a giant grin on his handsome face. “I’ll take it to shore. I gotta take a leak.”

“I’m not taking my dress off!” She snapped at the two of them as she tried to get out of Fangs’ grasp. It wasn’t much use, he was too strong for her and the water resistance made it ever harder to struggle.

“Take it off, Fogarty.” Sweet Pea said darkly.

Lavender began to panic, her eyes flooding with tears that made both boys stop their harassment. What Sweet Pea hadn’t intended was triggering her with his order. Her mind jolted into the darkness of a flashback from that night.

“God damn it.” Sweet Pea huffed as he pulled her into his arms to try and calm her down. She only struggled against him, hitting his chest as hard as she could until he let her go. She swam around him and took to the shore, grabbing a towel before running into the forest.

“Good job, asshole.” Lily said and Sweet Pea noticed that everyone was glaring at him. He groaned and turned, about to go after her when Lily stopped him. “Don’t. You’ll make things worse. I’ll go while you play with Daisy.”

Sweet Pea reluctantly took his daughter into his arms as Lily, Toni, and Cheryl all went to go after Lav. Fangs and Jughead were quiet, watching them go. A heavy silence fell on them as Sweet Pea bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to scream until his lungs gave out or punch something until it reduced to tiny little pieces. He had been so good at not triggering her. He hadn’t stepped on a landmine in months . All that work vanished in a split second when he pushed her too far. Christ, why did he always take things too far?

In the woods, Lavender had found a large rock to curl up on as she cried. She didn’t soften her sobs, not realizing that she had been followed. She let herself break down into a soggy mess, unable to form a coherent thought. She could feel their knives gliding across her skin. Her clothes rip off her body. The sheer pain and terror all came back as strong as the night it happened.

“Lavie,” A soft voice broke the sounds of her crying. Lav shrunk against the stone, turning so her back was to the person who called her name. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. It was embarrassing.

She felt Toni’s arm wrap around her shoulders in a soothing gesture. Lav’s body tensed, unwilling to relax against anyone in the moment even if it was her best girlfriend. “It’s okay, you’re not alone. We’re here.”

Lav did her best to stifle her sobs. She hiccuped back tears as she finally leaned into Toni’s side for comfort. She felt guilty for ruining their fun. “I-I’m sorry.” She managed to stutter out. “I-I didn’t mean.”

“Do not apologize, Purpura Serpenta.” Cheryl said in a calming tone. Lav felt her arm wrap around her waist. “You did nothing wrong.” She added. “That buffoon of a boyfriend of yours is at fault.”

“He didn’t mean to.” Lavender said in a weak attempt to defend him. She didn’t sound like she believed herself.

Lily sat down behind her, resting her back against hers. “He was being an idiot.” She said in a frustrated tone that was totally directed at him and not the crying girl behind her. “Obviously you didn’t want to swim, he should have just left you alone.”

“It’s not that…” Lav mumbled, “I did want to.”

Toni squeezed her shoulder. “You can tell us, Lavie, it’s okay.”

“They’re so ugly.” Lav murmured, nearly breaking down again. “I don’t want anyone to see them.”

The other three were silent, unsure of what to say. Toni and Cheryl continued to hold her as Lily kept their backs touching for her own show of support. “I know it’s not the same but...I feel like my body is a disaster after pregnancy.” Lily said, hiding her face so they couldn’t see how embarrassed she felt to admit it. “My stomach isn't back to where it used to be...I’ve got these gross stretch marks that won’t ever go away. I just wish it could have gone back to what it was before Sweet Pea knocked me up.”

“I wish I was taller.” Toni confessed. “Also not the same, but I hate being so small. No one takes me seriously until I punch them or pull out my knife. It’s such a headache.”

“I love your height.” Cheryl said with a small pout. “It’s perfect to me.”

Lavender began to breathe normally again as she slowly crawled back up from the depths of her inner hell. “I shouldn’t have run away with the Ghoulies giving threats...I’m such an idiot.”

“We wouldn’t let you come out here alone.” Toni replied, pulling her closer. “So don’t worry about that. Even when Sweet Pea and Fangs are being complete jerks, we’ll always have your back.” The other two girls murmured an affirmative.

After a few beats of silence, Lavender uncurled herself from the rock. “We should go back. Before the boys hurt themselves somehow.”

Lily snorted, “dumbasses.” She stood up and offered her hand to Lavender who reluctantly took it. She smiled at her warmly. “You know the best way to get back at him?” She asked, a devious glint in her eye that did not match her smile.

Lav blinked, “what?”

“Just ignore him. He can’t take it. It drives him absolutely crazy.” Lily said, trying her best not to giggle. “I used to do it any time he annoyed me or pissed me off. He’ll be begging for attention in minutes.”

A small smile broke across Lav’s lips. “Okay. Why don’t we both do it?” She asked. “It’ll be twice as much punishment.”

Lily couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, “brilliant, let’s do it.” The two linked arms before returning to the quarry, completely ignoring Sweet Pea, Fangs and Jughead the rest of the afternoon.

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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Goliath and the Dragon

I promised you colour, and here it is, with a side of My Cheese Steak! It was produced by our old friend Samuel Z. Arkoff, and actor Salvatore Furnari played an elf in The Christmas that Almost Wasn’t and Timotheus in Hercules and the Captive Women. The rest of the cast may not have been on MST3K, but they still have distinguished bad movie pedigrees of their own. Philippe Hersent was in Film Crew feature The Giant of Marathon, and a lot of the other actors, including star Mark Forest and leading lady Leonora Ruffo, were in other sword-and-sandal movies I’ve featured as Episodes that Never Were. In fact, looking at the cast list right now, I discovered that Gaby Andre was also in my previous movie, The Strange World of Planet X. I hope she’s better in this one.

Once Upon a Time there lived Emilius the Mighty, who was so brawny and manly he was called the Goliath of Thebes. He gets back from the pits of hell to find that his much skinnier brother Illus is in love with Princess Thea, the daughter of Goliath’s sworn enemy. Goliath of course disapproves, but Illus thinks it’s because Goliath is in love with Thea herself, and spends much of the running time moping and whining. Meanwhile the villain, Eurytus, has decided to marry Thea in order to become the next king – although he’s also promised to marry a woman named Arsinoe in exchange for her assassinating Goliath. Arsinoe, however, falls in love with Goliath after he saves her from a bear. It takes most of the movie to sort out the six layers of scheming, misunderstanding, and general idiot picture going on here, and then it’s finally ass-kicking time. I think the titular dragon gets about thirty seconds of total screen time.

I said this was a Maciste movie, but that’s an over-simplification. American International Pictures had previously distributed a movie called Goliath and the Barbarians (which had Steve Reeves in it!), and it did well enough that they wanted a sequel. They thus purchased the totally unrelated film The Revenge of Hercules (which does not have Steve Reeves in it, although Mark Forest might kinda look like him if you squint), dubbed over the characters’ names, added a dragon, and crossed their fingers hoping that nobody would notice the whole cast was different. So while MST3K gave us a couple of Maciste movies turned into Hercules movies, here we have a Hercules movie changed into a Maciste movie.

The plot is rather complicated, with multiple people and gods all conspiracizing at cross-purposes. The summary I gave above is only about the first half of the movie. A lot of this ends up coming to naught, since the guy whose position seems to be King Eurytus’ Royal Schemer is very bad at scheming. All his plots seem to consist of ‘just do nothing and they’ll die on their own’. I guess we’re supposed to cheer on Goliath and Illus through this series of victories on their part, but instead it just feels like a waste of the audience’s time, with no real progress made on either side. Things don’t really start happening until an oracle gives Goliath a prophecy – but like all Greek prophecies, it’s confusingly worded and just muddles things up further, leading characters to make decisions that undermine their own goals. It’s kind of a frustrating film to watch.

Even worse, a lot of these plot threads don’t get tied up. Eurytus has a history with both Goliath’s family and with Thea’s dead parents… what is that all about? It sounds like it ought to be important but we never find out. It can’t even be something that was explained in the first movie because the first movie was, remember, completely unrelated. Illus and Goliath eventually make up but I can’t tell if Illus ever actually realizes that Goliath wasn’t interested in Thea and that the people who told him otherwise were lying. The whole thing just kind of drops. Arsinoe has some personal claim on the throne but that’s only described in the vaguest of terms, and the actress playing her looks just like the one playing Dejanira, so that gets confusing. Goliath knocks down a temple at one point but this never seems to have any consequences, unless the confusing prophecy was the gods’ revenge for that… in which case it was a pretty weak revenge coming from beings known for turning people into trees because of a mild inconvenience.

Was this supposed to be Goliath defying the gods and winning? It doesn’t seem that way, because things turn out exactly the way the gods prophesized – Illus marries Thea and becomes king, and a woman who loves Goliath dies. This was all set up from the beginning and the audience saw it coming from a mile away even if Goliath didn’t, and it’s with the help of the wind goddess that Goliath wins the day. So it seems that even after razing their temple, he’s still their favourite? What sense does that make?

It doesn’t help that we don’t like any of the characters. The bad guys have no particular personalities besides being evil. Goliath is kind of a dick who tears down the gods’ statues when their decisions displease him, and ties his grown-ass brother to a tree to keep him from running off to suck face with Thea (in the original, Hercules version of the movie, Illus is his son, which makes it even worse). Illus is a lovesick whiny dope who spends a lot of time staring into the camera with a vaguely confused expression.

The women, meanwhile, are absolute ciphers, with nothing to do but further the plot. Thea is here to be pined over and coveted. Goliath’s wife Dejanira is here to be the subject of the dire prophecy, and Arsinoe exists to provide a loophole in it. All three are totally bland, as are the two or three little kids who represent Goliath and Dejanira’s children. Not a single member of the cast has any depth or any redeeming characteristics.

Thank goodness for the monsters. The creatures in Goliath and the Dragon manage to walk that perfect line between ambition and cheapness where they become downright delightful. There’s an amazingly silly three-headed fire-breathing dog guarding the gates of hell, hilarious papier-mâché skeletons hanging around in a dungeon, and a guy in a ridiculous bat costume flailing on the end of a string, and that’s just the first ten minutes. The movie goes on to give us an even worse bear costume than the one in the Lou Ferrigno Hercules, and of course the dragon, which is a combination of a puppet head on a stick and a lousy Claymation dinosaur. The two do not particularly look like the same creature. Were it not for these beasties the movie would be downright unwatchable.

The real animals here don’t fare as well. There’s a snake pit, which is pretty standard issue for this kind of movie, and they actually found some fairly large pythons instead of resorting to adorable little corn snakes. The problem is that if you know anything about snakes, these ones are clearly very stressed by the conditions of the shoot and rather worried about sacrificial victims falling on top of them. Even worse is Eurytus’ pet elephant, whose job is stomping prisoners to death. Goliath’s stunt double wrestles with what is clearly the real elephant – dangerous for the man, but also bad for the pachyderm, who was just as likely to get injured and far less likely to receive medical care if she was. The computer-generated animals of modern movies kinda suck, but at least we no longer have to torture real ones on camera!

Since its original title is The Revenge of Hercules, this is obviously a movie about revenge, and it’s a motif throughout the narrative. One of the gods Goliath serves is the God of Vengeance (in ancient Greece revenge was actually a goddess, Nemesis), and the first heroic task he does in the movie is retrieve the god’s blood diamond (shame on the god – revenge is supposed to be honourable and should therefore rely on only ethically sourced gems!) from the underworld. Later, when he feels the god has betrayed him, he smashes the diamond and destroys the statue. Goliath takes revenge on vengeance itself!

Goliath also takes revenge on King Eurytus. We are told that Eurytus killed Goliath’s parents, and appears to have taken out Thea’s as well, making him a fine target for revenge. We also get some idea that he’s in charge of the dragon that pops up at the beginning and end of the movie and never does much because it wasn’t in the script. Exactly how this all works, however, is murky, and Goliath never even seems aware that Eurytus’ ultimate plan is to conquer Goliath’s home city of Thebes. Plenty of cause for revenge, then… but all this backstory is only told to us, not shown. The audience is thrown into the middle of this situation without really knowing what’s going on, and we never quire recover from it. There’s no excuse for this, either. A movie that could afford a three-headed fire-breathing dog could definitely afford a flashback!

Maciste movies and their ilk are usually a lot of fun, and this one has its charms. Between the stupid monsters and Illus gazing vapidly into the void, there’s plenty of material that Joel and the bots could have worked with. Goliath and the Dragon isn’t good enough to really enjoy but it’s also not bad enough to hate (even if the animal cruelty leaves a bad taste). It really could use some riffing to spice it up.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #goliath and the dragon #the revenge of hercules #tw: animal cruelty #my cheese steak #60s

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aconitemare · 5 years

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[jaydick fic] Before That, And Colder

Chapter One

Summary: It's been over a year since Dick left Spyral. He's finally settling back into his old life, but his time undercover has unsettled the dust that once collected over the past. Now Dick has a barrage of untouched memories to sort through and yet another Batman case summoning him away from the 'Haven. And while Dick is catching up to his past, Jason's is catching up to him.

AO3

Next Chapter

The Batcave has a myriad of underground tunnels leading to it from miles around, but Dick as usual enters through the same trapdoor in the study he used as a kid. This library is more modest than the others Bruce keeps, with tenfold the ambiance. The books flaunt their withered spines and yellowed pages, elders of an erudite community, and intrigue emanates from the very dust collecting atop shelves and between pages. This is not a room Alfred obligates himself to maintain quite so keenly. His neglect may be strategic, some emergency deterrent to wandering guests with sensitive allergies. Not that a guest has ever, at least to Dick’s knowledge, made it this deep into the Manor.

This particular room also features in a long-standing, recurring dream Dick has had since he was ten years old. The dream has aged with him; the details are softer, more nebulous — his subconscious could once recall the exact titles on each book’s spine, the precise pattern of the red and gold rug on the floor — but the dream’s accuracy eventually faded with the real-life furniture. The quiet terror that possessed him, however, intensified. The worsening fear is probably not specific to the dream though; the world itself is scarier to Dick than it was fifteen years ago.

The dream begins with Dick in this study, the burning sconces casting shadows and providing dim light. In the real world, the sconces are electronic; man-made, ordinary, and only on if he flicks the switch. But in his head, they are made of real fire. They burn regardless of him, entirely independent of his actions, ignited long before he arrives. As the scene progresses, Dick opens the trapdoor by pulling out the correct books in the correct order; putting them back in a different, correct order; waiting for the middle shelf to retract into the wall behind it; staring unblinking into the retinal scanner until he was cleared.

This process quickened as Dick got older until the door would open without him lifting a finger. The door immediately reveals a steep, stone staircase that plunges into infinite darkness. The wordless terror, the fear that calls distantly as if from the other end of a tunnel, grips him here. He must descend the stairs; that is the dream’s one imperative. Sometimes he takes the first step himself, allowing the unknown to swallow him by increments. Sometimes he falls, a blameless mistake, and slips innocently into the open mouth of night. Sometimes he is pushed, a comforting hand on his back turned treacherous. Dick never does look behind his shoulder or acknowledge the betrayal; he doesn’t need to. He knows who the man is and trusts him even as he plummets.

But that is all a dream. The trapdoor doesn’t really open unto a staircase — not right away, at any rate. Dick has to make the trek through a dimly lit corridor first, which is murder on the legs after just patrolling Bludhaven. He hasn’t had time to relax the muscle, having coming straight here after a text from Bruce. The door makes a loud sound when it finally shuts, which Dick remembers used to freak the bejeezus out of him when he was ten. The temperature also drops rapidly, although this doesn’t unsettle him anymore. Robins fear neither dark nor enclosed spaces. They revel in the creepy-crawly. Flourish, even, once training has been completed.

Dick takes the stairs two at a time. The elevator, accessible through a strangely grandiose walk-in storage closet, wasn’t added until much later in Dick’s adolescence. He still prefers the stairs; they feel quicker. Cement gives way to rock. The air dramatically cools halfway down the stairs. Moisture clings to the walls, the ceiling, the floor. A few feet from where he stands, the Batcave is bathed in blue light. Dick spots Bruce down below, ant-like from here, bowed before a colony of busy monitors. Dick leaps over the last ten steps or so, flitting towards the hunched exoskeleton of the Batman.

“You summoned?” Dick greets and thinks about how ants communicate through pheromones and stridulation. An ant can disclose its role within the group by injecting pheromones into food, which they then directly feed another ant. Dick pictures Bruce rapidly rubbing his legs together, finds this funny, and then imagines Damian spitting chewed-up falafel into Tim’s open mouth. This is no less funny for its grossness.

Bruce glances at him, a miraculous feat that nearly sends Dick stumbling backward in shock. “What’s that face for?” Bruce asks in the same second he quickly returns his focus to his research. Dick consciously relaxes his wrinkled nose, courtesy of Ant-Damian.

“No reason,” answers Dick breezily. “How’s Gotham hanging?”

Bruce’s chosen screen, a small tablet-sized rectangle built into the desk, mirrors the information on the much larger main screen on the wall. Dick cranes his neck to look at it, but not before catching the upward tug of Bruce’s lips. “From the belfry, as usual,” he quips.

“Ha!” Dick exclaims and pokes Bruce’s shoulder once. “That was funny. I knew you had it in you, B.”

“Thank you.”

Dick continues, “Everyone told me, ‘that man is as dry as a raisin,’ but I insisted that you’d make a joke pun-day.”

“I already said thank you, Dick,” Bruce reminds. Across the giant screen is a slowed-down video reel of a man — a boy, really, judging by the way he holds himself despite his grown height — being tied to a streetlamp.

“Who’s that?” Dick asks.

Bruce zooms in on the victim’s face. “Terry Weind. Sixteen years old. Badly beaten, but stable. General Hospital released him this morning. There are two other young men — both aged sixteen, both from low-income households — discovered in the same fashion in downtown Gotham the past month.”

“So I’ve heard,” admits Dick. No pictures of the victims have been released, either through mainstream news channels or the bat-vine. Dick recognizes the background instantly as Park Row where Bruce had taken the liberty of installing his high-tech spycams. Bruce keeps Crime Alley well-monitored even as a memorial. For good reason, as it turns out, because it’s suddenly become volatile again after years of dormancy.

Bruce switches to the next tape. “Devin White, fifteen years old. He’s the third victim and was admitted last night. According to Oracle, hospital records list him with internal bleeding, a cracked skull, two shattered kneecaps, a fractured scapula, and a broken arm.”

Devin looks up on the screen and Dick automatically pauses the tape, hand darting across the keyboard, to take in the boy’s fear-blown brown eyes. He resumes the video.

“I can’t identify the assailant,” Bruce informs, keying into Dick’s intent. “He wears a red hood and keeps his head down at all times. According to Gordon, the victims are all certain it was a man but none can remember his face.”

That surprises Dick. “They would’ve been looking right at him. And there’s street lamps,” he says.

Bruce grunts his assent, eyes glued on his screen. Devin struggles futilely on the screen as the man steps back and raises his arm above his head. Moonlight glints on metal.

“Wait,” says Dick, throat tightening, “is that —”

Before he can finish his sentence, the gleaming crowbar cracks against the boy’s skull. And then his face. His left shoulder. His right. His kneecaps then. Face again, other side. Dick’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t look away. At the end, the man removes his phone from his pocket and holds it over the boy — either taking a picture or sending a text, or both, from the angle and the time it takes before he’s pocketing the object again.

“One of the Joker’s goons,” Dick decides, punch-to-the-gut quick, when the attacker finally walks away, crowbar tucked into a duffle bag and the boy a crumpled piece of paper beneath a weakly flickering light. Dick changes his mind. “But no, he wouldn’t care anymore. It’s been, god, six years.” Out loud, six doesn’t sound very long at all. Dick sees Jason’s death like a black-and-white photograph, forever ago and therefore impossible today. But the pictures of Jason back then are in color, his visage spread out on the front pages of newspapers dating within the decade. “The joke’s been played out,” Dick declares anyway because it would be for the Joker.

“Maybe not. He’s unpredictable and historically not above recycling old material. That’s why the hoodie bothers me,” Bruce confesses. He pauses the video and faces Dick. The glow from the monitor limns the severe cut of his cheekbone as it casts his face into extremity: the heavy brow pulls farther down, the wide lips weld into one shut line, and his austere eyes sink towards a deeper, darker blue. Dick sees himself in the pupils, a distant figure peering out from a dark well.

Bruce pushes his chair away from the desk so he remains seated yet notably detached from Devin White. Dick can feel the heat emanating from the computers, warming one side of his body, as Bruce rests his chin atop his palm. Aloud, Bruce contemplates the question, “Is the color coincidental, or a nod at the Red Hood?”

Dick barely even registered the color, but once he does, his heart drops into the pit of his stomach. His stomach drops to his feet. His whole body has capsized, the world itself hurrying to reorient itself to his new right-side-up. “That would mean the Joker knows Red Hood was a Robin.”

“It would, wouldn’t it,” Bruce says flatly.

Dick follows the train of thought. “Then — what? He knows you watch the Park Row Memorial? He’s — baiting you? What does he want with this stunt?” Dick looks, frustrated, away from the broken kid on the screen towards the sturdy man in front of him. Bruce is quiet for a few moments, moments where Dick can feel his own heartbeat in his chest, his ears, his fingertips. He waits Bruce out, a red gash of a smile widening behind his eyes meanwhile. Then, finally:

“I met Jason on Park Row.” The statement is more utterance than response, spoken to the floor in a low tone. Dick’s mind immediately presses against whatever anxiety Bruce is brewing for himself.

“A lot of events have happened on Park Row,” says Dick. “If you think this person — the Joker, or whoever — knows that much, ah, they’d have to be psychic.” Internally, Dick’s profile of Jason and Bruce makes room for another detail. Twenty-five years old, out of the house for seven years, and still Dick collects his mentor’s unnecessary, painful secrets. Dick is a recordkeeper of other people’s wounds.

Bruce leans back. Dick knows he means to reset himself; change the angle of his thoughts with the angle of his body. “Maybe so,” Bruce grants, “but I’m willing to bet they know that street hits close to home.”

Dick purses his lips and thinks of scattered pearls. “Everything that happened on Park Row happened to Bruce Wayne, not Batman,” he reasons. “If the Joker knew who you were, and what this memorial meant to you, he wouldn’t lead with a Robin. Even one he,” here, Dick falters. “Even Jason,” he neatly amends. “His obsession is wholely with you.”

Bruce considers this. “Then either it’s not the Joker at all, or the Joker only knows that Red Hood was Robin, without knowledge of Jason Todd, or —”

“Or the ski-mask is purely coincidence,” Dick finishes. “For that matter, Bruce, it could all be coincidental — the victimology, the weapon —”

“Except that Jason contacted Tim the other day,” Bruce interrupts. His tired eyes seize Dick, seem to shake him by his very arms. “The day following Weind’s attack, photographs of the victim were left on his patrol bike. Photographs of Leland’s attack were delivered to the Red Hood through a series of messengers switching hands until the envelope got to him. The latest victim, as of two nights ago, had photographs attached to his bike again.”

Dick’s eyebrows have raised by this point. “Jason told Tim all this?”

“More or less. Not enough to satisfy, but Jason is hardly cooperative as a general character trait. Tim compiled his notes for me; I’ll forward them to you.”

Dick bites the further questions that taste like metal on his tongue, demanding to know why Jason would go to Tim first. It’s not essential. It’s reached Dick, at any rate, as all family matters do.

“Whomever our perp is, we can safely assume they know the details of Robin’s death and know that he came back as Hood.” Dick waits for Bruce to contribute more information, some other detail Tim afforded him, and continues when Bruce gives the slightest nod. Bruce is already on his computer, retrieving Tim’s file on the case and mailing it to Dick. “That’s a lot of baseline knowledge on their part,” Dick muses. “And a lot of patience. This is a long-con, no question.”

Dick rambles about Jason’s enemies — mostly ordinary gangbangers who likely wouldn’t have the connections or patience to sleuth Hood’s previous alias — as well as Batman’s historic opponents, who have never exhibited an equivalent fixation with any of the Robins before. Bruce rubs his chin, eyes on his computer, while Dick consolidates their shared thoughts.

“Not to get technical here, but we have a whole boatload of equally implausible possibilities here, Bruce,” Dick concludes.

“No more so than we usually start off with on a case,” Bruce replies immediately.

Dick laughs, low and tired. He can feel exhaustion creeping into his bones at the same steady pace all his needs do. Hunger, fatigue, thirst, rest — these sensations rarely overwhelm him, but instead stalk him with restraint like prowling predators.

When Dick laughs, Bruce glances up at him with a small smile. For a moment, Dick thinks of spending the night in his old bedroom. But he has a life in Bludhaven. His life.

Dick’s work phone buzzes. He slides it out, unlocks it, to skim over Tim’s notes. “So, should I put in a request for time off at the station?” he checks, half-joking. The BPD had been graciously flexible during his first year as a beat cop, but his stint in Spyral has reset any seniority he might have accumulated. Plus, he’s reluctant to coast on the “aren’t you jazzed I’m not actually dead” card. Half his coworkers entered after Dick’s time in Bludhaven, and only a quarter of the ones who remember him appreciated the cleaning-out he did on the dirty cops.

Bruce quirks an eyebrow. “Can you afford to?” he asks.

Dick translates the question in his head: Would you let me help with your bills in the meantime? “Probably not. I don’t need time off. I’m used to not sleeping — seriously, I think if I had a full eight hours, it would actually shock my system and land me in a hospital,” Dick answers. He looks around the cave in the overpowering light that somehow manages to always feel dim. Is there a comfortable chair he can settle into? He’s getting too big to perch on the computer desk without pressing fifty buttons, some of them possibly red and ominously labeled things like “EJECT” and “DO NOT TOUCH.”

“Are you equating sleep deprivation with drug addiction?” Bruce asks, amusement lightening his voice, draining some of the dark from the room.

Dick locates an ultra-cozy office chair shoved near a map table. He sets his sights on the coffee-stained throw pillow atop heavy black leather. “I’m just saying, that would be a strange ER story: man jittery from insomnia withdrawals. Why risk the news headlines?” he muses, wheeling the office chair towards Bruce.

Bruce does not agree. Instead, he points out, “You assume in a city hounded by masked villains and mini apocalypses that ‘son of billionaire sleeps pretty okay at night’ would catch people’s attention?”

Dick quietly blooms when Bruce says son . It’s a warm word like sun . How badly he always wants to hear that word; he stretches towards it, leafy limbs unfurling. He tries not to preen and instead seats himself, beginning the process of getting comfortable. This position, and then that position, around and around.

“You look like a dog circling its tail when you do that,” remarks Bruce.

Dick scrolls to the top of the file on his phone, having figured out how to spend the next few hours. “Dogs have the right idea. How else can you know for sure you’re using the cushion to its greatest potential unless you sample seating arrangements?” The file is far from lengthy, he’s gathered while skimming, but there are details Bruce hasn’t covered in their conversation. For example, all the victims were attacked downtown, but Trey Leland lives in Bludhaven and was only passing through. Opportunistic, Dick characterizes the attacker.

“Are you comfortable?” Bruce asks. Dick grunts affirmatively, trying to focus. He hears Bruce say something about how Dick never stays in one spot anyway, but the words are more like ideas, like something transmitted through playscape talk tubes.

There’s a zone Dick wants to reach where details of a case will absorb him so fully he doesn’t register hunger, exhaustion, or his bladder for that matter. Everyone in the masked business knows the zone, but it’s harder to access when he’s tired, which he is — a bad start for this mission, so he will try to sleep after tomorrow’s shift if he can. It occurs to him that he might not be able to, considering he doesn’t have a gauge on how long until this criminal will strike again, or escalate from teenagers to their actual target.

He looks up from his phone and, from where his head spills out over the chair’s arm — noticeably hard and plastic beneath the cushion, already chafing the back of his neck — scrutinizes Bruce. Bruce must be tired, too, because he actually breaks away from his computer to return Dick’s stare.

“Yes?” prods Bruce after a moment.

Dick answers immediately. “We’re going to have to work with Jason.”

Bruce’s expression reveals no challenge with this. “Yes,” he replies, neutral.

“Like, close-up. Face-to-face. We might have to — guard him,” he finishes, lamely, hoping he’s getting his point across.

Luckily, Bruce does seem to understand finally the monumental undertaking of convincing Jason to accept their full help. “He’ll insist he has his own safehouse,” Bruce says.

“Or that he has his own team,” Dick adds.

“That team is haphazard at best with little in the way of deductive skills,” Bruce argues.

“It’s none of our business, he’ll say,” Dick counters.

“Then he should not have contacted Red Robin,” Bruce dismisses easily.

Dick is reevaluating his decision to remain on duty at the BPD. He’s almost not even tired anymore with this new, shiny, family-resistant case. “His safehouse is still functional,” Dick tosses into the ring.

Bruce’s voice turns grave, eyes suddenly weighing onto Dick like stones on his chest. “No house is safe,” Bruce criticizes, “and the only people he can trust are the people whose identities may be equally compromised by this situation.”

Dick purses his lips and thinks. “He won’t like that,” he warns.

Bruce’s voice regains that darkness Dick tries so hard to lighten. It’s no use, though, not during cases like these, not when Jason is present. And he is always present, in the style of phantoms, but particularly now. Bruce flexes his jaw. “But he will heed it,” he states.

Dick knows, if his and Jason’s situations were reversed, if Jason was the one putting barriers on whom Dick could trust, Dick would not listen. Dick would push back and then pull away from Jason, from Bruce and his untrusting brood. He has before.

Dick watches Bruce who has fixed his attention concretely on the screen. He’s excruciatingly tense and it fills up the cave, tightening the muscles in Dick’s shoulder. The tendons in Bruce’s jaw flex and Dick can feel Bruce’s teeth grinding in his own head. He wants Bruce to turn around and meet his gaze. He wants to know if he’ll see himself in Bruce’s eyes again. But it’s no use; Bruce isn’t looking at him. He’s been dismissed without a word.

Next Chapter

#jaydick #dickjay #jason todd #dick grayson #dc #fanfiction for the void #fic: btac

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simplyshelbs16xoxo · 4 years

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‘Run Away with Me’ Chapter 5: Now I’m Broken and I’m Fading

Fair warning, this chapter is nothing but an angst fest...

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

It was strange, being back in London. It felt like everything that happened in the past week had been all a dream during a long slumber. Molly’s eyes flickered toward her husband who was sitting beside her in the back of the cab. His body was rigid, tense, and he appeared to be zoned out for the time being, most likely in his mind palace. She knew he had fears—probably the same fears she had. Molly scooted closer, looping her arm through his, holding his hand, and leaning her head against his shoulder. She knew he didn’t like to be disturbed whilst thinking, but he let her know it was alright with a squeeze of his hand as if he knew what she was thinking. He probably did.

Meeting the Holmes parents was a bit daunting to her, though she had spoken with them once on the phone. They had insisted that Mycroft allow them to thank her for all she did for the younger Holmes. They sounded lovely, but it didn’t stop her from feeling nervous.

“They’ll love you.” Sherlock’s smooth baritone sent shivers down her spine. Is it possible to be attracted to the sound of someone’s voice? She wondered.

“Reading my mind again, I see,” she smiled in amusement. “You sound sure of that sentiment.”

He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Completely; you’re like the daughter they never had. Though, I must warn you about my mum. She will be asking about the possibility of grandkids—she’s given up on Mycroft, so all the pressure will be put on us in that regard. Just do your best to please her without saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ outright.”

Molly raised her brows. “Right…so, no pressure then?” she joked.

Sherlock turned just enough to speak low in her ear. “We’ll be alright.” At least, he hoped so.

Millicent Holmes could not have given Molly a more adoring smile. They were all gathered in 221B and Molly wished Mycroft could have at least given her a chance to freshen up a bit before meeting the Holmes parents. It didn’t seem to deter their mum in the slightest as she gathered Molly into an air-constricting hug.

“Mikey told us you had gone and eloped—which I am disappointed that I didn’t get to plan a wedding—but I just couldn’t believe it,” Mrs. Holmes spoke excitedly. “Molly, dear, how are you? I am thrilled we finally get to meet face to face after all that you’ve done for my boy.”

Doing her best to keep a calm composure, Molly took a deep breath, and smiled as sincerely as she could. “I’m doing splendidly, Mrs. Holmes. And it’s so nice to meet the both of you.” Molly stuck her hand out toward the Holmes’ father.

Mr. Holmes smiled kindly, and Molly knew exactly where Sherlock got his smile from. It put her at ease. He approached her, taking her hand and patting it gently. “My dear, you mustn’t feel the need to be so formal with us. You are family now.”

She didn’t know why, but tears were pricking at the rims of her eyes. Molly had been without her own family for so long. Both her parents had been only children, just like her, and both were gone. Her father had died whilst she was in uni and her mum followed not too long after. Nobody knew why her mum had passed, but they had chalked it up to dying from a broken heart. She looked over at Sherlock, realising that if he was taken from her, she’d probably end up following in her mother’s footsteps.

“Well,” Sherlock began, “this has all been very annoying, though I don’t blame you,”—he glanced toward his parents—“but Mycroft thought it okay to interrupt our se—honeymoon. So, if we can’t have it in Paris, then we will have what’s left of it here.”

Mrs. Holmes’ eyes flashed with anger at Mycroft. “You said they had been working a case together…you interrupted their honeymoon? Mikey, we taught you better than that.”

“Mummy, don’t you think it’s all a bit odd? Since when have either of us had any desire for romantic entanglements, let alone marriage?” Mycroft had expected their parents to question Sherlock; to ask him if this was like the way he used Janine.

“Perhaps Sherlock has just grown more mature than you,” Mrs. Holmes argued. “Only a child would pull the kind of stunt you pulled.”

And the arguing continued, making Molly feel most uncomfortable, especially when Sherlock joined in. She gasped when someone took hold of her arm. It was Mr. Holmes, his kind eyes gesturing if she’d like to step outside. Nodding her head, they left the quarreling to the hot-tempered members of the family.

After a few minutes of walking in comfortable silence, Molly asked the question that’s been plaguing her mind. “Why is Mycroft so adamant that Sherlock’s love for me is insincere?”

“I couldn’t tell you, my dear,” Mr. Holmes replied. “I am sorry the honeymoon was cut short.”

Molly smiled. “S’alright, it’s not your fault. Mycroft doesn’t know Sherlock very well, does he?”

Mr. Holmes chuckled. “He thinks he does, but my wife and I suspect that Sherlock mostly takes after me in regards to relationships. Between the two of them, Sherlock has always been the more emotional one.”

“Sometimes I think he feels too much,” Molly told him. “So he feels the need to lock his heart away to keep from getting hurt.”

He squeezed her shoulder in a fatherly manner. “And that,” he said, “is how I know you are good for my son. You can see through the façade he puts on for the rest of the world—you see him for who he really is.”

They walked on making small talk about anything and everything. About twenty minutes had passed when they decided to go back to 221B, both hoping the arguing had stopped. As they approached the building, they took notice of Sherlock sitting on the front stoop, his head buried in his hands. When he heard them approach, his head snapped up, his arm automatically reaching out for Molly.

“Is your mother still inside?” Mr. Holmes asked him. Sherlock nodded yes, and scooted over to let his dad through. Molly then took a seat beside him.

“Where’s Mycroft?” she asked.

“He left,” Sherlock replied. He sighed in frustration. “My parents will be leaving in the morning, but mummy insisted we spend a weekend with them sometime.”

Molly wrapped an arm around his back, bringing them closer together. She leaned toward him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t fret, my love,” she spoke softly. “We’ll get through this.”

Normally, her reassurances calmed him, but Sherlock remained tense, his eyes only focused on the pavement of the sidewalk. She wondered if she should give him some time alone, but instead dropped her head down to rest against his shoulder, now with both arms wrapped around his torso. He leaned into her, slightly, and it was enough to tell her she had made the right choice.

Later that night, wrapped up in the silk of Sherlock’s royal blue dressing gown, Molly quietly slipped out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to make a warm cup of tea. Sherlock was fast asleep, exhausted from the trying day they had. She wished she could sleep, but the worry she harboured for her husband kept her from getting any rest. What bothered her wasn’t even that Mycroft was being a prat, but the fact that it was clearly bothering Sherlock, a man who never cared for anyone’s opinions. And then she wondered if it bothered him because he secretly agreed with all the rubbish his brother has been throwing at him.

“Oh, Sherlock, no,” she whispered to herself as she added a teaspoon of chamomile to the tea infuser. Pouring the boiled water in her cup, Molly’s mind drifted to other things like whether she would live here with him or if he would live with her, only using 221B as an office. They never discussed it, but they would have to soon. She couldn’t very well continue to switch out clothes between his place and hers. Her flat was open and airy, but she very much loved the cosiness of Baker Street. It was more cramped, and possibly too dangerous to live there.

Just as she finished allowing her tea to steep, she heard her mobile vibrate on the desk in the sitting room. Molly took her cup of tea along with her, seeing it was Mary that was calling. “Hello?” she spoke quietly.

“Molly, I heard you and Sherlock eloped and had your honeymoon cut short…what happened?” she asked.

“So many things, Mary. Mycroft’s just being a prat at Sherlock’s expense. I swear, if he shows his face one more time just to be an arse, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold my tongue,” Molly told her. She took a tentative sip of her tea.

“I am behind you and Sherlock one-hundred percent, Molly. So is John now that I’ve talked him ‘round,” she told her. “You two have us for support, just so you know.”

Molly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, truly. It seems like everyone’s against us right now. Well, not Sherlock’s parents—they’re quite pleased with the situation.”

“So Mycroft pulled the parent card—no wonder you two came rushing back.”

“It was absolutely unfair of him, Mary. Sherlock and I need time to just be us, and to get used to this new chapter in our lives, and his bloody pompous brother won’t give us any breathing room.” Molly felt she was going to blow a gasket. “It’s almost as if he wants our marriage to fail. He—“

“Molly?”

No reply.

“Molly, is everything alright?”

“He’s jealous,” Molly realised. She laughed in disbelief. “Mycroft Holmes is jealous. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.”

“Well then, the Ice Man has a heart hidden somewhere after all,” Mary laughed.

“Let’s not get too crazy, now,” Molly joked. “Thanks for calling, Mary, really. It’s just what I needed to sort this whole thing out.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied. “You sound dead to the world, luv, you should try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll just finish my tea and head right off to bed. Night, Mary.” Molly hung up and set her phone back on the desk. After finishing her tea, she snuck back inside the bedroom, shedding off the dressing gown, and slipped into bed.

Even as the mattress dipped, Sherlock never woke, but as if there were a magnetic pull between them, he found her with his arms and pulled her closer. Molly felt at ease with his body curled around hers. His hand found its way beneath her camisole, resting against her stomach as he swiped his thumb back and forth against her skin. Finally, she drifted to sleep, her worried melting away for the night.

It was the last day off Molly had before she had to return to work the next day. Spending that first week in Paris had been lovely, but this last week had been a mixture of stress and annoyance. No, they hadn’t heard from Mycroft since he stormed out a few days ago, which was nice, but Sherlock was clearly bothered by it. Whenever Molly tried to get him to talk about it, he shrugged her off or changed the subject. She was beside herself, not knowing what more she could do for him if he wasn’t ready to talk yet.

Molly had been lounging on the sofa whilst reading her book, glasses perched on her nose. Sherlock had been called away on a case, and though it was only a four, she thought it’d be good for him to get out and solve something. She’d been tiptoeing around him lately to ensure that she wouldn’t come off as pushy when it came to the Mycroft issue.

“What a load of rubbish!” Sherlock’s voice startled her as he walked in, slamming the door shut.

Molly set her book aside. “Bad case?” She watched as he tossed his coat and scarf on the desk. He began pacing back and forth whilst scanning the room, the crease between his brows deepening. “Sherlock?”

“Why haven’t you moved in yet?” he asked sharply.

She stood, calmly replying, “I’ve been waiting for the right time to discuss options with you.”

He looked as if she had insulted him. “Options? What options? I thought the next step here was fairly obvious.”

“Oh, so you just get to make all the decisions without consulting me!?” Molly asked in disbelief. “I wanted to discuss this civilly, you know, like adults?”

Sherlock was fuming. “Was it not clear to you that having this flat is important for my work!?”

“Yes, Sherlock, for your work! Not for two people who may or may not start a family in the future!” Molly crossed her arms, turning her head, refusing to look at him.

“We are living here, and that’s final!” he shouted.

Molly scoffed. “You’re such a child!” She began picking up whatever things she had lying around the flat.

“Yes, Molly, real mature, running away from your problems,” Sherlock retorted, rolling his eyes.

“No!” she shouted. “You don’t get to accuse me of that! I am going to my flat so we can cool off. I wanted to compromise with you, but you won’t even hear me out.” Her face was red, hair matted to her forehead. “I don’t even know why you wanted this anymore, Sherlock. You’re obviously not ready to put in the work for a real marriage.”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t have married at all.” His cold voice chilled her to the bone. He had never spoken that way to her, not once in all the years they’d known each other.

Molly wanted to cry—full-on sobbing whilst eating a tub of ice cream type cry. Instead, she stared at him incredulously, disappointment in her eyes. “Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t have.”

It didn’t take her long. The last thing Sherlock saw was his wife, bags packed, walking out the door. The shock didn’t wear off for a while, and when it did, he picked up the teacup she had been drinking from and threw it, watching as it shattered against the door. He collapsed on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, now wet from the tears he couldn’t keep from falling. Now that his worst fear appeared to unfold around him, Sherlock hadn’t a clue where to go from here. Was this the beginning of the end?

#sherlolly #run away with me #my fanfiction

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xxx-cat-xxx · 5 years

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Sleeping At Last

or: 5 times Tony couldn´t sleep (and the one time he could)

My first 5+1! It´s based on an ask from lovely @trashofdoom, featuring a severely sleep-deprived Tony and various people (and AIs) looking after him. A million thanks to my amazing beta Bethany (@whumphoarder).

TW for vomiting, alcohol-overuse and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. Enjoy!

Tony rubs his eyes exhaustedly. They’re dry and stinging, irritated from countless hours spent staring at a Starkpad and fiddling with code. He spots another error in the programme and corrects it with a sigh. The numbers, usually easier to understand for him than any human behaviour, just won’t come together today.

There’s a soft knock at the door. It is honestly beyond Tony why people still knock in an era where there are retinal scanners at each entry to keep out unwanted visitors and open doors for the wanted ones, but at least it reduces the number of possible intruders down to two, one of whom - Captain Spangles - is ruled out because of his ridiculously regular sleep pattern.

“Hey Brucie,” Tony calls even before the other man has entered. “What brings you here at - “ God, how has it become 4:30 this quickly?

“I should ask you the same. This is the, what, fourth night in a row?”

“Just getting these updates done.” Tony rolls his chair back and gestures to a row of devices lined up on the table across from him.

“And that can’t wait until tomorrow?” Bruce asks critically.

“The glitch with the comms not adjusting frequencies automatically was a serious issue last time... Nat wouldn’t have gotten hit if we had been able to warn her. She barely made it through—you know that.”

Bruce looks at him, then sees through him. “It wasn’t your fault, Tony.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” he says, a little too quickly. “But it’s my responsibility to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I just can’t figure out what caused it...” He rubs his forehead with furrowed brows. “It’s like my brain is filled with fog.”

Bruce frowns at that admission.

“Anyway,” Tony goes on, “now that you’re here, I’ve got something I wanna show you...”

He gets up from the chair, making for the 3D-hologram area at the other end of the room. But only a few steps in, his head rushes without warning.

“Woah,” he breathes, grabbing a table for support as darkness clouds his field of vision. “What the fuck was that?”

“That was your blood pressure screaming at you to finally get some rest,” Bruce assesses, stepping over to steady Tony as the man sinks dizzily to the floor. “And I agree with it.” Gently, he pushes Tony's head between his knees.

“That’s unfair,” the other man grumbles. “Back in college, I used to pull five all nighters in a row, and that involved a lot more partying.“

“You’re an old man now,” Bruce teases, but his voice is tinged with concern.

The engineer mumbles something into his knees that sounds a lot like “'Should see yourself.”

"Better?" Bruce asks after a minute, resting a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Hmm.” Tony nods without looking up.

“Stay put. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t drink strange herbs dissolved in water,” Tony says with a shudder. “You know I'm a full-blooded coffee addict.”

“Trust me with this one—it's not the normal kind. Just stay there until I'm back.”

Tony, of course, doesn't listen. When Bruce returns a few minutes later, he’s made it back to his desk on wobbly legs and is squinting at the tablet. Bruce wriggles it out of his fingers with an exasperated sigh and presses a cup of something hot and steaming into his hand.

“This... doesn't smell like tea,” Tony says warily.

“It's Chai. The real one, not the nonsense they sell at Starbucks.” He watches as Tony takes a tentative sip, then another, and a bit of colour returns to his cheeks.

“Where’d you learn that?” Tony nods at the cup.

“In Kolkata,” Bruce replies. His gaze goes a bit distant as he adds, “I miss it sometimes, you know? It's the weirdest kind of place, but it took me in.”

“Why did you come down here, actually?” Tony asks, now looking up at him intensely.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bruce shrugs. “Guess I wasn't the only one.”

“Yeah.” Tony gives him an exhausted smile. “Tell me about it...”

Joining a mission after four straight days of staying awake was definitely not the best idea, but Tony isn't exactly known for making sensible choices.

Luckily, the battle finishes quickly, leaving him sitting on the edge of a curb, knowing full well that his slumped-over posture is looking anything but heroic to the camera crews filtering in from all sides. On the other hand, it would certainly be worse publicity if he took a swan dive in front of the assembled press, which, unfortunately, is a very likely scenario considering the way the world is currently wobbling around the edges.

He’s just trying to gather the strength to make it upright and join Nat in talking to the reporters when he spots a blurred figure approaching quickly from behind a corner, raised gun aimed right at the assassin.

Tony fires without thinking. He might have forgotten that the repulsors were still set to full power, because the next thing that follows is an ear-splitting bang and a cloud of smoke rising up from what used to be a bus stop.

“What the fuck, Stark?!”

He blinks when a very upset Nat is suddenly standing over him, and seriously, that's one of the moments when he understands why people are sometimes afraid of her.

“You can't complete a single mission without destroying New York?” she demands. “What was that for? Trying out your new tech? Impressing the tabloids?”

“Calm down,” Tony hisses, more than a little annoyed. “We didn't get all of them, there was someone sneaking up on us. I just saved your ass.”

“What?” Nat's angry expression morphs into confusion as she turns around and surveys the area. “There's nobody here, Tony.”

“No, no, that's not right.“ He gets to his feet shakily, steadying himself against a streetlamp until the familiar blackness fades from his vision. He uses the suit's sensors to zoom in at the heap of rubble, but true to Nat's word, there is no sign of an attacker.

“I thought I... never mind,” he mumbles.

“You know your little stunt was caught on camera, right?” Nat asks, still annoyed, but with a bit of concern now mixed into her tone. “And that I've got to report it to SHIELD if my team members have health issues that can negatively influence their ability to - “

“That's not - I'm not having flashbacks, okay?” he interrupts her, anger flaring up. “I just - I thought I saw something. Someone. Won't happen again.”

“I wasn't talking about PTSD, Stark. You are aware that sleep deprivation can lead to hallucinations?”

“I'm - gosh.” Tony rubs his eyes wearily. He really, really doesn't have the energy for this argument right now. “That's none of your business.”

“It becomes my business as soon as it compromises the mission.” Nat gives him a glare, but her eyes have gone soft. “Go home, Tony. I'll handle SHIELD and the press. Do us all a favour and get some sleep.”

“If only it were that easy,” he mutters under his breath. But he fires up his thrusters all the same and takes off into the sky, decidedly not looking back at the disaster he’s caused.

Tony wakes up drenched in cold sweat, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. The sheets next to him are empty.

“Jarvis?” he croaks.

“It is 3:52 a.m., Sir. You are in your quarters at Stark Tower. It is currently drizzling, with a high probability of heavy rains for the coming day. You have been asleep for one hour and 37 minutes. You started to exhibit signs of distress sixteen minutes ago.” The AI hesitates a moment. “You were also talking in your sleep. If I may, Sir, would you like to know the current status of Miss Potts?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathes.

“I can access a video feed of the security cameras in the Hong Kong hotel she is currently residing at, if you'd like to see it.”

Tony nods weakly into the darkness, trusting Jarvis' ultrasharp sensors to pick it up.

The screen above the bed lights up, displaying a slightly pixelated image of Pepper in business attire, taking notes on a Starkpad while nodding politely at an equally formally dressed man seated across from her.

A small field with name and designation appears next to the man's head, revealing his position as the head of one of Stark Asia's subsidiaries.

“Thanks, J,” Tony says hoarsely after a few minutes. “You can close it now.”

The AI doesn't reply, but the room illuminates with a warm light that leaves no shadows in the corners. Bless Jarvis for knowing what he needs when Tony himself doesn't.

He sits up slowly, his fingers gliding over the soft fabric of the blankets, then feeling for the bathrobe that's draped over a nearby chair. He lets his fingertips run over the slightly uneven wall while he makes his way to the bathroom. Then he rests his hand on the doorknob, feeling its solidness.

Real, he reminds himself, because sometimes the present is elusive, sometimes it’s so much harder than it should be to figure out what's there and what isn't.

He sits on the bathroom tiles for a while, enjoying the chill seeping into his bones, anchoring him. He thinks of Pepper somewhere in Hong Kong, far, far away. Safe.

He knows that sleep is not going to come to him now.

When he finally steps into the shower, Jarvis has already adjusted the temperature and his morning playlist is issuing softly from the speakers.

“Honestly, I don't get the sense of ‘brunching’,” Tony states while tossing down his third cup of coffee that morning. “Maria's a grown-up girl, she should host a party like normal adults do. Get drunk, let loose, bully Fury into singing Karaoke - you know what I mean.”

“Not everyone's like you, Tony,” Steve replies good-naturedly, but still with this slightly lecturing note in his voice that sometimes drives Tony crazy. “Some people like to celebrate their birthday without it ending in fistfights and drunken guests throwing up everywhere.”

“Hey, that was one time!” Tony retorts, “And it's not a fistfight if armour is involved.” He reaches over the extensive buffet to grab the coffee pot and refill his cup.

“Haven't you had enough of that already?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Can't you let a guy have his small vices?” Tony deflects. He tries to scoop sugar from a delicate porcelain bowl into his cup, but his hands are jittering so much that half of it ends up on the tablecloth.

With a small sigh, Steve takes the spoon from his hands, adding sugar and stirring calmly. “You sure you're alright?” he adds, handing the cup back to Tony.

“Yes, Spangles. Stop mother-henning me,” Tony replies. He suppresses a belch when the first sip of coffee doesn't quite settle well.

They stand in silence while he sips the beverage, until Steve spots Sam on the other side of the room and goes over to talk to him, and Tony is left squirming uncomfortably. He’s full of nervous energy just waiting to be transformed into new inventions in his workshop, but he still has to wait through another few hours of polite conversation and boring toasts before he will be able to disappear.

Ironically, today is the first morning in a while that he actually feels like he might be able to sleep if he tried hard enough. But the prospect of everyone's irritation if he misses Hill's birthday celebration kept him away from bed.

He's thus settled on caffeine to fight the tiredness and reduce the headache throbbing behind his temples. The coffee has so far accomplished its job of keeping him upright without getting dizzy, but it also makes his stomach burn and causes a vague feeling of nausea that only increases as time goes on.

“You haven't tried the cake,” a kind voice says from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Here, have a piece,” Laura Barton offers, holding it out. Then she seems to think better of it and sets it on the counter in front of Tony. “I made it, not Clint, so you don't have to worry about getting poisoned.”

Tony tries to come up with a way of politely declining, his stomach somersaulting at the thought of food, but Laura has an aura about her that makes it almost impossible to say no. It reminds him faintly of Pepper. He has no illusions about who calls the shots in the Barton household.

“Thanks,“ he says, taking a tentative bite. He has to swallow twice to get the piece down, and then he can feel it sitting heavily at the end of his throat. He stifles another belch that brings with it the sour taste of acid.

“It's great,” he lies while taking a deep breath, attempting to will the nausea away.

It doesn't work. Instead, he can feel bile creeping up his throat. The urge to gag is suddenly overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” Laura asks.

Tony just presses the plate back into her hand. “Sorry,” he chokes out before making a break for the bathroom.

He only makes it to the sink before hot and bitter liquid is forcing its way upwards and splashing into the basin. It still carries the smell of coffee, making him even more nauseous. He barely manages to catch a breath before he heaves again, bringing up another gush of vomit.

The throbbing behind his forehead intensifies and he closes his eyes against the pain. He’s coughing and sputtering, steadying himself on the basin, when he hears the door to the bathroom open.

“Occupied,” he croaks. But there's already a hand on his back, patting him hesitantly.

“Tony, what's going on?” a voice asks, and yep, out of all people that could have come to pee at this very moment, it has to be Captain Fucking Righteous.

“Nothing,” Tony pants, “Go away - ugh.”

He retches again and brings up a mouthful of bile.

“Are you sick?” Steve's hand now moves towards his neck to feel his temperature, and no, this is not happening.

“It’s nothing.” Tony bats his hand away. “Just overdid it with the coffee today. You were right, be happy.”

“I wasn't - that's not what I'm thinking,” Steve says defensively.

“But you were also wrong,” Tony continues, spitting into the basin. “Apparently, brunching doesn't reduce the risk of people ending up barfing.”

Steve ignores his banter. “Can I get you anything?”

A bed, a new head, and truckload of aspirin are all high on his list, but Tony settles for the easiest.

“Glass of water and some mint would be marvellous,” he says, and Steve is gone within a second. The guy is so helpful that it's a plague.

To the best of his ability, he avoids looking at the brownish mess he’s made. His stomach is still more than queasy as he starts the water.

By the time Steve returns, the evidence is cleared and Tony's game face is reestablished.

The anniversary of his parents' death has always been a night without the remotest hope of catching sleep. It is also the one night a year during which Pepper doesn't say anything when Tony drinks himself senseless.

In earlier years, Rhodey used to always be around on that date—ever since the very first time in college when he'd found Tony passed out in a puddle of his own sick with a BAC of 0.3. Then Pepper moved in, and Tony would be moody and irritable all night, demanding her to leave him alone, secretly praying she'd stay. She always did.

But this time, Pepper is still in Hong Kong - the negotiations taking longer than expected - and after the first few glasses of scotch, he finds himself turning his phone over in his hands, contemplating calling a few of his old business contacts and inviting himself to one of those parties that have more recreational substances floating around than actual food.

But he doesn't. Instead, he pulls up the second number on his speed dial. It takes less than a full ring before Rhodey picks up.

“Hey man,” Tony greets jovially, “What're you up to?”

Then, after a second, he quietly adds, “It's bad tonight.”

The can you come over goes unsaid. It's only a few minutes before the War Machine armour makes a soft landing on the balcony. Rhodey steps out of the suit and into the warmth of the living room.

“Here.” Tony turns around from the bar, a bit unsteady on his feet, and presses a glass into Rhodey's hand. “To all those sweepers that keep the roads free of ice.”

Rhodey clinks his glass against Tony's, his eyes wide and sad. Tony doesn't pass out that night, but Rhodey almost wishes he did.

The annual Maria Stark Foundation Gala takes place a few days after the anniversary, all of which Tony spends on a single workshop binge, running on coffee, AC/DC, and the deliberate aversion of any thoughts not related to R&D.

Pepper, who finally returns after a successful conclusion of “the greatest bargaining endeavor in history” (in the words of her PA), hauls him out of the lab a few hours before the Gala, threatening to fly right back to Hong Kong if he doesn't shower and dress up.

Tony's head his swimming when he bends over the sink to wash his face. He feels weak, almost feverish. When he starts to shave, his hands are trembling so hard that his usually perfect goatee comes out looking more like a modern art caricature of symmetry than anything else.

Pepper eyes his crooked beard, his haggard face, and the black circles beneath his eyes with a frown when she hands him the cue cards for his speech. She’s ushered into the changing room by an assistant before she can comment.

Tony manages a speech that leaves the audience laughing themselves to tears, without actually comprehending a single word of what he says. All the time, he clings to the lectern, painfully aware only of the weakness in his limbs and his own heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears.

He staggers down from the stage just to see Pepper emerging from the changing room in a breathtaking sleeveless gown. He might have been swaying a bit, because her eyes go wide upon seeing him and she hurries in his direction.

“You look fantastic,” he manages to say before the static in his ears grows deafening and the ground rushes up to meet him.

He comes to with his head in Pepper's lap and a group of assistants encircling him, heatedly debating the best course of action.

“Hey,” she says, her expression serious. “You back with us?”

“Hmm,” he grunts, trying to focus on his surroundings through the dizziness and pulsing headache.

“Can you get up?” she asks.

“Yeah, of course,” he mumbles. But his legs are jelly when he tries to get them under him. “Or maybe I'll just stay here for a while. The view is great,” he says weakly.

Pepper doesn't even give an answer. Instead, she pushes an arm behind his back to sit him up. With the help of Happy, they get Tony to his feet and manage to get him to the couch in the backstage room.

Tony sinks heavily onto the cushions. Pepper sits down next to him, waving at Happy to close the door and wait outside.

“So. What's going on?” she asks calmly, but Tony knows her too well not to hear the panic barely contained in her voice. “And don't dare tell me that you're fine, because I’m not an idiot.”

“I'm okay, Pepper - quit giving me that look,” he starts.

“By what definition was that ‘okay’?” she interrupts in an icy tone.

“Okay, as in, I swear there’s nothing majorly wrong with me. Just had a bit of trouble sleeping over the past few weeks,” he concedes. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Except for you passing out in the middle of a public Gala.”

“Where would be the fun in life without the little surprises?” he jokes in a weak voice. He can feel fatigue washing over him in waves, making his body numb and heavy.

“Sleep deprivation, that's all it is?” Pepper probes. “ Can I trust you on this? I won't regret it if I don't haul you to a hospital right now?”

“You can trust me on everything, you know that.” A moment of pain washes over her face, so brief that he nearly misses it.

“Hey. That was two years ago. Look at me, Pep.” It takes a lot of energy to lift his arm and reach out to touch her face. He looks her straight into the eyes. “I'm not dying. I promise.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment. She doesn't look completely convinced, but it seems she decides to let it go for now. “You can't go back in like this. And we can't leave the Gala early without the press going wild.”

“Trust me, I don't wanna move,” Tony says. The world is turning fuzzy before his eyes now, greyness creeping in from the edges. “Nothing wrong with backstage couches - I'm speaking from experience. Let's just stay here for a bit.”

Pepper bites her lip to suppress a smile.

He lets his head fall down below her shoulder, nestling his face into the soft spot between her neck and collarbone. He is vaguely aware of her hands in his hair, a warm and steady presence holding him. And then, in an uncharacteristically nonchalant fashion, Tony Stark falls asleep.

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