#anyway just scrolled through my library looking for a song to put on while i get ready and i had to skip about twenty. terrible times | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-iceni-bitch · 3 years ago

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The Days and Nights are Long

Pairing: clueless!Colin Shea x clueless!fem Reader

Words: ~4K

Summary: You and Colin are being idiots and it’s driving his band crazy.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (m receiving oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, squirting), idiots in love, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: It took way longer than I had planned but here’s some more of our drunk, musical idiots in love for you hoes!!! I love them so, even though they’re morons. Tagging my Colin babes @starlightcrystalline and @wayward-blonde because I know they’ve been waiting for this.

I no longer do taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

Colin shook his head and shrugged uncomfortably as he stared at his phone, wracking his brain to think of what exactly he should say to you.

“For fuck’s sake, Shea, just ask her to come up.” Matt looked exasperated, twirling his stick through his fingers as he rolled his eyes when Colin scowled at him.

He’d been moping for the past two weeks, ever since the two of you had slept together. All of his bandmates were getting sick of it, the man was the biggest pouty baby on the face of the planet. If they had to listen to him sing Everybody Hurts one more time they were going to kill him.

So they’d come up with a little plan to get him out of his funk, lining up a gig that would really lend itself better to a female vocalist and feigning innocence when Colin pointed that out. They had really enjoyed hanging out with you on that exceptionally hot evening, and if having you join them again was the only way to get their boy out of his funk, even better. He had actually smiled before pulling his phone out, but then he realized he had no idea what he should say.

The two of you had still been cordial whenever you ran into each other, but there was definitely a strain to your interactions now. No matter how much you both told each other it wasn’t awkward, it was definitely awkward. It was also weird that he was pretty sure you hadn’t come home after 1 AM at all in the last two weeks, and you usually at least spent your weekend nights at some other asshole’s apartment. Not that he’d had any visitors either, but he didn’t want to explore that too much.

He was still staring at his phone screen and trying to come up when some nonchalant greeting that would entice you to come sing with them when the phone was suddenly plucked out of his hand by an exasperated looking Keith, who ignored his spluttering as he typed a quick message before tossing the phone back to him.

“You’re thinking about this too hard.” The bassist said, setting to tuning his instrument and chuckling at the indignant look on Colin’s face.

Colin was about to give a snarky reply when he felt his phone buzz and looked down to see a text from you, grinning when he saw you saying you’d be right up. With an exclamation point! He didn’t even notice the pleased grins his bandmates were giving each other as they watched him start to tune his guitar, plucking a happy little tune and humming to himself.

They were all expecting you to come through the main door from the stairs, so when you shouted hello from behind them after climbing up your fire escape, you were greeted with the sight of five grown men almost jumping out of their skins before turning to greet you.

That grin on your face was enough to make Colin melt, all the awkwardness that had been lingering between you disappearing in an instant when you met each other’s eyes.

“Alright boys!” You took the mic Brad handed you with a warm smile, rolling it in one hand as you trailed the cord through your fingers. “You said you needed my help with something Col, what’s up?”

“Right, these idiots lined up a gig for us without consulting me first.” They all avoided his halfhearted glare with doe eyed innocence, focusing on their instruments. “And, well, the set list isn’t really in my range.”

“Lemme see.” You took the sheet of paper from his hand and scanned it quickly. “That’s a whole lot of girl rock.”

“Yeah, like I said, Ann Wilson and I aren’t really in the same register.” Fuck, it was nice to be able to talk to you again.

“Why don’t you just modulate it, then?” You mumbled absentmindedly.

He gaped like a fish at that question. He honestly hadn’t even thought about it, and even if he had, he wasn’t expecting you to know about modulation.

“If we modulate for him, none of us can hit the harmonies.” Craig piped up from behind the keyboards, and he could have kissed him.

“That right?” You teased, shooting a wicked smirk around at them. “You boys sure you didn’t just miss me?”

Colin tried not to sound too hysterical when he let out a laugh, missing the indulgent eye rolls his band mates were giving behind your backs.

“What do you think, we booked a gig where I can’t sing any of the songs on purpose just so we could hang out again?” Good thing he was pretty, the man was clueless.

“No, you’re not that clever, Col.” He made a mock wounded gesture and you grinned at him, looking over the set list some more. “What kind of gig is this anyway?”

“Yeah, Craig, you never told us what the actual gig was.” Colin and the rest of the band gave the keyboardist a variety of inquisitive stares.

“Uh, it’s a bachelorette party.” He mumbled, avoiding making eye contact with his bandmates when they started groaning.

“Fuck, Craig! I do not want to get felt up by a bunch of drunk, horny women!” Colin threw a balled up sheet of music at you when you started laughing.

“That seems right up your alley, Shea.” You teased, dodging when he threw a pillow from the couch at you. “You don’t want to pick up some rowdy bridesmaid?”

“No, they’re scary aggressive.” He shuddered when he thought about the last bachelorette party they had done, they’d practically ripped the band’s clothes off before they could get out of there.

“Aww, well I’ll be there to shield you this time, sweetie.” You winked at him and moved a little closer to everyone. “Let’s practice, boys. Don’t want to give those girls cause to complain.”

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It was the day of the gig, and you and Colin had decided to drive together to streamline things. He was waiting in your living room and tapping his foot nervously as he waited for you to finish getting ready, anxious about what actually performing with you would be like.

“Y/N, we need to go!” He never thought you would be the type to take forever getting ready.

“Yeah, I know!” You strolled out to the living room with a grin on your face and he had to swallow a groan. “How do I look?”

“Good, really good.” The way he was looking at you made your grin grow even wider.

The outfit wasn’t even that special, just a denim mini skirt and a tight v-neck tee with a leather jacket. Oh, and thigh high leather boots. It was definitely the boots he was staring at, his eyes trained on the few inches of bare skin between the top of the boots and the hem of your skirt. You gave him a couple minutes to just stare at you before rolling your eyes and strolling towards your front door, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him after you.

“C’mon Shea, we don’t wanna be late.” You scolded, shoving his amp into his hand and slinging his guitar case over your shoulder before heading down the stairs.

He had trouble focusing on the road as he drove you to the bar the party was going to be at, all he wanted to do was memorize the way you looked in that outfit. It was like someone told you exactly what to wear to drive him crazy. Maybe bringing you into this gig hadn’t been the best idea, because all he wanted to do right now was pull over and let you ride him while you weren’t wearing anything except for those boots and that jacket, and maybe whatever lingerie you had on under that outfit.

“Colin, you’re going to miss the turn.” Your voice snapped him out of his little daydream, and he cursed as he took the turn towards the bar a little faster than he would have liked.

“Sorry, just got a little distracted.” He mumbled, slowing down as he turned into the alley behind the bar and put the car in park behind Matt’s van.

The rest of the band was already unloading, waving at you two as Colin shut off his vehicle and you stepped out. You actually gave Craig and Keith little side hugs before you started helping with the unloading, he hadn’t realized you guys had gotten that close over the past week, and for some reason it made him smile.

“How’s it going man?” He didn’t know how he felt about the look Matt was giving him as he helped carry the bass drum inside, it felt suggestive of something. “Y/N seems excited to be here.”

“Yeah, I thought she might be nervous about performing but she’s handling everything like a pro.” He watched you laugh at something Brad said as you worked on connecting your mic. “Maybe we should make her an official member.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Matt just shrugged, laughing when Colin rounded on him and started spluttering.

“I was joking! We can’t just ask Y/N to be in the band!” Could they? Having you around had been a lot of fun, and the band dynamic had helped alleviate some of the tension that had been growing between you two. But seeing you tonight looking like you did and knowing that you were gonna have to have some on stage chemistry to make this work was making him think twice about things. You got a little intense during rehearsals, and the added pressure of being on stage might make him combust if you kicked it up at all.

Matt shook his head at him and set to assembling his kit while the rest of the band started tuning and connecting their instruments. You just sat on a stool and sipped some water, running through a couple vocal exercises absentmindedly as you scrolled through your phone. It only took a couple of minutes for everyone to finish setting up and then it was mic checks all around.

Everything sounded good and balanced after a couple adjustments and the sound guys gave you the thumbs up to start warming up. Colin couldn’t stop watching you. You were so unbelievably relaxed on stage and it was just endearing you to him even more. He thought for sure you would have been a bundle of nerves but you seemed to be right in your element, tossing him a couple of lazy grins over your shoulder as you ran through a couple of songs before the partygoers started filtering in.

The band switched to doing some instrumental ambience shit while they waited for the party to really get going, and Colin wandered over to talk to you when you took a step back from your mic.

“Still feeling ok about this?” He asked, beaming back at the soft smile you gave him.

“Yeah, I’m excited.” You bounced on your toes a little, adrenaline flooding your veins as the crowd grew. “Think I’ll get any bras thrown at me?”

“You never know with bachelorettes.” He laughed, strolling back over to his own mic so he could introduce the band.

If he thought jamming with you was special, it was nothing compared to watching you perform. You were a goddamn natural, coming alive and feeding off the crowd’s energy until you were completely lost in the music. Every time his eyes met yours you were grinning at him, and your chemistry with the rest of the band was palpable.

Not to mention, you kept drifting close to him on the stage, brushing your hand over his shoulders or leaning against him when you harmonized and it was making his knees weak. , God, he could do this with you every night, even though he was pretty sure he was going to need to sneak into the bathroom to jerk off afterwards.

The show was over too soon, the extremely drunken crowd of rowdy bachelorettes finally getting crazy enough that the band was ready to make a hasty escape. You were bouncing on your toes with residual energy as you started helping the guys pack up their instruments, grabbing Colin’s amp after he shoved his guitar in the case and you both made a run for it to his car when a wobbly woman started to try to climb on the stage.

“Colin, holy fuck that was so much fun!” You managed to make it to the alley unscathed and were giving him the most heartbreaking grin. “We’re definitely doing this again.”

“Yeah? Well you did a great fucking job.” Goddamn it, he’d missed you. “We can do whatever you want, honey.”

“Really?” You slammed the trunk closed and started to prowl closer to him. “Whatever I want?”

“That is what I said.” He could feel his voice dropping into that low register that meant he was in desperate need of some sort of release, so he really hoped he wasn’t misreading this situation. “Why? Did you want something now?”

“I think I do.” Your chest was right against his and you could feel it heaving, gazing at him through your lashes while you ran your fingers over his abs. “I stole the keys to the van.”

“And, you wanna go on a joy ride?” He breathed deep when you brushed your lips over his, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“Or, we could just fuck in the back while the rest of the guys search for these.” You pulled back a little and jingled the keys in his face, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth while he ran his hands over your hips.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” He smashed his lips to yours and let out a low moan, his fingers digging into your ass while the two of you stumbled towards the side door of the van.

You fumbled with the keys for a minute because you didn’t want to take your mouth off Colin for any reason, but then you were sliding the door open and the two of you were falling inside in a tangle of limbs before somehow managing to kick the door closed behind you. Trying to undress each other was a little difficult with how wrapped up you were in each other but you managed, tossing your garments away haphazardly as your tongues curled tangled together. Colin grabbed your hands when you went to remove your boots, pulling them up to his face and kissing your palms before winding your arms around his neck.

“Keep those on.” His voice was a low growl and fuck, you forgot how sexy he was.

“Well, cannot say I’m surprised you're a little kinky, Col.” You wound your fingers through his hair and yanked, purring at the groan he gave you. “I’m gonna suck that pretty dick of yours, but then I’ll give it to you nice and rough.”

“God, baby.” He wished he didn’t sound so whiny when you started kissing your way down his chest, but he hadn’t gotten any release except from his hand for the past two weeks and he really needed you to keep doing what you were doing. “I’ll take whatever you give me.”

“Yeah? Knew you were a good boy.” You winked at him when you started kissing the skin above the band of his boxer briefs before you were yanking them down his thighs and immediately licking a heavy stripe up the underside of his cock when it sprung up against his abs.

Colin had to brace a hand against the side of the van when you worked him over, spitting on his tip and watching it drip down his length before spreading it over him with your lips. You wrapped your hand around his shaft and gave him a nice, smooth stroke as you ducked down between his length to press gentle kisses over his balls while you jerked him off. He almost choked on his tongue when you wrapped your lips around his sack and tugged softly, the hum you let out sending a vibration up his spine while your thumb swiped over his swollen tip.

The sounds he was making from just a handjob were enough to soak through the thin lace of your panties, and when he shouted your name when you moved a little lower and teased your tongue over his asshole, well you almost fucking came just from that. You couldn’t believe you had stupidly waited two fucking weeks before indulging in this man again, you finally felt like yourself again. It was driving you absolutely crazy, the way his hips were wriggling underneath you spurring you on until you couldn’t take it any more.

If he thought your hand was incredible, it was nothing compared to the feel of your lips wrapped around his tip while your tongue swirled around his sensitive head. With all the women he’d slept with, he’d definitely suffered through some mediocre and downright disappointing blow jobs. But you felt like you were about to suck the soul out of him, and you’d only just started.

“Ah, Christ.” He was going to pass out if you kept going like this, your mouth was like fucking heaven. “Honey, fuck.”

You shot him a wicked look when you started bobbing your head, taking him just a little deeper each time while your tongue curled around him as much as possible. Then you opened your throat and swallowed him whole and he lost his mind.

He wrapped his hand in your hair and held your head still as he started fucking your throat, his hips bucking wildly while you choked and sputtered around him. Drool was running down your chin and soaking his thighs as you started breathing through your nose, digging your fingers into his thighs while he used you like a fuck toy. You kept your tongue pressed flat against your bottom teeth to avoid choking on it, moaning softly when you tasted the salty tang of his precum hit your tongue. His grip on your hair was growing painful, and you could tell by the way his abs were twitching that he was close.

“Wait, ah shit!” He somehow managed to gather enough self control to pull out of your mouth, groaning at the long string of saliva that kept you connected even as you bit at your swollen lips. “I’m not coming unless it’s in that pretty pussy. How do you want it?”

“Fuck me from behind, Col.”

He growled as he sat up and smashed his lips to yours, savoring the taste of himself on your tongue before flipping your over and burying his face in your hair. You let out a low moan when he slammed into you with no warning, gasping at the punishing pace he was setting and purring when he started mouthing at your neck.

The van was shaking like some sort of cliche while Colin fucked into you with abandon, his hips bouncing off your ass in an obscene display while the two of you whined and panted together. Colin was going to lose his fucking mind, two weeks with barely even talking to you and now he was finally inside you it was all he could do to not go completely feral.

“Oh god, honey.” He was practically whining against your skin when you clenched around him, sucking your ear lobe between his lips while you arched your back and purred for him. “Fuck, you’re so tight and wet. Pussy so fucking good. Tell me you’re close, I need to feel you come.”

“So close, Colin, shit!” You gasped when he hit you deep, curling your body backwards around him and reaching over your shoulder to wind your fingers through his hair and press his lips to yours. “Need that dick so bad. Feel so good when you’re inside me.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He wound one hand around your neck and the other arm around your waist, holding you close while he kissed you deeply and swallowed your wanton mewls with a deep groan. “Come for me.”

His hips ground against you and you slapped the floor of the van when you came, sobbing into his mouth and vibrating underneath him while your pussy strangled his cock. Your teeth nipped at his lips once you were finished, humming happily as he continued fucking you through your high.

“Need more, Colin.” You whimpered when he started slowing down, trying to thrust your hips back towards him as you tried to bring yourself to the edge again. “Harder, I need it.”

“Fuck, I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.” He tugged at your lips with his teeth, squeezing your neck gently and groaning at your soft whimper as you clenched around him. “Jesus Christ, you feel so fucking good.”

You couldn’t respond when he started pounding into you furiously, the way his cock was punching against your soft walls making it a little hard to breathe, never mind thinking. He was hitting every spot you needed him to with each thrust, grunting into your ear each time his hips slammed into you until he felt your breath hitch.

Every time he bottomed out you thought you were going to pass out, the tip of his cock punching against your cervix and making you see stars. It was so good, he was hitting you so deep and smooth you couldn’t believe you’d been denying yourself for so long.

Colin growled when a particularly vicious push had your entire body rising off the floor of the van, your fluttering sigh sending a shiver of pleasure through his body. One more thrust and you lost it, screaming with ecstasy as every muscle in your body vibrated and you squirted all over Colin’s thighs and the floor.

“Fuck, fuck, baby.” Colin was desperate, his rhythm completely gone as he chased his own end while you fluttered around him. “Gonna fill this pretty little pussy up until I’m leaking outta you for the next week.”

“Oh god, please.” Your eyes rolled up in your head while you let him use you, his lips tracing your jaw hungrily as you pushed your hips back to meet his. “Give it to me, Colin.”

He buried his face in your neck and let out a strangled cry when his hips stuttered, thick, warm ropes of white shooting against your soft walls until he was collapsing on top of you with a sated moan. You tangled your fingers with his above your head as your breathing regulated, his breath hot on your neck while the two of you melted into each other.

“We’re not waiting two weeks again, right?” Colin’s arms wrapped around you as he nuzzled into your hair, his lips spreading in a slow smile when he felt you purr contentedly.

“Nope. I’m definitely gonna need this to happen on the regular.” You turned a little so you could rub your nose against his. “You know, in between our other, normal escapades.”

“Right.” His heart fell a little at that, but maybe just interspersing his trysts with you with his other one night stands would help flush his crush on you out of his system.

Before he had a chance to say anything else there was a sudden pounding at the van door, snapping the two of you out of your haze with a pair of exasperated groans.

“Shea!!!” You untangled yourselves as you started to pull on your clothes. “That had better be Y/N in there! If you sad fucked some bachelorette and we have to listen to you sing stupid breakup songs for the next month I’m going to kill you!”

#natalie writes #colin shea smut #colin shea x y/n #colin shea x you #colin shea x fem!reader #colin shea x reader #colin shea #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans character #eighteen plus #eighteen and over #do not interact if you are a minor

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years ago

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A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song."

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention.

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard."

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night."

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked.

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking."

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band."

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right."

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid.

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring.

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!"

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!"

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation.

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover.

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?"

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me."

"What does it look like?" You asked.

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one."

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told."

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it."

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned?

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back.

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner.

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table.

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this."

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care."

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-"

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor.

"It was a gift." He finished anyway.

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head.

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much."

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered.

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering."

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me."

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.”

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage.

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help?

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition.

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly.

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack.

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile.

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you.

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?"

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy."

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music.

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush.

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone."

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans."

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?"

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side.

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

#doctor strange #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange #dr stephen strange #stephen strange x you #what if #what if marvel #doctor strange supreme #tw guns #tw abusive parent

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marky4l · 4 years ago

Text

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances

word count: 17.2k

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music.

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat.

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.”

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody.

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another.

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you.

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate.

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted.

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest.

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation.

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.”

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him?

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice.

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily.

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face.

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.”

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—”

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?”

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward.

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem.

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before.

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway.

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt.

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape.

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous.

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him.

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily.

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point.

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work.

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.”

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately.

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too.

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole.

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse.

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—”

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion.

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted.

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?”

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful.

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again.

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.)

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard.

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit.

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open.

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours.

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome.

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching.

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head.

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.”

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing.

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself.

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question.

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop.

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you.

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max.

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December.

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably.

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different.

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile.

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor.

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click.

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it.

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly.

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause.

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good.

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?”

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him.

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face.

She nears you. “Explain.”

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once.

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!”

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest.

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin.

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said.

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark.

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed.

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment.

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly.

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory.

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita.

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up.

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine.

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.”

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.”

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently.

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once.

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head.

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously.

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear.

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.”

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly.

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens.

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.”

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.”

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.)

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down.

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm.

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently.

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.”

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person.

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these.

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it.

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all.

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate.

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum.

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback

#mark lee #mark lee imagines #mark imagines #mark drabbles

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willyoulovemeinthemorning · 3 years ago

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The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway (2/?)

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Summary: You are a mutant with the powers of ice and cold and you have never been able to be touched or touch anyone without making them uncomfortable, or worse, hurting them. You’ve always desperately wished for physical affection, and it isn't until a new silver tongued Asgardian moves into the Avengers tower and takes an interest in you that anyone really dares to try to be physical with you.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: This is some drama to push them to the next level- no warnings yet, just some of Y/N getting hurt and Loki coming to the rescue! Warnings apply for the next chapter! Part 1 Ever since Loki showed you he was the only person in the universe that could truly touch you, life went on in blissful closeness with him. He started spending more time with you outside of the library, the two of you eating together and watching movies together, even hanging out with you while you were with Wanda and Nat. Wanda didn’t like it at first, (she was very untrustworthy of new people) but Nat just knew. She knew from the start and didn’t push at first because she knew things would develop over time. But even Wanda figured it out- it wasn’t hard, watching you become more and more at ease with touching him and him touching you. You had never let anyone do that, and the fact that he could meant a lot. So she stopped giving you a hard time about having him around, enjoying how his presence changed you for the better.

The rest of the team started to notice it too- and each time someone would start to give you a hard time, Nat shut it down very quickly. As weeks went by, you had both started falling asleep every night in the library, the living room, the hang out room- wherever had a big enough space for you both to fall asleep wrapped around each other. You were both too afraid to ask to go to sleep in one anothers room.

You were currently on the couch in the living room with Loki, practically in his lap with his arm wrapped around you while he read a book and you scrolled Tik Tok.

“Team, time to suit up. We have a situation in Georgia that needs our attention. We’ll debrief on the plane. All hands on deck for this one. Avengers- Assemble.” You heard Steve’s voice, and you groaned, grumpy that you had to not only leave the safety of your home, but mostly the safety of Loki’s embrace.

It was a gruesome mission- a high profile organization was trying to steal some very dangerous equipment from a location in Georgia, and a lot of people got hurt trying to stop them. Including you. The problem was that you had hit your head after getting shot, and you wouldn’t let anyone come too close, so you were attacking anyone and everyone who came to try to help you- Nat and Wanda included.

Nat was desperate. “Where’s Loki?” She screamed into her com- but Loki’s had fallen off in battle, and he was still in combat with some bad people. “Tony- get eyes on Loki and get him over here right now!” You were bleeding out, and no one could touch you to get you onto the plane.

“Friday, locate Reindeer Games- Elsa’s hurt and she needs true love to heal her-” Tony sing-songed, flying up and over the plant, and when he located Loki, he sent shots out to hit all the men circling the God, swooping in and picking him up by the back of the shirt.

“HEY!” Loki screamed, which Tony ignored, flying him to where Nat was with you. You were starting to lose consciousness, and Nat was trying to keep you awake without touching you. He dropped Loki unceremoniously on the ground beside you, the God’s anger rushing out of him at the treatment the moment he saw you. “Y/N? What happened?!” He yelled back at Nat, crawling over to you.

“They got her, she’s got wounds all over and she won’t let anyone touch her, and anyone who has gets one of these burns-” she showed him her arms, covered in icy patches. Loki basically threw magic her way to melt the ice off, putting all of his focus on you.

“Hey, popsicle, it’s me. I’m going to get you on the ship and we’re going to get you better, okay?” He went to pick you up, paused, and then looked around at the avengers surrounding him. “Please don’t look- please.” He asked, and Nat stared them all down until they turned around. He picked you up bridal style, and immediately felt a wave of ice shoot through him. His whole body changed as the onslaught came- so cold it affected him. The pain shot through his blue limbs, red eyes focused on getting you to the ship a few yards away. Nat was ahead of him, climbing in and turning the machine on. He could feel the eyes of the team on him, and he tried to ignore it. That was easy considering all he could focus on was the pain coursing through him, and getting you safe. Finally, he got you in, and Natasha was already flying the three of you away. He placed you down and cupped your face. “Darling, look at me, please keep your eyes open.” You looked up at him and groaned in pain.

“Please, Loki…” You cried, your voice strained in pain. “Please…”

He placed both of his hands on your wound, trying to ease the bleeding, the pain of ice slowing down as you started to lose consciousness. “I’m sorry, Loki…” was the last thing you said, and the last thing you saw was his beautiful blue face contorted in pain as you slipped away from him.

You woke up days later, confused and afraid, unsure of what happened or where you were. What you were sure of was a hand in yours... and when you opened your eyes you saw a messy head of black hair asleep by your hip, the hand holding yours under his head. You squeezed it, jostling him from his position enough to wake him.

“Y/N?” His sleepy voice croaked, blinking rapidly and rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

“Where am I?” you asked, trying to sit up.

“Hey, don’t move too much, you’re still healing.” He stopped you, hand on your chest to keep you down. “ You’re in the ICU at the Tower. You’ve been out for a week… we had to keep you out because you kept accidentally hurting the doctors. I had to do a lot of the physical touching because you couldn’t hurt me as easily…” His cheeks turned pink and he looked away from you, and you realized what that might have meant. Loki had seen you in a lot of unflattering, very intimate ways in the last few days, by your estimation.

“Did I… did-”

“No, popsicle. Everyone is fine. I was able to use my magic to heal their ice wounds- I would have healed you too, but your injury was a little too complex for me to trust myself.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. You couldn’t have forgiven yourself if… “Did I hurt you? Did the rest of the team see you- in my favorite form?” You asked, eyes worried for him. You knew how he felt about his Jotun form.

“I… asked them to look away. They all did, but once I wasn’t looking, they definitely looked. I’m pretty sure Natasha beat everyone up that did, since they all apologized after. Dr. Green didn’t, and I don’t think Spangles did either, because they’re the only ones that Natasha is currently speaking with.” He said, looking down in what you could only assume was shame.

“Loki, no one will judge you for it, it’s your base form, and you put yourself at risk of ridicule for my safety. They will all respect it.”

“I think you’re right, but it’s not my favorite thing to know that they’ve all… seen me like that. I liked that you were the only one. It was something special.”

You smiled at him, squeezing the hand still holding yours. “You’re still the only one able to touch me, Loki, I think that’s pretty special.”

His eyes found yours and the look in them lit something up inside of you, making you ache for him to be closer and touch you more than he had before. He took a deep breath, before breaking eye contact. “I’m going to go get the doctor so he can check you out, and maybe you can get out of here today and be back in your room tonight.”

After a thorough check up by the doctor, he deemed you healthy enough to sleep in your own bed that night. After giving you pain meds, Loki helped you there, and by the time you were in your bed, you were a little silly on the meds. “Loki?”

He had just put you to bed and was about to leave, but turned back around and sat down beside you. “Yes, popsicle?”

“Stay?” You reached forward and took his hand, tugging on him a little, trying to get him to lay down. Without saying anything, he did as asked, and climbed into bed beside you, pulling you to him. You fell asleep thinking about how perfectly you fit in the curve of his body as his little spoon.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #reader insert #reader fanfiction #loki (marvel)

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starshine583 · 4 years ago

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New Girl on the Block (6)

(the next chapter is heeeeeeeeeeeere!!! hope you guys like it!! there’s also a mini series connected to this called Journal Entries, though I don’t know how long I’m going to be continuing it. Check it out if you feel like it!)

Ch.1 / Ch.5 / Ch.7

Chapter 6: Don’t Be Suspicious

Marinette tilted her head from side to side, doing a subtle dance to the music that played through her earbuds. She tapped her pencil on the desk with the beat and mouthed Jagged Stone’s lyrics as they came, thoroughly enjoying the electric guitar in the background. At Dupont, listening to music with earbuds was a ‘no-no’ despite her efforts. Principle Damocles, along with a few of the teachers, insisted that it hindered their drive to focus and work on school. The thought wasn’t entirely misguided- Marinette was already re-reading this textbook page for the third time with no hope of comprehension in sight -but she enjoyed the liberties that came with her new school nonetheless.

In all honesty, Rosemary didn’t allow headphones either, but the librarian wasn’t a snitch, and Marinette wasn’t a saint. So, during her assigned study halls, she would hop over to the school’s library and jam out to Jagged Stone. It was a nice reprieve from the strict guidelines that Rosemary held for their students and gave her time to unwind before her next round of overly-complicated classes.

She was about ready to start banging her head to the song- the lyrics were just too good -when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Her gaze flicked upwards towards Claude, who was sitting beside her. He’d suggested that they study together during the one study hall they shared, and Marinette, being friends with him and genuinely enjoying his company, agreed. He was actually the one who told her about the lax librarian in the first place.

Once Claude was certain that he had her attention, he tapped a finger to his ear, silently requesting her to take out an earbud. Marinette gladly obliged and paused her Jagged Stone music to hear him better.

“What are you listening to? You look like you’re really jamming out.” He asked curiously.

Marinette held up her phone for him to see the song cover. “Just Jagged Stone. He normally helps me think, but I’m starting to wonder if that only works for design sketches.”

Claude gasped so hard that she thought he was going to choke, and an ear-splitting grin spread across his lips.

“You listen to Jagged Stone too? He’s one of my favorites!” The brunette said enthusiastically.

Marinette straightened with delight. “Seriously? He’s been a favorite of mine since I was twelve!”

“Ten!” Claude trilled.

Elation bubbled up in Marinette’s chest. Finally! Someone to talk to about Jagged Stone! She hadn’t found a kindred spirit since Luka and.. well.. She hasn’t met another Jagged Stone fan in a while.

“Did you hear the new album that just came out?” She asked, folding her arms across the table and leaning onto them. When she first came to Rosemary, she’d naturally assumed that no one there listened to rock. Everyone was prepped and poised and rich. Their tastes were bound to be much ‘finer’ than hers.

Looking at it now, though, it made perfect sense for Claude to listen to Jagged Stone. He was an energetic and passionate person, and that’s what Rock n’ Roll was all about. She also had to remind herself that she was now a Rosemary student. If she listened to rock music, it was possible that her other classmates did as well. The school wasn’t a complete hive mind, after all.

Claude scoffed playfully. “Did I? I was the first in line for the cd! The songs were a total masterpiece!”

Before Marinette could reply, another scoff interrupted their conversation, one that wasn’t nearly as playful. She glanced across the table to Felix, who had looked up from his book. He’d shared the same study hall hour that they did, and Claude, being who he was, coaxed the blond into joining them in the library.

Well.. ‘coax’ probably wasn’t the right word. It was more of Claude dragging Marinette to the table that Felix was already sitting at and convincing Felix to stay seated once they got there.

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and the corners of his lips twitched in a scowl, the same way they always did when he was about to criticize something.

“No type of rock music could ever be considered a ‘masterpiece’,” He stated matter-of-factly, “especially not that man’s noise.”

Marinette gasped, slapping a hand to her chest in offense. “Jagged Stone’s music is not ‘noise’.”

“Forget it, Mari.” Claude cut in, putting a hand on her shoulder as he shot Felix a glare. “This guy will never understand Jagged’s art.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call throwing a bunch of instruments together and screaming into the microphone ‘art’.”

Marinette crossed her arms and huffed. Jagged Stone didn’t scream. His voice was just rough, but even if he did scream, that shouldn’t give Felix the right to be rude. Everyone had their own tastes. Marinette didn’t go around bashing XY fans, now, did she?

“Have you even listened to him?” She asked indignantly.

“I’ve had the unfortunate experience of listening to rock, yes. That’s how I know it’s in bad taste.”

Marinette’s fingers dug into her skin. “But have you listened to Jagged Stone?”

The grated words caused Felix to pause.

“..I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Marinette sighed and tugged out one of her earbuds to hand it to him. “Here.”

Felix rose a brow, not moving an inch. “What do you expect me to do with that?”

“You’re going to listen to at least one of Jagged Stone’s songs.” She told him. “Then you can tell me what you think.”

Felix was an extremely opinionated person. He tended to say exactly what he thought without considering how it would affect others around him. At first, his snaps and snide remarks put her on edge. She would worry about angering him and making him dislike her from the things she’d say or do. But after spending more time around him, Marinette realized that he wasn’t angry as much as he was easily irritated. He would get annoyed at things that he viewed as out of place or illogical, then, after fixing the problem or telling someone else to fix it, he would move on. It just so happened that Allegra, Allan, and Claude were constantly doing things that were ‘illogical’, ‘unnecessary’, and- her personal favorite -‘downright preposterous’.

That being said, Marinette still didn’t enjoy challenging Felix when she disagreed with him. His words were sharp and blunt, whether he meant them to be or not, and arguing was never her strong suit, anyway. Therefore, she found it best to merely listen and watch as the rest of the group continued to push Felix’s buttons relentlessly.

Right now, however, was a different story. Right now he was denouncing an incredibly talented artist who he hadn’t even bothered to listen to before condemning, and Marinette wouldn’t stand for it.

Felix’s gaze shifted to the earbud. She could see the command turning in his mind, could see him deciding between being difficult and resisting or simply being nice for once.

“..Fine,” He relented, taking the offered headphone, “but don’t be upset when my opinion doesn’t change.”

Marinette tried not to smile too much and quickly started scrolling through her playlist to choose a song. If she only had one shot to convince Felix of Jagged’s greatness, she needed to play one of his best works.

“Wow..” Claude remarked. “You actually got him to listen to a song. That’s farther than I’ve ever gotten.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting. Marinette didn’t reply either. She didn’t want to waste the opportunity she’d been given by joking with Claude.

She found a song a few seconds later and eagerly set the phone between them as it began to play. This had been a song that she’d listened to for at least a week or two before moving on to the next one. She knew the lyrics inside out and could quite possibly sing them in her sleep. If anything was going to convince Felix that rock was also a musical art, it would be this song.

Felix’s expression twisted with annoyance as the drums kicked up to join the electric base.

“See, this is what I’m talking about.” He sighed. “The notes are overbearing and chaotic. How can you enjoy it?”

“Because they’re not chaotic.” Marinette replied, gathering all the patience she could. “It might get loud sometimes, but the drums and guitar create a steady beat for Jagged Stone to sing to.”

Just then, Jagged Stone’s voice rang through the headphones, gruff and strong. Marinette’s lips quirked up into an involuntary smile, but Felix, unsurprisingly, wasn’t as thrilled as she was.

“He doesn’t even sing about anything important.” He said. “The words are completely random.”

Marinette resisted the urge to groan. How could someone be so smart yet so stupid at the same time?

“The lyrics aren’t random. And they might not be important to you, but they are to him.” She tried to explain. “Jagged writes about the things he loves and tells it to the world through song. His music is full of passion, and it drives others to be more passionate too. Myself included.”

Felix glanced up at her for a moment, no doubt scrutinizing her claims, and tisked. He then put a hand over his borrowed earbud and closed his eyes to try to listen to the music better.

Although it was a small, begrudging act, Marinette couldn’t help grinning. He didn’t like rock music, didn’t even want to entertain the idea of liking it, yet here he was, listening to Jagged Stone’s music because she asked him to. He was trying hard to understand something she enjoyed, and that meant a lot, especially when one considers how stubborn he can be.

“I suppose I can understand what you mean..” Felix mumbled a few seconds later. “The notes aren’t nearly as melodic as what I’m used to, but it must take some form of talent to mash banging instruments together and make it sound decent.”

Marinette beamed. It was a backhanded comment, but she could accept it.

“Okay, my turn.” She said, extending her hand towards him.

Felix frowned. “Pardon?”

“You said that Jagged Stone isn’t what you’re used to, right? I wanna know what you’re used to.” She replied matter-of-factly. “Let me listen to one of your songs.”

Felix��s frown deepened, but he pulled out his earbuds to hand one to her.

“I suppose I could show you the one I’ve been listening to recently..” He muttered to himself. “Just be careful with these. They’re expensive.”

Marinette happily plucked one of the earbuds out of Felix’s hands and put it on. The cord between the earbuds was shorter than hers, so they both had lean across the table to share. She didn’t mind the closeness, though. They’d only be there for a moment.

When the music finally began, all Marinette could really do was snort. Classical music. Of course Felix would listen to classical music. Each note had a purpose, place, and expression in the song. Yes, other music had that too, but most of the time, there were words that people sang to excuse repetitiveness of the beat. Classical music had to carry its own weight, and that made all the difference.

“What?” Felix asked, referring to her laugh.

Marinette put a hand to her mouth with an apologetic smile. “Oh, nothing. It just makes sense for you to listen to classical music.”

Felix rose a brow, but she waved him off. There was no point explaining it.

“Anyway, I can see why you would like this, because it’s really pretty, but I, personally, find it a little boring.” She said honestly. “The notes are too slow. I would fall asleep before I could finish a song.”

“It’s not just a song, though.” Felix argued. “It’s a story. Listen closer.”

Marinette did as she was told and closed her eyes, putting a hand over her earbud like Felix had done earlier. The piano and violin mingled together in a soft symphony, lulling up and down as the symphony progressed. A lone guitar played a joyful tune in the background.

“The protagonist is admiring their lover.” Felix explained. “They’re making promises of being together always.”

Drums bubbled up behind the piano and violin as the guitar faded, causing the music to shift into a tense atmosphere.

“The father of the lover is coming between them, forcing a separation.”

Violin strings shake with the drums, and the piano gradually grows louder to emphasize the ominous presence. Once the tension is drawn out to its absolute limit, the music breaks with bursts of violins and trumpets, signifying the beginning of a fight.

“The protagonist refuses to back down, and although they are worried, they stand up to fight for their love anyway.”

Marinette cracked an eye open to look at Felix. His eyes were now closed as well, and a soft smile ghosted his lips. She hadn’t taken him to be a romantic, but he appeared to be deeply engrossed in the ‘story’. Did he read romance novels often? She assumed all of the books he carried around were about historical facts or intricate philosophies, not trials of love or daring confessions.

“Do you hear it?” Felix asked, his eyes abruptly opening. Their heads were already close from sharing headphones, but his looking up only brought them closer. It was a miracle their noses didn’t bump together.

Marinette froze, her eyes widening at being caught. Was it weird that she was staring at him before he opened his eyes? It shouldn’t be, right? Staring at your friend wasn’t a crime.

Say something. Marinette’s mind screamed. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say anything. She could hardly even think straight. She was too lost in the roundness of his eyes or how long his eyelashes were or whether she was too close to him and have his eyes always had those little specks of blue in them?

Marinette squeaked, finally gaining enough sense to lurch backwards. Felix’s earbud was tugged out of her ear, but she didn’t care. Right now she needed distance.

“S-sorry!” She blurted out. “I-I mean- uhm -the music was fine, or- great. I-.. I could really hear the- the story.”

Her hands covered her face in a vain attempt to hide her blush. Her cheeks were absolutely burning from embarrassment. How could she get so flustered? Wasn’t it her idea to share the earbuds?

Felix was strangely quiet as he picked up the abandoned earbud and paused the song. Oh gosh, he probably thought she was a total weirdo now. (If he hadn’t thought that already.)

Marinette peeked through her fingers, searching his face for judgement, but he simply wrapped the cord of the earbuds around his phone. Although his eyebrows were furrowed slightly, the rest of his expression was neutral. Was that a good sign or no?

“Yes, that’s why I enjoy it.” He finally said once his phone was put away. His tone was graciously composed, not acknowledging her humiliating outburst. “The composers put real effort and work into their music. They carefully aligned each note to make sure it portrays their story and theme correctly. That’s what I consider to be a masterpiece.”

Marinette nodded. “Y-Yeah.. That makes sense.. I still think Jagged Stone’s music is also a work of art, though.”

She settled back into her original seat, as did Felix.

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.” Felix shrugged.

An astounded laugh came from the left of them, and the two turned back to Claude. Marinette had admittedly forgotten that he was there.

“I, for one, am impressed.” The brunette announced. “You actually got Felix to entertain a different opinion. He never says ‘agree to disagree’! It’s always just ‘you’re wrong’.”

Felix scoffed. “Don’t act like I’m unreasonable. I’m stubborn in my opinions because they’re logical and sound, while your arguments against them are hardly either.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do you think you guys can argue about cephalopods now? I’m supposed to be doing a report on them for science.”

Marinette chuckled, finally relaxing in her chair again. “Sorry, Claude. I don’t have any strong opinions about cephalopods.”

“Maybe if you read a book every once in a while, you’d find something to write about.” Felix added, being ever the supportive one.

“Hey! I do read!” Claude defended. “I just don’t know what to write about. Should I argue a random point about cephalopods or should I just write about a bunch of facts? Am I supposed to list my sources or can I say whatever I want? What does the school board want from me?”

“Claude, you’re a sophomore.” Felix stated bluntly. “If you don’t know how to write papers now, I can’t help you.”

Claude groaned and sunk into his chair, and Marinette offered a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Anyway,” He grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face, “speaking of cephalopods, have you guys heard about the new aquarium exhibit that they just opened at Aquarium de Paris?”

Marinette perked up. “Wait, really? I didn’t know about that!”

“Yeah, I think it’s something to do with the sharks.” Claude smiled. “They’ve got this new tank and everything.”

Marinette wiggled in her seat with delight. She always loved aquariums. “That’s so cool! I’ll have to ask Maman and Papa about going to see it.”

“Oh, why don’t we all go together?” Claude suggested. “I wanna see the new exhibit too, and I’m sure Allegra and Allan will want to go.”

“Sure! When do you think you’ll be free to go see it?”

Claude leaned back in his chair as he thought about it. “Uh.. maybe this Sunday? I don’t think I have anything going on then. Does that work for you?”

“I’ll have to check with my parents, but that should be okay. Do you want me to tell Allan about it during our next class?”

Claude nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll tell Allegra.”

Marinette smiled and turned to Felix. “Are you gonna come with us, Felix?”

A part of her felt awkward asking, as Felix didn’t normally enjoy the group outings, but a bigger part of her would feel guilty if she didn’t invite him when they were inviting everyone else.

Felix glanced up from his book with a questioning gaze. He.. hadn’t been listening.

“We’re going to Aquarium de Paris this Sunday. Are you coming?” Claude asked again.

Felix shrugged. “I suppose Allegra will drag me along either way, so why not?”

Marinette bit her lip to hold back a giddy squeal. This was going to be great! Getting to see all of the new fish and getting to spend time with her new friends? What could be better than that?

~~~~~~

Felix drew in a deep breath as he made his way towards the school exit. Aside from the soft chattering and echoing footsteps of the students around him, it was quiet, and he reveled in the silence while he could. Leaving school alone was a rarity now, especially since Marinette joined their group. Allegra, Claude, and Allan had always been insistent on smothering him with activities, but with the new ‘recruit’, the time they spent together has doubled. The trio wanted everyone to be together constantly. That included Felix.

He sighed, shifting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. The numerous study dates, get-togethers, and group lunches had pushed his social battery to its absolute limit. So the small reprieve was greatly appreciated.

It did feel strange, though, not hearing Claude’s rambling or Allegra’s scolding or Marinette’s laughter. They’d become a steady background noise to the rest of his daily life, and now that they were absent, Felix found himself glancing over his shoulder, waiting for one of them to pop up.

Of course, no one came, and Felix forced his eyes forward to push away the growing anticipation. There was no need to mull over it. He would see them tomorrow at school, and on top of that, they had another outing scheduled for this Sunday to visit the aquarium. By the end of the week, Felix would certainly have his fill of seeing their faces or hearing their voices.

The sun beat down on Felix as he stepped outside, and he welcomed it whole-heartedly. The biting cold of January was never something he fancied, save for the fact that it kept everyone else indoors.

He started down the front stairs, letting his mind wander back to the conversation he’d had with Marinette during their shared study hall. Her boldness during their discussion of musical preferences had surprised him, since she usually steered clear of any confrontations. He couldn’t blame her for her sudden tenacity, though. People tended to be extremely attached to their music, and Felix had criticized her tastes. It only made sense for her to defend herself.

On that note, Jagged Stone? Really? He’d assumed Claude was the only one to have such bizarre tastes. Nevertheless, if Marinette approved of the man, Felix wasn’t going to question too much. She still created those phenomenal designs, after all, meaning she must have a good eye for things.

Bits and pieces of the song that Marinette had requested him to listen to resurfaced in his mind. If he was being honest, it wasn’t as horrible as he’d claimed, but blaring drums and pounding beats simply didn’t help him relax like classical music did.

Felix closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the piano piece he’d shown Marinette a few minutes later. It was a favorite of his, one that he listened to often while reading alone in his room, and he did his best to explain the mastery of the artwork. The passion, the yearning, the love- it can be difficult to express, especially when he hadn’t experienced those things first hand. That’s the main reason he found the piece so interesting.

The image of Marinette’s delicate features flicked through his mind. He’d looked up at her to gawk her reaction, to see if she understood what he was trying to say, but he’d found her staring right back at him instead. Her almond-shaped eyes were round with shock, and he couldn’t help thinking about the first time they met, when he first realized how blue her irises were. They almost reminded him of tiny, swirling oceans, deep and mesmerizing.

When she jerked back a few seconds later, something akin to disappointment had laced through Felix’s stomach, and even now, he wasn’t sure why that was. Perhaps he wanted to admire the color a tad longer.

Either way, Marinette plopped into her seat, her cheeks flushing a dark scarlet, and it was only then that Felix noticed his own racing heartbeat. Again, he was at a loss for the cause. Was it because she startled him by lurching backwards? He didn’t remember flinching.

The screeching of tires pulled Felix from his thoughts, and his gaze turned to the road in front of him. A silver car had parked on the curb.

A frown tugged at the corner of Felix’s lips. That was odd. Parking on the curbs near Rosemary wasn’t allowed unless someone was being picked up or dropped off, yet no students were waving the car down or exiting the vehicle.

The back door to the car swung open, causing Felix to raise a brow. Spoke too soon.

A boy jumped out of the car, his golden blonde hair shining in the sunlight as he ran towards the front steps. Something about him seemed familiar, but Felix couldn’t place his finger on what.

The boy slowed to a stop in front of him and offered a friendly smile. Yeah, Felix has definitely seen this guy before. But where?

“Hey!” The stranger greeted. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a girl. Her name is Marinette?”

Felix narrowed his eyes at the name. Marinette as in Marinette Dupain-Cheng? As in, the girl who was inside talking to Allegra right now? Why would he be looking for her?

“She’s about this tall.” The boy continued, holding his hand just above his shoulder for reference. “She’s got raven-colored hair that she normally puts into pigtails, and wears pink capris and a black jacket. She would have started attending this school about two weeks ago?”

The more he spoke, the more suspicious Felix became. This guy knew a lot about Marinette, but Felix didn’t know a thing about him. Was he a friend? An enemy? Marinette didn’t mention meeting someone after school. Not that she was obligated to share her personal connections and schedules, but what if this was the person that’s been wanting to ‘talk’ with her? The stalker?

Don’t overreact. Felix told himself. This could be a perfectly harmless visit from an old friend of hers. Just because I wasn’t aware of him coming doesn’t mean he has ill intentions.

...but just in case..

“Apologies, but have we met?” Felix asked, dodging the blonde’s question. He didn’t want to disclose Marinette’s location unless he had her permission. There were too many cases where an unknowing co-worker blabbed about the victim’s schedule to the stalker, and he refused to be one of those idiots.

The boy pulled a sheepish expression and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, no, we haven’t, but I can see why you would think that. My face is kind of everywhere with all of the ads Father’s had me model in recently.”

Felix blinked, the mix of familiarity and the boy’s words clicking together in his mind. Of course! This was that same, obnoxious face that Paris has been obsessed with for the better half of five years. The amount of billboards and posters of this guy that were plastered around the city was enough to make Felix gag. He couldn’t look in any direction without seeing him!

“You’re Adrien Agreste.” He stated, a hint of irritation accidentally rising to his tone. Not only has this ‘sunshine child’- or so Paris called him -been plaguing his eyes for at least two years since Gabriel upped his campaigning game, he also happens to have the same name that was scribbled on Marinette’s birthday cards, the ones she’d offered to give away. Was that a coincidence?

Felix was leaning towards ‘no’.

“Yep.” Adrien chuckled. “That’s me. Anyway, is she here? I really need to talk with her.”

“He really just wants to ‘talk’.”

Marinette’s bitter words resurfaced in his mind, and Felix narrowed his eyes. The chances of Adrien Agreste being an enemy were steadily rising.

“I’m afraid I don’t know a girl by that name or description,” he lied, “and there hasn’t been a new student here since last year.”

If Adrien turned out to truly be one of Marinette’s friends, he would apologize, but Felix wasn’t going to risk compromising her if his suspicions were correct.

Confusion etched its way onto the blond’s features, and he glanced down at the ground as he muttered, “I could have sworn she said ‘Rosemary’..”

Felix rose a brow. Marinette told him which school she was attending? Or did another girl give him the information?

Before either could say anything more, a car horn sounded in front of them, and Adrien glanced over his shoulder to the driver of the silver car.

“Ah, I gotta go. Thanks for your help!”

Felix didn’t bother returning Adrien’s wave, instead watching him hop down the front steps. Although it would annoy him, he hoped that the blond actually was a friend of Marinette’s, for her sake. He can’t imagine her being happy with the news that someone had followed her to school.

“Oh, hey, Felix! I thought you were leaving.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear..

The silver car had just disappeared around the corner when the girl in question skipped down the front steps next to him. She flashed him a bright smile, making his insides churn with guilt. Should he tell her? She needed to know, right?

“I was,” He said, choosing his next words carefully, “but I got held up.”

Marinette chuckled. “I know how that goes.”

Felix nodded, his gaze shifting to the side. He didn’t want to worry her, but he couldn’t let her be ignorant of a possibly dangerous situation either.

“.. Were you, by chance, expecting anyone at the school today?”

Marinette frowned and shook her head, unfortunately confirming Felix’s concerns. “No, why?”

“Well..” He hesitated. “Someone stopped by and asked for you. A man by the name Adrien Agreste.”

Marinette’s entire body went rigid, and the blood drained from her face. Felix held back a grimace at the sight. She looked more frightened than two weeks ago when she first ran into the school to hide.

“D-Did you-”

“No.” Felix cut her off, already knowing what she was going to ask. “I told him you didn’t attend this school.”

Her shoulders slumped with relief, but he could still see the nervousness in her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness.. Thank you so much, Felix.”

“Is he the one who wanted to talk to you two weeks ago?”

Marinette faltered at the question, but nodded. “He went to my old school..”

Felix frowned. If he remembered his mother’s ramblings correctly, Adrien Agreste started attending Dupont not too long ago. Was that Marinette’s old school then?

“His father’s a powerful man.” He said. “You need to be careful.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Oh no! I mean- Thank you for the warning.. But Adrien isn’t like that. He’s persistent, but he doesn’t threaten people.”

Felix wasn’t entirely sure that he believed that, but he wouldn’t argue. Marinette was dealing with enough already. “I believe he said something about a girl telling him that you’re attending Rosemary, but he didn’t mention the name of her.”

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together. “A girl?”

“Yes, something like ‘I could have sworn she said Rosemary’.”

Marinette chewed on her bottom lip, obviously troubled by the news. Felix didn’t blame her. Stalking can be a serious matter. (even if she didn’t quite consider it stalking.)

“Would you like me to drive you home?” He offered, yet again.

And again, Marinette refused by shaking her head.

“Thanks, but it’s only two blocks. I’ll be fine.” She assured.

The decision didn’t sit well with him, but Felix nodded anyway. It wasn’t his place to tell her what she could or couldn’t do, or what precautions he personally thought she should take.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He said, finally continuing his descent down the stairs.

“Yep, see you tomorrow.” Marinette smiled.

They parted ways after that, Marinette heading down the sidewalk and Felix going to find his driver, but the urge to watch her didn’t leave his mind until she completely vanished around the corner.

Felix sighed, tapping his finger against the car door as he settled into the backseat of his car. Why did he want to follow her so badly?

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette

#Felix Culpa #Marinette #New Girl on the Block #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids #felinette

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high-functioning-lokipath · 4 years ago

Text

Strange Times - Dr. Steven Strange x Reader - Words: 2,225

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Sorry if Dr. Strange is a bit OOC because I'm not SUPER experienced with his character but I wanted to give him a shot! Hope you like my other fandom references 😜 Let me know if you pick up on them!

"Y/N," Hawkeye said, walking up to you. "You've got a mission." Your eyebrows raised dramatically as you lifted your gaze from the bowl of cereal you were currently consuming.

"Me?" You asked mid-chew. Clint rolled his eyes at your manners, or lack thereof, but nodded.

"You're ready," He assured you. Him, along with the other Avengers, had been training you now for the past few months. While your control over your power had greatly improved, you still weren't completely confident in yourself. "All it involves is catching a guy who'd been working in Research and Development on one of Stark's projects. He apparently decided he could get more money if he stole it and sold it to the other side so we need to catch him before the deal goes through. He should be landing in Madrid now. The deal is set for tomorrow morning. You have until then."

"Okay," You said slowly. "I guess I'll get ready then?"

"Yep!" He chirped, grinning brightly. You grumbled about the lack of prep time and stalked away trying to hide your nerves. You got dressed and left in record time. The small jet you'd been assigned for your mission had the location pre-entered, thanks again to Hawkeye, so you reviewed the file during the flight.

"Great!" You groaned, going off on a rant to yourself as you kept reading. "He's stolen an unstable prototype of a personal time travel device! How was this guy not checked out before? Matt Smith doesn't sound suspicious at all!" The computer on the jet beeped at you and you saw that you were approaching the landing site. Quickly putting the file away, you prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Once you landed you carefully made your way to the small hotel Smith was supposedly staying in for the night. Your first obstacle, of course, was persuading the clerk to let you look at the guest list. Once you did, however, you quickly snuck up to his room on the 3rd floor and went in.

"Well well well," You heard someone say once the door closed behind you. You whipped around and saw a shadowy figure in the corner. "I mustn't have made a very strong impression if the Avengers sent me fresh meat. Poor girl. You have no idea what you're up against do you?" He flicked a light on and you saw the prototype in his hand.

"You're right. I don't. But neither do you," You retorted. Concentrating on the barriers of the room, you lifted the gravity in it while keeping yourself grounded. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," You smirked. "So why don't we make this easier on the both of us and you hand it over now?"

"Well, you make a good argument. But how about no?" He smirked back. You felt a click around your wrists and were suddenly pulled back against the wall. "I have heard of you, my dear," He sneered. "So I was well prepared for any of you." As he revealed the small propulsion device he was wearing, he started gliding towards you, no longer affected by the lack of gravity in the room. "I don't really want to hurt you," he said. "I just want you to watch as everything you've ever known is destroyed!" As he continued monologuing, you noticed orange sparks appearing behind him. At first you thought he was activating the device. But moments later, the sparks turned into a circular portal and a tall man with a red cape stepped through.

"Hand over the proto-whoa!" He yelled as he was inadvertently affected by your gravity manipulation when he entered the room. His cape though seemed to react and started flapping, pushing him back towards the ground. "As I was saying," He said, clearing his throat and trying to regain his dignity. "Hand it over."

"Why should I, Strange? Of what use is it to you?"

"Doctor Strange!" You thought. "That's who he is!" You'd heard of him before but had never met or seen him. While you did wonder why he was there, you were awfully glad for the help.

"I was bored and needed some entertainment," He shrugged. "Now if you don't mind, I'll be taking that now." Strange reached out to grab the device out of the man's hand but you noticed Smith was going to try to fly away. You quickly adjusted the gravity again, keeping everyone on the ground.

"Hey!" Smith yelled. "That's not nice!" You rolled your eyes and Strange easily snatched the device from him. Smith struggled to reach for it but Strange smirked.

"Be a dear?" He said to, apparently, his cape. The cape flew off his back and curled it's one corner around the device. It then hovered up near the ceiling, out of reach.

"So that's why Stark said his costume was creepy," You thought, chuckling lightly. Strange glanced at you oddly but didn't address it.

"Could you-" He trailed off, motioning slightly around him.

"Oh! Sure!" You replied quickly, letting the gravity return to normal. Smith immediately tried to get away but Strange pulled out an odd glowy rope and whipped it around him effectively restraining him for the moment.

"Not so fast," He said to the man. Turning to you he motioned for you to come closer. He made short work of the cuffs on your wrists before transferring them to Smith' own hands. "Ok, off you go," He said, opening a portal in front of the man. He unceremoniously shoved him through and closed it behind him. "He'll be taken care of," Strange said to you, motioning for the cape to return to him. He then handed the prototype back to you.

"Thanks," You mumbled, feeling quite silly that you couldn't handle the mission on your own. "Why did you come here anyways? Did Stark or one of the others send you?"

"No, I came on my own. You see, I keep a watch list of individuals and beings from all realms that may be a threat to this world. When Mr. Matt Smith there stole that device, he jumped to the top."

"Oh," You said. "Well, I suppose I'd better get back. I'll probably need to debrief and should probably train a bit more so I can handle myself better next time."

"You did fairly well for someone without much experience although you certainly need more training." You rolled your eyes at his statement. Having heard of his reputation for being snarky, however, you weren't all that fazed. "Perhaps you would like to come to the Sanctum with me? I'm quite sure we have a book that could help you." Now that surprised you. You didn't expect him to be nice at all. Maybe he's not as bad as Loki said he was.

"So, is the Sanctum a fancy library and you're the fancy librarian?" You joked. He laughed and shook his head.

"The Sanctum is much more than that and Wong is the fancy librarian!" He grinned. He opened a portal in front of you that, apparently, led to the Sanctum. Before stepping through it, though, you remembered your own transportation.

"Oh! Actually I have a jet I came in. Can we take that back? I just know I'll be read the riot act if I leave it behind," You said.

"That would be fine," He replied. "Besides, it will give us more time to get to know each other better." A light blush rose to your cheeks as you followed the Doctor out.

"Am I crazy or is he flirting with me?" You thought. "Crazy, definitely crazy." As you kept walking, your internal monologue also continued. "He is quite handsome though," you mused. "Kinda looks like that guy from the tv show BFF/N watches."

"Nice cape," You commented, trying to make conversation. The cape seemed to bristle at your comment and he smoothed it softly at his side.

"It's a cloak, not a cape. And it's the Cloak of Levitation, an ancient relic."

"Oh," You said quietly. "Sorry."

"Quite alright. It's easily confused to the untrained eye." He paused for a moment before adding, "And thank you." You smiled slightly and continued walking in silence.

"So what's your name?" He asked, once you got in the jet.

"My name-name? Or my made-up name?"

"Both," He replied, entering the Sanctum's address into the computer.

"Well, my name is Y/F/N, but I go by Andromeda Nova, or Nova for short."

"Not bad," He said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "So tell me about yourself, Nova." He'd taken off his cape before he sat and now it was hovering near him.

"Alright," You said nervously. You were slightly intimidated by the more experienced superhero who suddenly seemed to be interrogating you but you went ahead with telling him your story of how you got your powers.

"So you went to the Avengers for help?"

"Yes. I had no idea how to control it and, well, everyone that I had been friends with before were afraid of me except for BFF/N." You giggled slightly and smirked. "I guess you could say you met me at a very strange time in my life." He laughed heartily at your pun and you relaxed a bit. As you continued telling him about your training with the Avengers, you decided to take off your own cape and tossed it over a nearby chair. Eventually, however, you got tired of just hearing your own voice since he kept asking you questions rather than speak himself. "Do you mind if I put on some music while we talk?"

"Oh not at all!" He replied excitedly. You grabbed the tablet that controlled the sound system and scrolled through the library.

"Any preferences, Strange?"

"Whatever you want." You nodded and scrolled a bit more before finally hitting shuffle on one of your favorite playlists. "And, you can call me Stephen if you want." Seconds after the song started, he smirked.

"Waka Waka, Shakera, 2010." Your jaw dropped, eyebrows raising comically. "Surprised?" You nodded, speechless. "Let's try another, shall we? Computer, next song." The next song started and now it was your turn to grin. Just before he opened his mouth, you beat him to it.

"Ride, Twenty One Pilots, 2015. Computer, next song." He raised one eyebrow, impressed, before closing his eyes to concentrate on the next song.

"Just The Way You Are, Bruno Mars, 2010," You said at the same time. He smiled widely and let the song continue for the moment. Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, you got up to look, almost doubling over in a fit of giggles.

"Should we be concerned?" You asked the doctor, who seemed just as shocked as you when he walked over to see what you were looking at. Apparently Cloak had gotten the dancing bug and decided your cape would make an excellent partner.

"I have no idea," He replied, biting back a laugh. "It's been a while since he's been with another cape, so," He trailed off, both of you laughing once again. "Wait, is yours a cape or a cloak?"

"Whatever it is, he likes it!" You exclaimed, watching the odd waltz continue. Once your laughter calmed, you noticed he was staring at you. You cleared your throat and looked at him questioningly. "That, um, that's a lovely dress. A, uh, very nice color," He said quickly, stumbling over his words.

"Uh-huh, sure," You said, sarcastically.

"Really! It is!" He cried, embarrassed that you caught him staring.

"Yeah, well, my BFF keeps saying it's the same color as Sherlock's purple shirt of-woah!" You suddenly were thrown off balance as Cloak flew over and shoved you toward Stephen, who, of course, caught you before you fell.

"I'm so sorry," He quickly said. "Apparently he needs a reminder that, while he is the Cloak of Levitation, he's not my wingman." He said the last part in almost a hiss, directed at the offending object. Cloak shrugged and, if it had eyes, you were sure it would have rolled them.

"It's quite alright," You assured him. Realizing you were still in his arms you blushed brightly. "Maybe I should-"

"The music's still playing," He interrupted.

"And?"

"May I have this dance?" He smirked.

"I suppose," You sighed. "But only because I think you'll be a better partner than capey over there." Cloak, who was still nearby, reached out to whack you for your comment. Strange quickly whipped open a portal instead in front of the fabric and you heard a yell from the other side before Cloak quickly retreated and he closed it.

"Who was that?" You asked.

"Cloak may or may not have just accidentally slapped Wong's backside." Cloak crossed what you supposed was his arms and had the audacity to look upset. You shook your head and chuckled lightly.

"I have a strange feeling we'll get along just fine," You smiled, holding your hands out to him for your dance. He smiled back and took your hands, swaying gently to the music.

"Only time will tell."

In An Unidentified Location Only One Portal Away

Matt takes a look around to make sure no one is watching him. "Well, it would seem my work here is done," He said, grinning to himself. "Toodle-oo!"

Marvel (all characters) Taglist

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@whatafuckingdumbass

@ladylulu143

@lokislittlesigyn

@gaitwae

#marvel #avengers #dr. strange x reader #dr. strange imagine #dr. strange #strange x reader #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #dr stephen strange #dr stephen Strange x reader

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mariamermaid · 4 years ago

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Crush

Modern! Harry Potter x fem!Granger!Reader

Summary: Y/N Granger, the absolute Queen amongst the students, with many admirers and even Harry himself, finds himself falling for his best friends sister.

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Requested anonymous: “heyaaa, can you make harry potter x fem reader in which the reader is hermonie's elder sister and very popular in the school and harry has massive crush on her? like the song crush by tessa violet?” I also decided to write this in a more modern style! I feel like all my Harry Potter imagines end at a party?? But who cares.

Your laughter echoed through the hall before any of them could even see you. Harry immediately felt his heart speeding up, while Hermione next to him, only let out a sigh. You turned the corner and Harry, Hermione and Ron finally made eye contact with you. You had joked with Cedric Diggory and Harry felt an even deeper sting in his chest. Quickly, you waved your goodbye at the Hufflepuff boy before joining your sister and her friends.

“Mione, you look like seven days of rain were just announced!”

Hermione only rolled her eyes, no one really fully understood how the two of you were related. Ever since beginning your education a year prior to Hermione´s, you had been crowned one of the most popular students. Unlike her, who especially struggled with making friends in her first weeks, you were at ease with social contacts. Another difference was your approach at studying, you simply didn´t enjoy spending hours and hours at the library and yet, you weren´t bad at any subjects. You weren´t class best, but at the top five. Outgoing, adventurous, funny and charming; it was no wonder why everyone seemed to like you.

Usually, your popularity wasn´t a problem for your younger sister, but lately Hermione realized a changed she wasn´t very fond of.

Harry.

Within the past weeks, he had been daydreaming a lot and barely focused on anything anymore. And unlike Ron, who was probably last to find out if he wasn´t explicitly told, Hermione quickly realized why that was.

I can't focus on what needs to get done

I'm on notice hoping that you don't run,

“Haha, very funny Y/N!” You nudged her side grinning. “So, what are you guys up to anyways? Trouble I reckon?” Ron and Harry smiled as you chatted with them.

“Hermione makes us study for the upcoming potions exam”, Ron explained, which annoyed Hermione even more and you laughed lightly. “Ron, you should start listening to her, pretty sure she´s the only reason you haven´t failed.” You turned to the boy with the glasses.

“What about you Harry? Sentenced to study as well?”

Harry opened his mouth, but before any words left his lips, Hermione pulled him closer.

“Yes, his talent won´t let him pass all the exams!”

You gave the two boys a pitiful pout, but then switched back to your smirk.

“Anyways, I´ll have a date at Hogsmead to try on the upcoming summer collection!”

You think I'm tepid but I'm misdiagnosed

'Cause I'm a stalker, I seen all of your posts,

Two hours later, Harry got a notification on his phone; Y/N uploaded a picture on Wizagram! Hermione, who was currently too focused on Ron, didn´t see how Harry sneakily took his phone and hid it beneath the desk. You stood smiling widely in the shop Feathers and Fabrics, wearing a dress from the newest collection. Even though you had posted the picture only minutes ago, the likes were already rolling in and the comments didn´t hold back as well.

Harry read your caption; Guys, this is only a small sneak peek, just wait there will be more!

And I'm just tryna play it cool now

But that's not what I wanna do now

And I'm not tryna be with you now, you now

A lot of the comments were from female students. “You look so stunning!”

But then again, a few of your male followers couldn´t hold back. “Gee Y/n, is it hot in here, or is you?”

Harry felt heat rushing up to his head, but tried to play it cool, so his friends wouldn´t notice. Quickly he hit like and put the phone away, trying to focus back on studying. But the words in front of him were beginning to blur and tumble. You weren´t dating anyone currently, but everybody knew you had enough options. Fred and George even made bets on it, secretly hoping one of them could win you for themselves. Each time the topic was discussed, Harry felt the pit in his stomach, digging deeper and deeper. He was the chosen one, but would you ever choose him?

Hermione noticed her friend beginning to trail off, but it wasn´t the right time to address it yet.

The weekend approached, the old game of Gryffindor against Slytherin was in everybody’s mouth. Harry was just getting dressed for the game, then his eyes fell back on his phone. He unlocked it and found himself back on Wizagram, you had posted a boomerang in your story with the Weasley twins. Both of them wore their Quidditch uniform and leaned forward to kiss your cheek. You wore a hat with the Gryffindor colors and a light dress in red, while grinning widely into the camera. “Rooting for my fave team!”

Both Fred and George as well the Gryffindor Quidditch Account, who was proudly run by Oliver Wood, were tagged in the story. Harry quickly scrolled past, realizing that each of the tagged Accounts had reposted your story. It was stupid to think you wouldn´t root for him, but he wasn´t tagged, was he?

It’s a stupid crush, Harry reminded himself, but even later when he stepped onto the field with the team, his eyes only searched for you in the crowd.

But you found his glance as well, offering him a reassuring smile. It´s all he needed, those very few seconds of your attention and the game started.

The game was at tie, but the rooting and shouts from the fans kept going either way. Harry tried to play cool as he searched the arena, secretly searching for you. As he found you again, you hadn´t even moved from your seat, he noticed your eyes guiding him. Just above the tower of the Hufflepuffs, the golden snitch hovered. He didn´t have time to rethink and his muscles moved on their own as he leaned forward to start rushing. Draco tried his best to follow, but he was at the other end, and Harry easily caught the snitch and held it up proudly.

“And Harry Potter proves again, Gryffindor is unbeatable this season!” The speakers echoed and the crowd went even more crazy than before. All Harry could think about however, was he had to thank you. But the moment he landed back on his feet, he was carried off to the Gryffindor room, where the party immediately started.

It felt like eternity, until he finally found you in the overfilled place. But there you stood, smiling innocently at him, like you had been waiting all along for him to approach.

“I think I owe you a thank you.”

You make it difficult to not overthink

And when I'm with you I turn all shades of pink,

I wanna touch you but don't wanna be weird

It's such a rush, I'm thinking wish you were here,

Harry had to lean forward in order for you to hear him, feeling as your hair brushed against his skin. You winked at him. “Yeah, you do, but we´ll keep it between us.”

He wanted to lean further, his hand twitched as he tried not to reach out and touch the bare skin of your arms. Even your smell felt divine to him. Before he could speak up again, Niall Atkinson, he was a year older than you, wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Y/n, let´s dance!” He offered loudly as he pulled you closer. In the same second, Ron, Fred and George swept Harry into their circle to begin dancing as well, even though it was more an uncontrolled jumping. Harry could only catch your apologizing glance, before the space closed and the two of you were pulled into different directions.

And I'm just tryna play it cool now

But that's not what I wanna do now

And I'm not tryna be with you now, you now

He truly wanted to celebrate the success with his team, but his attraction craved more of your presence. But what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I have to run after the girl, that everybody anyway wants and is also my best friends’ older sister, but my biggest crush?

No, he couldn’t.

So, he tried to overplay it, danced and jumped around with Ron, but the shine in his eyes was gone. Hermione sat on the stairs, glancing back and forth between you and Harry. She knew both of you well enough, to tell that neither of you were fully happy at the moment. An inaudible sigh escaped her mouth, what was once jealousy, turned into sadness. Yes, her best friend had the biggest crush on her sister, but what no one knew, was your crush. You had never told Hermione, or anyone for that matter, but the reason why you never accepted a date offer, was because the wrong people asked you out. Hermione didn´t fear losing Harry as a friend anymore, she much more feared that the two of you never even got a chance to be happy together, and instead ended unhappily alone. She had to do something.

Then, an idea formed in her brilliant mind.

You starred on your phone; Harry had sent you a dm on Wizagram. He had never texted you, your history simply persisted in you tagging him, when you posted stories. Usually, you hung around Hermione at the three broomsticks and more so often, you tagged the trio in your account.

I wanted to talk to you, can we meet outside at the corner to the girl’s bathroom?

Your heart skipped a beat, quickly you looked up to check, if anyone had noticed your blush, no one had. You couldn´t make out Harry either, but you quickly excused yourself from Niall. Whatever was happening, you found it quite exhilarating. You answered with a quick yes and Hermione hastily logged out of Harry´s account. Harry was a brilliant wizard with many talents, but writing down his password in his herbology book wasn´t the smartest move.

Hermione grinned, her plans always worked out.

But I could be your crush, like, throw you for a rush, like

Hopin' you'd text me so I could tell you

I been thinking 'bout your touch like

“Harry!” The brown-haired boy looked up to find his friend approaching him, Hermione smiled brightly. Almost too brightly, but Harry wasn´t focused enough to realize that something was up.

“Have you seen Y/n?”

Harry quickly shook his head and Hermione, good actress as she was, put on a thinking mien.

“I haven´t seen her as well, just wanted to make sure she´s okay, she´s been so quiet lately.”

“Quiet? I didn´t notice”, Harry explained and Hermione could literally watch how his thoughts began running around you. “I´m sure it´s nothing, but I think I´m going to check her room.”

“I can check outside!” Harry quickly announced, she had to suppress a laughter, he was easily tricked. But instead, Hermione nodded agreeing and while she only took the first few steps up, Harry hurried outside, not wasting any time. Only seconds before, you had left the room as well. Everything was coming together.

Touch, touch, touch, touch, touch

I could be your crush, crush, crush, crush, crush

I got a fascination with your presentation

Makin' me feel like you're on my island

You're my permanent vacation

Touch, touch, touch, touch, touch

You stood outside, hiding behind a corner and almost disappearing in a nook, but Harry immediately recognized your figure. You looked up from the phone in your hands and felt as a smile crawled upon your lips. Harry felt his heart fastening and he approached with swift feet.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked with worries in his voice, your brows furrowed. Something felt off, but you pushed that feeling to the side. It was probably just your nervousness. “Yeah, I´m good, are you enjoying your party?”

Harry shrugged, his eyes traveling to the floor. “It´s always a bit of the same, isn´t it?”

You nodded agreeing and a short, awkward silence formed. “What was it, you wanted to talk to me about?”

Harry looked up, now confusion in his expression as well. He wondered, if you had noticed his change of behavior towards you. But he never mentioned it out loud, or did?

But you watched his reaction closely, something clearly was up and while Harry was still trying to piece everything together, you took out your phone again. Holding up the screen, which enlightened the dark hallway, you showed him the text.

“Y/n, I´m so sorry, I don´t know how… I didn´t send that text…” Harry stumbled over the words and regret rolled over him. It wasn´t his fault, and yet he felt responsible for pulling you away from the party. You on the other hand felt shame rising and your cheeks heated with fire. His text had seemed too surprising from the beginning on, you should´ve known better. You felt stupid and wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and never come out again. Stupid crush!

Letting out a loud sigh, you sat down on the bench of the nook, putting your hands to cover your face.

“Did you just say stupid crush?”

Oh, if it was heat in your cheeks before, then hell just got unleashed. Where is that hole of shame, when you needed it the most?

Harry carefully sat down next to you, with your hands still up, you only felt the slight air breeze. “I shouldn´t be saying this, you´re Hermione´s sister, but I like you.” He paused shortly.

“A lot. More than I ever should.”

Swiftly, you glanced through your fingers at him. “You do?”

Barely a whisper as you opened your mouth, but enough to watch as Harry nodded. Slowly you took down your hands, now starring at him with a blank expression.

“Why did you never say anything?”

Harry couldn´t help but huff. “Y/n, have you seen yourself? You´re school queen, nobody hates you, not even Draco Malfoy! You´re always on top of the grades and basically the entire Quidditch team has a crush on you. On the side, you´re head girl and you´re modeling for Feathers and Fabrics. And to all that, you don´t even realize, how undeniably stunning you look and how your kind words inspire me every day?”

I could be your crush, crush, crush, crush, crush

Sorry

And yeah, it's true that I'm a little bit intense, right

But can you blame me when you keep me on the fence, like?

And I've been waitin', hopin' that you'd wanna text like

Text like

It's what I was born to do

And yeah, it's true that I'm a little bit intense, right

As he spoke, you jumped off your seat, feeling a wave of way too many feelings rave inside of you. “Harry Potter!”

Finally, he looked up as well and just to find you gaping at him. “Why by Merlin´s beard, would I care about the Quidditch team? Do you think I don´t know about the bets going on, on who´s going to be my boyfriend? The only reason because I don´t have a boyfriend yet, is because the only boy I´m interested in, was too shy to ask me out! And imagine, he´s brave enough to fight Voldemort instead!”

It was Harry´s turn to search for that hole of shame and he couldn´t help, but facepalm himself. There was no way that the situation could’ve been more awkward and playing cool wasn´t an option either. You listened to your heartbeat slowing down and your chest lifted heavily after your outburst.

“If I had known about your crush…” You trailed off, your words now barely a whisper anymore.

And I'm just tryna play it cool now

But that's not what I wanna do now

And I'm not tryna be with you now, you now

Finally, Harry lifted himself off the bench as well, walking towards you. “I didn´t send that text, but maybe I can ask you out in real life?”

A shy smile was on his lips, it suited him so well in the dim light.

“I´d like that very much.”

Carefully, you leaned forward, feeling his warm breath on your skin. “But let´s not tell anyone just yet, we have to find a way to get back to my sister.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrow, but quickly realized as well, who had hacked his account.

“Sounds like a good plan.”

Grinning, you finally felt his warm lips brushing against yours. It had taken a couple of misleadings, but your crush had found its way in the end.

But I could be your crush, like, throw you for a rush, like

Hopin' you'd text me so I could tell you

I been thinkin' 'bout your touch like

#harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #harry potter x reader #daniel radcliffe #harry potter fanfiction #mariamermaidimagine

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years ago

Text

secret santa | kth x reader

secret santa | kim taehyung x reader

genre | bff2l, fluff

summary | What you thought was an ingenious plan to figure out the perfect gift for your secret santee turns out to take a whole bunch of wrong turns, but with the best outcomes.

rating | NC-17

word count | 6.2k words

warnings | some profanities (it’s like... once LOL), mentioned breakups, it’s Christmas in the context of a pandemic

a/n | Merry Christmas everybuddy 🎄✨ here is a lighthearted (or at least it was until i hit the 6am point of the night while writing slkdjflkjd) lil christmas gift to everyone, but mostly to myself LOL bcos I’m finally posting a fic about the one who owns my heart in its entirety 😌

Christmas without you would just not be Christmas at all

Bright mistletoes up above us, it’s just you and me

-- V, Snow Flower

“C’mon, ____,” Taehyung whines. He plops down on the couch next to you and puts his big, round eyes to good use, giving you the puppy dog eyes treatment.

Well too bad for Taehyung, having known him for the last decade has granted you immunity against his pouty antics. There’s a couple of things that Taehyung employs in a bid to get what he wants. First, he’ll whine. Next, he’ll attempt to reason it out with you… or as much as he can convincingly reason with the pout still laced thick in his tone. If that fails, he’ll try bargaining. And finally, if none of the aforementioned has managed to sway you, he’ll just pout in silence.

“That’s the thing about Secret Santas, Tae, they’re supposed to be, y’know, secret.”

“Well, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who your santee is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

There it is. Stage two.

You ignore him and return to scrolling through Amazon in what you hope is a nonchalant manner.

“What if I guess who it is?” he tries.

When you don’t reply, he continues, “Is it Hoseok?” He runs a hand through his golden locks in thought. “No, buying for Yoongi is easy because all he ever wants is practical things like planners. You wouldn’t need help with that. Hm… Is it Seokjin?”

He rambles on about different kitchenware that could make a good present for Jin, a ramble that would have been really helpful if only Jin were actually your secret santee.

Taehyung gasps and falls silent, shocking you into finally looking up from your phone. His already round eyes are even rounder, wide as they are in shock. A hand hovers over his mouth as he goes still.

Then, as suddenly as he had gasped, he relaxes into a laugh.

“For a moment, I thought your secret santee was me,” he says, chuckling. A jolt runs through you, and your breath hitches in a way that you pray is unnoticeable. “But you’re too shitty a liar to do that.”

“Hey!” You jab his side playfully and he yelps. “What do you mean? I’m a great liar.”

“That’s a blatant and unconvincing lie right there.”

You fold your arms and turn away.

“I know you’re not actually mad, ____,” comes his sing-song voice, crossing his arms behind his head and reclining into the couch.

Letting out another huff, you turn further away. So when he grabs your hands and pulls you to face him, it startles you a little.

His eyes search yours, and you can’t help yourself from stumbling into their depths. The seriousness in his gaze holds yours intently.

But just as you think he’s about to apologize, his eyes melt into little crescent moons as he grins. “So. Who’s your secret santee?”

His cry comes out muffled under the cushion you hit him with.

An exasperated groan leaves you the moment you close the front door. Tipping your head back to rest against the solid wood, you shut your eyes. You hear footsteps pad closer.

“I take it your plan didn’t succeed?” Irene says, leaning against the wall as she takes in your defeated stance.

“Nope,” you say, picking yourself back up and hanging up your scarf and coat. Your roommate’s still in the same fuzzy pyjamas she was in when you’d left for Tae’s earlier in the day, and honestly, she’s got the right idea. You’re ready to get back into jammies too.

A Lifetime movie plays in the background, and you’d be willing to bet your life’s savings -- not that there’s much when you’re but a struggling student -- that she’s got a mug of hot chocolate to accompany her.

“Another Christmas movie?” you scoff in mock disgust. “How are you not sick of them yet?”

“What else are we supposed to do during a quarantined Christmas?”

“Don’t kid yourself. You’d be doing this even without the quarantine.”

“Hey. If you detest it so much, I heard that Taehyung’s place has many vacant rooms right now.”

You roll your eyes. She got that information from you. Both his roommates were gone from the apartment for the time being, one went back home for the holidays and another had chosen to attend the entire semester from home since everything was online anyway, leaving Taehyung with the luxury of the entire apartment to himself.

Meanwhile, Irene was making full use of the ongoing situation to evade going back home for the holidays. Too much family drama to allow her to binge-watch her holiday flicks in peace, she’d said.

And you? It’s kinda awful, but you’ve chosen to remain in your apartment just slightly off-campus so that you could get a head start on your research for your thesis, the campus library’s offerings much more vast than the local neighborhood library of your small town hometown.

Upon hearing this, Taehyung had offered to stay to keep you company over the holidays. “We’ve spent every Christmas together ever since we were kids, Christmas would just feel too weird without you,” he’d said. “And then we can join the gang’s Zoom Christmas celebration together too! I heard that’s what Namjoon and Jin will be doing since they’re both in the city over Christmas.”

How you’d managed to keep yourself from melting into a puddle of goo at his casual selflessness was a real feat. Taehyung had always been close to his family, and often missed them intensely while you guys were miles apart from home each college semester. So for him to give up a trip back home so you could still have a piece of home with you over Christmas was not a small sacrifice.

“Hellooo?” Irene waves a hand in your face. You jump, jolted out of your thoughts. “Are you actually daydreaming about it? Ooh, staying over at your crush’s place with no one else around… saucy things could happen, ____.”

Although that wasn’t what you were thinking about, you still feel the heat rise to your cheeks at being caught daydreaming about Taehyung. Instead, you give a feeble excuse to get Irene off your back, “I’m just thinking about secret santa gifts again. Ugh, why’d I have to draw him of all people?!”

“Are you sure you aren’t overthinking this because of your feelings? How difficult is it to think of a gift for a guy you’ve been friends with since you were kids? What about his interests?”

“That’s real tough. His hobbies are so whimsical and oftentimes just impulsive. Remember the phase with the film camera? And then the short-lived violin phase? And the piano phase? The only outcome of that phase is him playing the Chopstick Waltz every single time we pass by a piano.”

“Well, what about something that’s been a constant in his life then through all the phases?”

You purse your lips in thought, weighing the thought. It’s not a bad suggestion, but what has been a constant for him all this time?

Coming up with naught, you sigh and turn to head to your room. “I’ll think about it while I get changed back into my jammies.”

When you described Taehyung’s ideas and interests as being whimsical and oftentimes impulsive, this is exactly what you meant.

“Tae, I don’t think it’s gonna fit. Why’d you get such a big one?”

“You just have to believe, ____. We just need faith, trust, and- well actually, maybe just faith and a really good, hard thrust.”

“I feel like there’s so many that’s what she said jokes to be made here.”

“Wasting your energy on that line of thinking is the reason why we haven’t gotten this christmas tree through the door yet.”

With one more solid push, the widest part of the tree finally makes it through the narrow doorway of Taehyung’s apartment, and the two of you go stumbling forward with the extra momentum.

“We did it!” he exclaims, wrapping you up in a hug. “You believed!”

Internally cursing yourself for the way your heart has the audacity to stutter at his touch. The hug is nothing- the warmth that seeps from his body to yours is familiar because hugs are nothing special in your friendship. Even in your grade school memories, Taehyung had always been a tactile person, giving out hugs generously and demanding them in return by simply throwing himself at people to be received in an embrace, coerced or not. As you and your peers grew older, Taehyung became more aware and withheld himself from his sudden hug attacks, especially towards the other girls. But not you. He felt no need to skirt around things with you, and you found a quiet hum of satisfaction in knowing that Taehyung could be his tactile self with you. Hugs were just an expression of your friendship. Nothing more.

That is, until you wanted them to be more.

You shake the thought away. You’ve dealt with this successfully for more than a year now and you can continue on.

Taehyung loosens his hold but keeps his arms around you, leaning back to look at you. The soft puffs in his cheeks and the light creases around his eyes as they bunch up in happiness are just some of the little things you adore about him. The contentment practically radiates off of him. It’s just like him to get this excited over a christmas tree.

“Shall we get to setting it up?” you ask and he nods, releasing you completely then to get to work.

After the two of you find the perfect spot, situating the tree in the corner of the living room by the windows and in reach of a power socket, you grab the bag of decorations.

The oddly small and light bag of decorations.

“Tae?” you ask, pulling out the single box of baubles. “Is this all you got?”

Grinning sheepishly, he nods. “I didn’t have much left for decorations after I chose the tree.”

“Why’d you choose such a big tree then?”

“What’s the point of getting a tiny tree? It’s only nice and festive if it’s large!” he exclaims.

“Well, what’s the point of getting a big tree that will be bare except for six baubles, Tae?!”

“I was thinking we could improvise the decorations.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Improvise?”

“Yeah, like- wait,” he says, running to his bedroom. His voice floats over from the narrow corridor, “just hang on!”

After a little rustling and rummaging, Taehyung emerges with two shoeboxes and a few scarves thrown over his shoulders. Grabbing one of the shoeboxes from him, you open it to reveal a bunch of keychains. Souvenirs from his friends’ travels and some of his own too. In there, you recognize an eiffel tower keychain you gifted him after your family’s holiday to France.

“Here, look!” He grabs a few and begins hanging them on the tree. “Decorations!”

You laugh. It’s a classic Taehyung move, and honestly it doesn’t look half bad. Picking a few keychains of your own from the box, you join him in placing them around the tree.

“What are you going to do about the tree topper?” you ask.

He smirks. “I’ve already got that all figured out.” Unboxing the second shoebox to reveal his collection of polaroid photos, he rifles around till he finds the photo he wants. Brandishing the polaroid of Yeontan, he grins. “Both an angel and a star. Perfect.”

You can't argue with that logic, and you say as much before vacating the step stool so he can clip the polaroid to the top of the tree with a wooden peg. Eyeing the pile of scarves on the couch, you ask, “What about the scarves?”

“Scarves? You mean ribbons?” he says, and begins draping them across the tree. You giggle and reach for one. The soft material is plush, caressing your skin as you run your fingers over the material. It's much nicer than the other scarves, you notice, and way too nice to be stuck on a christmas tree.

“Hey,” you say, “isn’t this cashmere? Are you sure you want such a nice sweater on your tree?”

Taehyung shrugs. “It was a gift from my ex. It’s not like I’m going to wear it anymore.”

His ex. The words hit you like a punch to your gut.

Taehyung's ex, Samantha, was a pleasant person to be around, easygoing and bubbly with a sunny personality that matched him well. At least, from what you could tell based off the first two months of their relationship that you got to witness firsthand. You're not quite sure who exactly initiated the distance -- whether it was from your own courtesy that you gave them space, or whether Samantha had, directly or indirectly, requested for it -- the memories were all too foggy by now.

What you do remember is that one moment they were happy together, and the next they were broken up, the relationship lasting just a little over six months. Taehyung never spoke much about it and when you did probe, he would brush it off with scant excuses that they just figured they weren't compatible after all.

That had been some time in the spring. Briefly, you wonder how many wears the scarf had gotten, and how much sentimental value it held. The quality of the material hinted towards a relationship that had been going strong.

Yet, you muse over it as you drape the luxurious material over the prickly christmas tree, Taehyung brushed it off with such brashness that spoke otherwise.

“Hey,” Taehyung breaks the silence that has fallen between you, clearing his throat in a self-conscious manner as if he’s feeling guilty over the awkward turn that the conversation had taken. You look at him, half-hidden behind the tree pines, his eyes pensive. Maybe he’ll finally open up about the relationship -- it’s been eight months after all. But then he flashes his usual elfin grin. “Any luck with your secret santee gift yet?”

You groan, partly because no, you’re still clueless and stuck on what to get him, and partly because he’s once again evaded the topic of his ex.

The incessant buzzing of your phone gets ignored, vibrating almost violently in its spot on the tinyass coffee table next to your feet which you’ve kicked up ever so demurely. The consecutive, rapid-fire notifications can only be from an overly enthusiastic Taehyung.

Irene nudges foot with her own socked one. “Aren’t you gonna check your phone? I can pause the movie if you want.”

“Nah, I’ve watched Home Alone enough times to not care about missing anything. And it’s probably just Tae being all excited about secret santa gift suggestions.”

“Ooh, how’s that going? Finally got him to spill what he might want?”

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “No, he’s sending me individualized suggestions for everyone that are so well thought out and personalized that I can’t get them for anyone else.”

Grabbing your still-buzzing phone, you flick through your texts. Just as you’d predicted, Tae’s sent you a bunch of Christmas socks he found on Amazon that he thinks would make a good addition to Jin’s collection of festive socks, a set of really nice paints that would pair well with Yoongi’s newfound interest in painting, and an anthology of time-travel short stories that he thinks would fascinate Namjoon.

“Hm, d’you think he’s called your bluff? Intentionally sending you suggestions that wouldn’t be helpful?”

You shake your head, frowning. “Tae’s not like that. Honestly, it was just a bad move on my part, hoping that he would give some generic gift suggestion that would let slip what he really wants. Tae is too thoughtful to get people generic gifts. He puts his heart and soul into the presents he buys for others.”

Reaching over, Irene pinches your cheek lightly as she coos at you, “Awww, you’re so in love with him. I can feel the cavities forming.”

“Pretty sure those are from the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows you love so much,” you say, tipping your chin in a gesture to the mug in her hands.

Irene sticks her tongue out and takes an extra large sip in typical defiance.

As much as you mock Irene for her love for Lifetime holiday movies and hot chocolate, you do have to admit that there’s a certain appeal to it. Curled up on the lumpy couch in Taehyung’s apartment, cupping the hot beverage in your hands, even the uneven lumpiness of the cheap piece of furniture begins to feel comfortable.

The entire room is dark, save for the glow of the television. Taehyung has always insisted that this is the best way to watch movies. Maybe it’s a good thing your makeshift decorations on the christmas tree -- still standing proudly in the corner of the room -- didn’t include christmas lights after all.

Outside, the snowfall has gotten pretty intense, the temperature dipping significantly compared to the previous few days. It is well and truly winter, the cold showing no mercy to anyone who wasn’t prepared for it. You’re thankful to be inside and with a nice hot drink.

But as the film runs on, you get so engrossed in the plot that you don’t even realize you’ve finished your drink till you drain the last of it. Oh.

Looking over at Taehyung, you could always request for more and you know he’d be more than happy to make you another cup. But the movie is at its climax and the way his eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth slightly agape with how invested he is in the film, you can’t bring yourself to interrupt him now. So you try to ignore the way the cold begins nipping at your fingertips.

Soon enough though, the once warm mug that was a pleasant source of heat became stiff cold ceramic between your equally stiff fingers. Scrunching your toes, you wish you’d thought to bring an extra pair of socks over, especially when you think about the pair of socks you’d stuffed into your boots, soggy and cold with melted ice. A shiver runs through you at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Taehyung asks, and you jump. You didn’t realize he’d noticed.

“Yeah, a little.”

He pouts. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? C’mere,” he says, and lifts the edge of his blanket, revealing his plaid pants and sweatshirt combination.

Crawling in quickly, you tell yourself that you’re only complying because you know he’ll put up a fight if you don’t, and you don’t want the cold air getting into the cocoon of warmth he’s created with his blanket. Not because you’re excited to snuggle up with Tae. Definitely not. But now that you’re here, you may as well make the most of it, you figure.

Taehyung yelps as you press your icy toes to his warm thigh. Your arms wind their way around him, desperately seeking out the warmth of his body heat. Nuzzling lightly into the crook of his neck, you sigh, finally getting some relief from the cold.

The tiniest of groans escapes him. Then, a tight gasp. Stiffening, you peer up at Taehyung carefully.

He’s turned to look at you too, his attention that was once rapt by the movie now focused directly on you with equal intensity. Nervous energy accumulates within you and your heart rate skyrockets, now keenly aware of every hard plane of his body against yours. The logical part of you regrets the way you launched yourself at him and gave no regards for personal space. But you’re only dimly aware of that. The part of you that just wants Taehyung, the part that you’ve kept under lock and key, now fights against the restraints you’ve tied yourself into, unravelling you. You gnaw at your lip unsurely, and you watch as Taehyung’s gaze drops to your lips, heavy-lidded as they linger there, then darting back up to meet yours head-on.

The hand that he has on your hip grips you a little tighter, and you clutch the front of his sweatshirt in response. Your heart is pounding now, and the headiness of it all makes you feel swirly. Is he leaning clo-

Slam!

Both of you jump. The noise from the film startles you both, and you accidentally head butt Taehyung’s chin in the midst of it. He yelps in pain.

“I’m so sorry!” You frantically rub the spot to soothe it. “Are you ok?”

He laughs it off in his usual carefree manner. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure? It doesn’t hurt?”

“It’ll be fine in a bit,” he says, pulling you into his chest, his warmth emanating from his chest to your back in a comforting manner. “Let’s continue watching the movie.”

With his arms wound around you, you wonder if he can feel the way your heartbeat continues to beat erratically. If he does, he says nothing about it. And underneath you, you can feel clearly how his heartbeat matches yours in its stuttering pace. But you say nothing about it. Not for the duration of the movie, not when it ends, not when you stand to leave, and not when he wishes you goodnight at the door.

The next day, you wake up with thoughts of yesterday sending your mind into a spiralling whirlpool. You decide it’s time to make an emergency call.

Also, it’s five days to Christmas and you still haven’t thought of a suitable gift for Taehyung.

“Hello?” comes a chirpy voice over the line.

“Jiminie!”

“____! What’s up?”

“Listen, I need your help. It’s about the secret santa thing.”

“What about it?”

“I need a suggestion for a gift for your best friend.”

Jimin chuckles. “Isn’t he also your best friend?”

“Well, yes, but…”

You take him through your original plan to covertly ask Taehyung what he would like by asking what would make a good gift, and how it got completely derailed, to which Jimin just laughed. And then your discussion with Irene on finding something that has been a constant in his life. Since you’re on the phone with Jimin, you take the chance to rant about your annoyance with yourself at not foreseeing Taehyung’s thoughtfulness and the personalized gift suggestions that he’s been giving you.

“____,” Jimin interrupts you mid-rant. “The answer is right in front of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe your plan didn’t really fail. If Tae is suggesting personalized gifts, then…” he trails off meaningfully.

You gasp. “Oh. You’re absolutely right, Jimin, you genius!”

“This was your own plan, ____.” He chuckles. “Now as for what has been constant in his life… Do you really not realize?”

Oh.

“Jimin, you’re a genius, y’know that?”

“So I’ve been telling everyone.”

“Ok, I gotta go now,” you say, excitement zipping through you as your mind fills abuzz with different ideas now that Jimin has set you on the path.

“Seeya on the 25th, you dork.”

“See you!”

Belatedly, you realize you missed out on telling Jimin about what had happened the day prior. But you shrug it off, figuring that you could tell him about it another time.

---

But as it turns out, you don’t. The hectic rush of preparations for Christmas keep you and your friends so busy, you’re thankful everyone’s blocked out Christmas night for each other or you’d just miss each other completely otherwise.

Days on from the eventful movie night you had with Taehyung, the distance has already caused the memories of the night to go slightly fuzzy. You wonder if it had really even happened, or if you were just overthinking everything as per usual.

And since Taehyung never brought it up, your friendship carrying on in the easy status quo, it was simple enough to chalk it up to your own imagination.

The rush towards Christmas keeps itself up even till Christmas day itself. You’re huffing a little as you squeeze yourself and your grocery bags through the doorway of Taehyung’s apartment. The lopsided feeling of your beanie sitting askew on your head is just one part of your disheveled state right now.

“Tae!” You set the bags down and replace the spare key in its hiding place. “I’m here!”

He comes bursting out of his room and running over to help you with the bags. “Is it time to bake?” His tone is bright and shimmering with anticipation. Baking Christmas cookies with each other’s families was a tradition the two of you grew up with, and a tradition you both intended to keep even while away from your hometown.

Pulling the cookie cutters out of the bag, you wave them with a grin. “Shall we? We still have to prepare dinner after this and make sure we log onto Zoom on time too.”

The afternoon is filled with a flurry of flour and butter and sugar, cookie cutters and oven mitts, and a whole lot of messy icing. You pipe out a beautiful blue and white star, if you do say so yourself, taking pride in the baking skills you’ve honed over the past twenty years. Meanwhile, Taehyung scribbles Yeontan on a star-shaped cookie of his own. He adds this to his collection of alien cookies and rabbits on the moon.

When you’re both done decorating and the icing is left to set, you get to work on dinner. It’s a simple affair, just some mashed potatoes that you set Taehyung to work on, some lightly roasted veggies, and a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket in place of the usual Christmas turkey your families would normally have.

Grabbing plates to serve up your dinner, you can hear the chorus of hellos from the living room as Taehyung sets up his laptop to join the Zoom call. It fills you with a warmth you didn’t know you were missing, the cacophony of noise from your friends still as familiar as it always is even though it’s filtered through the speakers on the laptop. If anything, it may even be more chaotic than ever, with everyone speaking over each other, the social cues becoming even harder to read over the virtual platform.

When you finally enter the room with your two plates, the noise only gets louder, everyone shouting to greet you. You say a quick hi and slip back into the kitchen to get the tray of cookies to show off to the rest over the webcam.

You take your place next to Taehyung, seating yourself next to him in a similar cross-legged position, your knees knocking together as you both squeeze to get into frame together. Memories of the movie night come back to you, but Taehyung seems unfazed. Feigning calmness, you try to focus on the ongoing exchange instead.

The conversation drives itself, years of friendship and months spent apart from each other fuelling the chatter. With small talk on how Christmas day was for everyone, quick catch-ups on how everyone’s doing, inside jokes and references to shared experiences of the past, the atmosphere feels just like that one year you all went on a camping trip together and sat around the bonfire on the final night, swapping stories and jokes in a breezy fashion.

Just as the conversation slips into an easy placidity, Hoseok suggests you all move on to the secret santa bit of the night.

That’s when you gasp. Amidst the manic pace of the day and its activities, you’d forgotten to retrieve your present from where you’d stowed it in your apartment. In the same way that you treated Taehyung’s apartment like your own, so was your apartment to him. Taehyung could walk into your apartment any moment, whether you were present or not, and you needed to find a good secret place for your present. Stashing your prepared present in an unused cupboard in the kitchen, you remember commending yourself for having found such a great hiding spot. Turns out, it was so excellently hidden that even you had forgotten about it till this very moment.

But your internal struggle and the guilt that plagued you went unbeknownst to the rest, each taking turns to open their presents. A whole range of reactions and sound effects went on, Hoseok thanking Taehyung for his gifted sunglasses with such sincerity that transcended the boundaries of the webcam and screen. Yoongi had bought Jin a new fishing reel, and the boys were in the midst of discussing their next fishing trip.

But it was Namjoon’s reaction and the chaos that ensued that truly had you relaxing a little from your anxious-frustrated-guilty state.

“Snacks? And wet wipes?” Namjoon’s expression is incredulous as he pulls the items out of the brown paper bag. “Who’s giving me all these freebies?!”

“FREEBIES?!” Next to Namjoon, Jin smacks the table, causing him to jump. “I’ll have you know that those snacks were selected after careful observation, and I even went so far as to scout out for the specific brand you like and some even required shipping from elsewhere because the grocery stores near us didn’t stock it, and I got you wet wipes because you’re always spilling things, or maybe you could use them after you’re done snacking while on the go, but you still have the AUDACITY to call it FREEBIES?!”

At the sight of Jin gone red in the face, the snickers that the rest of you had been holding in came bursting out.

“Ok, I think we’re the last two to open our gifts,” Taehyung says, reading the room and moving on quickly before Jin could get even more agitated. “____, this is yours from your secret santa.”

Ripping open the wrapping paper swiftly, you find a brown leather-bound journal with your initials embossed on them in gold.

“Oh! This is beautiful,” you gush. “And since we’re the last two, this must be from Jimin!”

Even through the screen, the sight of your friend’s smile, eyes all scrunched up with the sincerity of it, has your heart swelling.

“And that means… that I’m your secret santee!” Taehyung gasps. “No way. And this whole time I was calling you a bad liar.”

He rambles on, explaining to the rest about your sly method of attempting to discreetly ask him what he might like for Christmas. The whole time, you’re chewing on your lip, trying to find the right moment to interject and explain what’s happened.

“Ok! So,” Taehyung finally pauses, looking at you expectantly, “I’m ready for my present!” His hands are cupped and ready to receive the present… that will not make it to him tonight.

You place your hands in his, lowering them gently and taking in his obvious confusion. “I’m so sorry, Tae, I left your present back at home. I promise I’ll bring it over tomorrow! Or you can come over after this to grab it if you want.”

“Oh,” he says, puppy dog pout hitting you full-force with guilt. “But I still want a gift now, so…”

Grasping your hands that are still in his, he tugs you forward into his chest, and plants a soft kiss on your lips.

Silence. Both from your brain, and from everyone around.

It lasts for two seconds -- your group of friends has never found it easy to shut up after all -- and then it’s an eruption, pulling you back to the reality that the two of you are not alone.

You can hear Jungkook screaming, “GROSS!” and Namjoon yelling in confusion. But Jimin’s tinkling laughter, filled with unmistakable joy, cuts through the noise along with a raspily muttered, “It’s about fucking time.” from Yoongi.

In the background, you hear Jungkook asking, “Waaaait, so does this mean that Seokjin has to give Namjoon a kiss now too?” and Jin’s immediate, “NO!”

The noise jump starts your brain back into motion. You attempt to pull away from Taehyung, highly aware that your friends are subject to witnessing all of this, but he tugs you back, anchoring you to him with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist. The laughter from the laptop speakers turns into cries of outrage and then an abrupt return to silence with a click, and you realize that Taehyung must have closed his laptop, ending the Zoom call.

Looping your arms around Taehyung’s shoulders, you begin to respond to his kiss, eyelids fluttering closed. It’s new, it’s electrifying. But it’s also like something deep inside has finally clicked, like you’ve finally arrived. You’re home.

“Did you know?” you ask. “About me having feelings for you?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. Heat rises to your cheeks at that, and you hide your face in his chest. Now that you don’t have to be seated on the floor to be in frame for the Zoom call, the two of you opted to move to the lumpy but still much more comfortable couch.

The gentle strokes of his hand in your hair is familiar and comforting, reminding you of the infinite patience he’s always shown to you. It’s a reminder that this is Taehyung. The boy you grew up with through thick and thin. Your best friend. And that gives you the boldness to continue despite your embarrassment.

“How? And when?”

“Honestly,” he trails off slightly, in thought, “I think it was Samantha who made me realize it.”

A pang of jealousy hits you. But you’re immediately wondering if it’s even warranted, now that you guys are… Well, what exactly are you? You make a mental note to clarify that.

“She was jealous, y’know,” he continues. “Didn’t want to say it at first, and tried to put up with it because she understood that our friendship is not something she could just expect me to give up.

“But it got to a point where things just couldn’t go on any longer. What she initially saw as discomfort that she would learn to overcome with time, soon became an awareness that the two of us were crossing the line of just friends, even if we hadn’t realized it at the time.”

Taehyung sighs, causing you to look at him. He smiles down at you, and skims your cheek with his thumb affectionately. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been here by my side all my life, that it was such a gradual thing and neither of us really realized it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “It was only after you began dating her that I realized how not okay with that I was. I thought it was just me being the possessive best friend trying to get used to having to share you. But then I realized I didn’t just want my best friend back. I wanted what she had.”

Swallowing hard, you remember the bitterness of the jealousy you felt back then, and that still recurs from time to time.

“What about you then? How did you come to recognize your feelings?” you ask.

“Samantha made me face up to them.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “One day she laid it all out, about us being more than just friends. And when I denied it, she asked me, would I choose you over her if I were forced into making that decision. The answer very nearly rolled straight off my tongue. And that was when I knew.”

“Is that why you broke up?” you ask. Taehyung nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you silly girl.” He boops you on the nose. “I’m just thankful that Samantha was as understanding as she was about it. I think that’s why it took me a long time to get over it -- knowing that I’d hurt someone as wonderful as she is with my own blind ignorance.”

“And you too,” he says, leaning down to lay a soft peck on your lips. “I hated knowing that I’d hurt you because of my lack of awareness of my own feelings. That’s why I had to take my time this time around, to make sure that I know for sure.”

“Do you know for sure now?”

“Yes,” he says, holding your gaze with seriousness that has you swimming in its depths. “I’m yours now. Purely and fully.”

When you returned to your apartment the next morning, Irene was waiting to grill you on your whereabouts. It didn’t escape her notice that you hadn’t come back to the apartment the previous night, and she joked about how the vacant rooms in Taehyung’s apartment probably didn’t matter because you could always spend the night sharing his bed anyway.

And when you, blushing madly but holding your own nonetheless, informed her that she was right, well, you should have anticipated her squeals of excitement. “Tell me everything!” she had demanded.

You also should have anticipated the endless teasing that she would put the two of you through, especially in the Christmas season. After a trip out to the stores, finally taking a break from her Lifetime holiday movies marathon, she’d returned with copious amounts of mistletoe to hang all around the apartment, insisting the two of you make up for lost time.

But what Irene doesn’t need to know is just how much the two of you agree with her. Stealing a tiny sprig of mistletoe from around the house -- there’s so much that she wouldn’t even notice anyway -- you pack it into one of the clear baubles you’d bought for Taehyung’s Christmas present, nestling it into the box alongside the other clear baubles that were customized with pictures of the two of you.

#ficswithluv #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #bangtanfairygarden #btsbookclub #btswritersguild #taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung oneshot #bts x reader #bts fic #bts oneshot

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1000roughdrafts · 4 years ago

Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing...(1)

Request for anon based on the song Hope is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman to Have by Lana Del Ray 🥰💕

Summary: The renowned author of a best-selling crime novel, Y/N Y/L/N, was thrown into a whole new world after her parents were brutally murdered. Their killer never found, Y/N took things into her own hands, meeting the Winchesters in her journey for justice. Even years later, she struggles to let anyone close in fear they’d leave or worse.

Warnings: angst, fluff, language, adult themes, drinking mentioned, supernatural-styled violence

A/N: anon, I really hope you like this, I hope it’s okay that it got so long, as you can see I made it a two-parter due to the massive word count this whole accumulated lol. I more so based the character off my interpretation of the song, and I really hope I do it justice. Next part will come out soon and have all the juicy stuff. Everyone, buckle in, this is a long one :)

Word Count: 3.7k

After years of being the first one to wake up, it had become sort of an unspoken rule that Y/N would make the coffee in the mornings. Sam was never too far behind her, especially if he was going for a run, though he’d rarely have coffee before that. Y/N almost always had her thirty to forty minutes alone to read while she sipped her coffee under a dim lamp in the library.

On a nice day, she’d take her coffee and notebook to the slim platform above the bunkers door. She’d slide her legs under the railing to let her feet dangle, sometimes using it to prop her hands up while writing. Most of the time, however, she’d just stare into the sky as the night changed to morning. Or she’d watch the cars as they passed by, mentally creating stories for the people who drove them, always giving them better than she had.

This morning, like any other, she gets out of bed after a night of tossing and turning, and goes straight for the kitchen to prepare for the day. When she rounds the corner and sleepily waves her hand over the light switch, she makes it halfway into the kitchen before realizing the light was already on. A frustrated, yet soft sigh escapes her. Until noticing the pot of freshly brewed coffee, she’d assumed one of the brothers had carelessly left it on over night.

Going for her favorite mug, she reaches for where it usually sits on the rack before her eyes can fully scan the shelves, unintentionally grabbing a square whiskey glass. She pivots, setting the glass onto the counter as she looks around, giving up when she hears footsteps coming from the hall.

Thinking perhaps Sam had grabbed it by mistake, she rubs her eyes and waits for him to enter the kitchen, surprised when the mug thief turns out to be Dean. The smile he gives her makes her feel even more exhausted. Surely, she’s still dreaming if he’s awake at this hour.

His arm extends towards her, coffee mug in tow, “I tried to beat you to it this morning, bring you the coffee this time, but uh,” his words taper off as he looks down at the cup she has yet to grab.

“Oh,” she utters quietly, stepping forward to grab the warm cup from him, “thanks.

“Yeah,” he says with a shake of his head. He turns to face the table, his robe flowing behind him like a cape. Setting his coffee onto the table, he wraps the robe around his torso before sitting down.

Too caught up in her own thoughts, Y/N doesn’t notice the concerned glance from Dean. Eyebrows scrunched, he watches her wrap both hands around the mug as she brings it to her lips.

He quickly switches his gaze to the counter behind her, in fear she’d catch him watching her. His eyes happen to land on the glass she’d set there just moments before. He chuckles and looks down into his mug, suddenly wishing he’d added a bit of that whiskey to his coffee.

“Hm?” Y/N hums, shuffling over to sit across from him.

“Huh? Oh,” he says, looking back over at the glass with a pointed finger. “Were you wanting something a bit stronger than coffee?”

She lets out a laugh of her own, “no, I’m just stupid tired this morning.”

He nods slowly, “what’s on the agenda for today, anyway? A little morning drink wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?” he teases, only partially joking.

Taking a sip from her coffee, she shakes her head before she could even properly think about the suggestion. Her mind and thoughts now permeated by flashbacks of the last time the two of them drank solo. Getting shitfaced with the older Winchester showed to be interesting, to say the least. She wasn’t sure what had been on his mind that night, but she knew that the alcohol only strengthened the feelings she’s been suppressing for years. She’s sure that if he wanted to he’d have made a move by now. He probably thought of her as nothing but a little sister.

“As tempting as that sounds, we should hit the road soon,” she sighs, taking a gulp of her coffee. She ignores the way it burns going down, but realizes how it tastes exactly as if shed made it herself, despite never sharing how she takes her coffee.

“Ah, but we had so much fun the last time,” he smiles, and Y/N‘s breath escapes her. He clears his throat, “we got a case?” he asks in a breath, leaning back in the chair.

Y/N sets the cup in front of her, resting her head in her hand. Looking back up at Dean, she says, “I was scrolling through articles last night and found something in Florida.”

Nodding he asks, “which part?”

Bringing the cup to her mouth, she whispers, “Naples,” before taking a sip.

He sucks air in through his teeth. “That’s at least a two day drive,” he says, shaking his wrist to get a look at his watch. “Wait, Naples?” he asks, tilting his head. “Isn’t that your hometown?”

She looks at the table to avoid the question, “I also saw something in Tennessee that we could check out on the way there,” she shrugs. “Make use of the miles,” she says, keeping her head down.

He lays his palm flat against the table, wanting to take her hand in his, but lowers his voice instead. “You weren’t reading about them again, were you?” he asks, his eyes coasting from his hand and onto her as she looks anywhere but him.

“No one found out who... or what did it,” she says in a soft whisper. “What if these are connected?”

With an eyebrow raised, he utters, “what if they’re not?” before he could stop himself.

Her eyes pierce up at him, eyebrows pushed together. The chair screeches, echoing in the kitchen as she scoots back to stand. Before she could take a step, he jumps to grab her hand.

“Wait,” he says, pausing to see if she relaxes before continuing. She keeps her body facing away, but lets her eyes meet his. “I’m all for tracking that fucker down, believe me, I just... Sam and I, we’ve been there, and the thing that killed your parents,” he clicks his tongue, “it could be long gone by now.”

Ripping her arm away from him, she sits in the chair. Arms crossed against her chest, she looks him over in deep thought. The door of the bunker clunks open and shut. Dean and Y/N look in its direction to see Sam jogging down the steps.

His head tilts when he sees Dean. With a smirk, he chuckles, “you’re up early.”

Dean pauses, softening his expression as he looks Y/N over. Glancing into his cup before looking back at Sam, he straightens out his back to stand. “Y/N found us a case,” he says with a smile and raised eyebrows, storming over to the coffee pot.

Sam’s upper lip and eyebrows raise as he opens his mouth, immediately closing it when he sees Dean’s tight lips and Y/N’s eyes hyper focused on her coffee.

“Uh, okay great,” he says slowly, wiping sweat from his forehead before following Dean to the coffee. “Where at?”

Rain beats down on the roof of the Impala as Dean drives through Illinois, looking for a place to shack up for the night. After nearly nine hours of sitting in a car with a dead phone and her two roommates, Y/N is restless at the thought of stretching her legs and venturing out on her own for a bit.

Having headphones saved her from listening to Sam’s habitual sniffling for the first six hours, but not from the papers he’s pulled out the last three to shuffle through after her phone died. Her eyes catch Dean’s in the rear view mirror by accident, and she realizes how zoned in on him she’d been, recalling that he’d barely spoken a word. Occasionally he tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel while his music played quietly on the stereo, or he’d mumble some response to Sam if he asked a question, but mostly reserved his voice for fuel-ups.

Feeling a bit playful, Y/N takes a risk. “Hey, Dean,” she says, voice croaking, drawing attention to how little she’d spoken as well. Clearing her throat, she waits for him to look into the mirror again, smiling when he does. “Are we there yet?” she whines, laughing when he rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky we’re stopping for the night,” he chuckles before putting his eyes back on the road. “Just a few miles until a motel,” he says through a yawn.

Sure enough, only ten minutes later he’s pulling the Impala into the parking lot of a motel advertising vacancy. Without a word, he opens the door to head into the small office.

Sam collects the papers, scooting back in the seat to reach for the bag between his legs. He stuffs the notes in a book and puts it into the bag. A few minutes of comfortable silence pass before Sam says her name.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks, without turning to face her.

She keeps her eyes on the rain drops that slip down the window, cheering on the little one as it slowly coasts between two steady stream. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she says softly.

He turns to face her, the seat squeaking as he pushes his body against it. “You sure? Cause if you ask me, I don’t think we’re driving all the way to Naples for a case.”

The underdog of a droplet collides with one of the streams, and she lets out a breath. “Don’t do this now, Sam. Please?” she begs.

“I’m not doing anything, I just,” he sighs, his eyes shifting to glance through the driver’s side window at Dean as he walks back to the car. “We care about you is all,” he says, flopping back around in the seat to face the dashboard.

The door opens with a sharp clang, followed by a low sigh as Dean plops into the seat, his legs still hanging out of the car. His arm stretches over the seat to dangle a key in front of Y/N’s nose.

“Rooms come with one bed here,” he says shrugging, “least that’s what’s left, and I figured you’d want your own.”

“Thanks,” she says meekly, taking the key. Grabbing her bag, she opens the door to step out of the car and scans the numbers of the doors for hers. “I’ll see you guys in the morning,” she smiles.

---

The rattle of the door as Y/N pounds her fist against it wakes Dean in a panic. Through the thin wall she can hear him shuffling around and Sam laughing as he walks over to let her in. Handing him a cup of coffee, she pulls another from the carrier for Dean, setting it on the nightstand beside him as he gathers himself.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” she taunts. “Ready to hit the road?”

He shakes his head, grabbing the coffee and removing the lid to take a sip.

“Uh, first I wanted to go over some details about the case,” Sam says, sitting in the chair. Setting the coffee on the desk, he turns to face Y/N, “I was doing some research and found similar cases in the area; all profound people, all killed ten years after their success kicked off, and all in the same way: hearts ripped out of their bodies,” he says, adding in a softer tone, “the same way your parents died.”

Feeling defensive, she points a finger at him, “I know what you’re thinking, but it can’t be Hell Hounds. Their deaths would have been... messier,” she says, crinkling her nose, “and - and my parents would have never made a deal with a demon. Their success was their own,” she says, jaw tightening with concealed anger. She takes a heavy breath, “besides, they died fifteen years after their business took off. It doesn’t fit.”

Sam only nods, swallowing before glancing over at Dean who stays quiet, standing to gather things. Y/N looks between the two of them. Could they really think these people, or - or her parents were killed for wanting success? Most people don’t even know what they’re getting into when signing a deal with a demon, anyway! And her parents... they got where they were because of hard work and long nights, not because some demon handed their success on a platter.

“We should get going soon,” she says, turning to get her bags stuffed into the car.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Dean stops packing and turns to Sam. “I think she might be right,” he shrugs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hell Hounds, they’re brutal, they - they rip their victims to shreds.”

“Yeah, but they’ve been known to literally scare people to death at times, or - or lead them to commit suicide-”

“Neither of which happened here, and it still doesn’t explain the missing hearts,” Dean sighs, throwing a bag over his shoulder as he stands.

“Right,” Sam whispers, “so we’re just supposed to ignore obvious signs of a deal because she can’t admit her parents may have sold their souls? I mean, monsters evolve, we’ve seen it before.”

Dean drops the bag by the door and turns to face Sam. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, to you of all people, but come on Sam, have a little sympathy. You remember finding out mom made that deal with yellow eyes? That kind of thing... it guts you,” Dean says.

“That was different, Dean, she did it to save Dad,” he scoffs, “and if she didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

Dean sighs, “well, she needs to figure it out on her own,” he grabs his bag and turns the knob on the door, “like we did.”

After a day and a half of driving, Dean pulls the Impala into a tight parking spot of the police station.

“Alright, we got here with just enough time to spare,” he says, clearing his throat. He shuts off the engine, and turns around to face Y/N, “you stay here.”

“Why?” she asks, her face scrunched as the word flies out. Shaking her head, she says, “no. I’m just as much of a hunter as you two. I’ve been doing this for years now. There’s absolutely no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to-”

“You’re gonna compromise the case,” he cuts her off in a sharp tone. After a pause and a breath, he dials it down, “people know you here, because of your parents, your book. They see you with us, and they’re gonna talk, take pictures.”

“So what? Let them,” she scoffs, slouching back in the seat.

“We need to stay incognito,” he scowls, “at least as much as we possibly can.”

Squinting her eyes, she sharpens her tongue, “I appreciate your concern, Dean,” she says, “but I bring an advantage that I don’t think you’re seeing. I assure you, people will be more inclined to talk to me, than two goons in suits.”

“Y/N,” Sam cuts in, “I’m sorry.. I’m with Dean. I mean, we’re still kind of fugitives...” he says softly, “if word gets to the cops looking for us, and they put out a bolo... well, it’d complicate things.”

“Then you sit out, and I’ll investigate,” she says. Y/N looks between the two of them as they exchange a glance. Rolling her eyes, she says, “fine. I’ll meet you in the middle.” Wrapping her hair up into a tight bun, she throws a cap onto her head and reaches into her bag for a long coat. “Let’s go,” she says, grabbing her badge and stepping out of the car.

Dean rolls his eyes, throwing an annoyed look at Sam, who only shrugs. Y/N is halfway to the door of the station before the two even make it out of the car, skipping up the steps.

“Hi. Agent Bixby,” she smiles, showing her badge to the officer at the desk, “I’m here about-”

The officer’s face turns from confusion into a bright smile. She wags a finger at Y/N, chuckling, “ Y/N? Y/N Y/L/N? You know, if you want information for your next book all you gotta do is ask, sweetheart,” she winks. “It was a hot topic around the office here, the way your character solved that horrific crime... brilliant.”

The brothers approach and stand by her side. Y/N glances up at Dean, pleading for him to step in. He’s always been a much better liar than she. But something comes to mind, “actually,” she giggles, “you’re right, I’m sorry. I’ve teamed up with these two here to help aid in research on my part, investigating on theirs.”

They introduce themselves, showing their badges to the officer and exchanging looks between Y/N and the woman at the desk in front of them.

“I see,” she says, inhaling a sharp breath.

“But,” Y/N leans in, “I’m trying to stay undercover, so if you could help me stay hidden, I’d be very grateful.”

“Sure, sure, sure,” she smiles, “whaddya wanna know?”Y/N smiles, leaning in. “I’m curious about the recent murders, the ones with the missing hearts,” she whispers, “is um, the morgue here as well, or?”

“Yeah, but those bodies aren’t gonna be here. You’re gonna want to go to the funeral home down the street,” she says. Lowering her voice, she adds, “and they have a pretty strict policy about visiting, due to the prestige of those who go there.” She sighs, softening her expression upon seeing the disappointment in Y/N’s. “I could maybe send over a memo about your arrival, though? Ask them to let you in.”

“That’d be awesome,” Y/N nods, “could you maybe help with one more thing?” she asks, a finger up to her lips. “We need the addresses of the victims, crime scene photos, and any other details on the case you might have, she smiles.

The officer is a bit wary, chewing her bottom lip as she contemplates whether to agree or not. She looks between the Winchesters, “you’re federal agents, right? Don’t you have access to that information?”

Dean chuckles, “database was down, and we were headed here anyway...”

“Alright,” the officer says, waving a hand. She stands, shuffling through some papers as she says, “we’ll keep this one off the print, but only if you send me a copy of your new book, Y/N,” she winks. “When it’s done, of course.”

Y/N forces a smile, “of course,” she says through her teeth.

Dean holds the door open for Sam and Y/N, giving eyes to Sam as he walks out first. Dropping a hand onto Y/N’s shoulder, he waits until the door closes to whisper in her ear, “we need to talk.”

He slides his hand across her shoulders and lets his arm drop over her, massaging her arm as he pulls her into him. Sam turns to look back at the. Dean waves a hand at him with a nod, pulling his keys out to toss at him, while he walks Y/N down the steps. He watches Sam get into the Impala as he leads Y/N to sit at a bench underneath a palm tree.

He places his hand onto her knee, turning his body towards her. Her heart sparks as the warmth of his hand draws her attention to it. She tries to push her thoughts away, knowing a lecture is coming her way.

Instead, he softens his expression. “I have a story to tell you, something about my past that I don’t tell anyone,” he says, shaking his head. He purses his lips as he swallows, “my mom was a hunter, too,” he nods, “and I didn’t find out about that until many years after she died. I also found out that, uh, she made a deal with a yellow eyed demon named Azazel.”

Y/N nods, “I’ve heard of him,” she says softly.

“Yeah, that bastard put my family through Hell. He killed my dad, twice,” he says in a melancholic chuckle, “and see, after the first time, my mom made a deal with the demon to bring him back.”

Y/N squints her eyes, pulling away slightly.

Dean pulls his hand away and puts it with his other, resting between his legs, “she didn’t know exactly what she was getting into. All she was told was that she’d have her boyfriend back, and she’d be out of the game. She could have her happy, white picket fence life with our dad,” he sighs, “and you know what? I forgave her. Hell, I don’t even blame her. Now, I know circumstances are different-”

“Yeah, my parents didn’t make a deal,” she says, shaking her head.

“And what if they did? You gonna be mad at them? Is it gonna make you miss them any less? They might not have known, Y/N. You know how demons can be, they lie, omit things. Remember the case we worked in Omaha? The friends who weren’t told about the ten year part of the deal? They didn’t even know the damn thing was a demon until it was almost too late for them,” he looks into his hands before bringing his eyes back to hers, “all I’m saying is, keep an open mind about things. Even if it’s the last thing you wanna hear, closure is closure. And if it turns out to be a deal, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Just know that it doesn’t make your parents any less of who they were. It doesn’t mean they didn’t work for what they earned.” He sighs, grabbing her hand, “and like you said, maybe it wasn’t a deal. Just... hold onto hope for me,” he smiles, kissing her on the forehead.

She shakes her head with a chuckle, “oh, Dean, don’t you know? Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have,” she grins.

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ada-mike · 4 years ago

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The Truth Always Comes Out - Digimon (Davis/Yolei)

Hey, guys, long time no see. Hope you’re all doing well, all things considered. I decided to dust off this blog and post a little FanFiction for a change! Fancy that. Why FanFiction for a fairly rare pair in a children’s cartoon from twenty years ago? Good question. I was honestly inspired by the work of a truly amazing writer @tanyatakaishi and their incredible story Innocent Games, whose sequel is currently in progress and definitely worth the read whether you’re into Digimon or not (but you should be into Digimon, i mean seriously?) But yeah, drop by and give Innocent Games a read, drop a comment and a kudo too while you’re at it. This short story I’m posting myself is so inspired by Innocent Games, it’s pretty safe to call it a FanFiction of a FanFiction, doesn’t really fit into any canon, and is just something I had rattling around my head that I needed to bang out. Please give it a read and let me know your thoughts! Stay safe, ya’ll.

- Mike

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In hindsight, he really should have known better. Yolei had always possessed an inquisitive streak to put it lightly (whether or not the matter being investigated was her business was rarely a concern) and she was typically about as adept at snooping things out as Davis was poor at hiding them.

And really, on his laptop of all places?

Davis, along with the rest of their friends, had spent his fair share of time around – as well as inside of – computers, but regardless, they were still Yolei's domain through and through, her expertise. And as his father had once told him many years ago, during a family trip to the supermarket where Davis had denied, despite being caught, that he'd tried to shoplift a pack of gum down the front of his shorts: The truth always comes out.

His thoughts were scattered though as they stumbled through the front door and into the blackness of the dorm he shared with Ken. Yolei was strung over his back like a long-legged, lilac-haired knapsack – having mounted him during the elevator ride, laughing, the liquor in her belly turning her playful.

The haze of alcohol still hung heavy in Davis’s mind too, enough so that his legs wobbled dangerously as he carried her through the blackness to where he approximated the futon was.

“Is Ken here?” Her breath was warm in his hair and the heat climbed up his neck to settle in the tips of his ears.

“Nah,” He said. “He’s with his parents this weekend.”

“Perfect.” She purred.

Davis picked up the pace, stumbling over a pair of soccer cleats in the dark. He spun in a circle, pulling a fresh laugh from Yolei, before depositing them both on the sagging futon cushion. Yolei sat pinned behind him, a little squished, but regardless it was the perfect position to plant sloppy kisses on his exposed neck. Davis squirmed, his heart racing.

“It doesn’t smell in here, does it?” He asked.

“Only a little.”

“It’s the trash, I bet. I haven’t taken it out since Monday.” He moved to rise, but she pulled him back into her lap, near growling:

“Leave it.”

“Mmm,” He hummed. “You like the funk, huh? It sets the mood for you?”

“You’re about to ruin the mood if you don’t shut it.”

“Such a way with words, love.”

Love.

That word. It was enough to diffuse squabble that had been sparking.

Davis sunk back into her and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling up and down his chest, then down his gut. He seized one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing her sharp knuckles, the pads of her fingers, her wrist. It was surprisingly tender for him.

And it drove her absolutely wild.

Her free hand had just wrapped around the buckle of his belt, when the door to the bedroom creaked open.

“Davish?”

They both flinched as tiny feet pounded on the floor, leapt, then thudded lightly on the futon by their side. Yolei reached and flicked on the lamp switch by her head.

“DemiVeemon!” Davis was grinning at the sight of his partner, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought you’d still be sleeping, buddy.”

“I had a dream that we were on a boat! I wanted to tell you about it!” The in-training Digimon clambered onto Yolei’s knee. “Yolei, your face is so red you look like a tomato!”

“It’s hot.” She explained. And it was, the compounding moments of passion followed by DemiVeemon’s interruption had them both sweating slightly.

“Where’s Poromon?” The Digimon asked, unperturbed. Fresh from his nap, he was ready to play.

“Um- He’s spending the night in the Digital World.” She dug her nails into Davis’s side, causing him to wince in pain, the soft touches suddenly gone. “I kind of thought you’d be there too.”

“Nope!” Chirped DemiVeemon. “But we could all go now!”

“Tomorrow, buddy.” Davis brushed his hands over DemiVeemon’s ears. Even if a trip to the Digital World could be fit into their agenda, the phantom feeling of Yolei's hands on him was fresh and that very likely meant that standing up anytime would be a bad move. “But hey, you know, I think I still have some Udon in the fridge from yesterday. Ya hungry?”

“Yes!”

As DemiVeemon scampered away, Davis sighed and lifted himself out from between Yolei’s legs so he could sit beside her.

“Sorry about that,” He settled his arms on her shoulders, leaning close. “But where were we?”

“Davis, no.” She pushed him back. “I told you that I was taking Poromon to the Digital World so we could be alone tonight. Why didn’t you do the same?”

“I was going to. I just – I dunno, felt bad about dumping him there.” Davis rubbed his nose. The alcohol's buzz was fading from him now, much too fast for his liking. “He’ll be in a food coma in twenty minutes though, I guarantee it. Then we can get back to -”

“Hold on,” Her eyes sharpened into knives behind her glasses “You think I dumped Poromon in the Digital World?”

“No, I-”

“I did not dump him,” She continued, shifting further away on the cushion as she sat up straighter. “He’s helping out in Primary Village. I’ll be there to pick him up again tomorrow.”

“I know!” Davis felt a fresh wave of heat roll up his ears, annoyed that she was picking apart his words tonight of all nights. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“I have no reason to feel guilty.” She folded her arms and sank back, eyes settling on the kitchen where DemiVeemon’s ears were casting shadows up the wall from the light of the open refrigerator. “He’s fine, just – dammit, Davis.” A heavy sigh billowed her lips, then: “You and I just got back together, what? Three days ago? And between school and everything, you and I haven’t had time… We needed a night like this.”

It was true. This most recent “break” of theirs had been a rough one and longer than any previous up to now. Almost an entire two months had passed where they barely spoke a single word to each other, only interacting when strictly necessary for Digimon matters, or the occasional late-night message over their D-Terminals.

Davis slumped back too.

“Tonight was a good night.” He said lamely.

She just nodded.

They sat in silence for a minute as DemiVeemon finished rummaging for food. He eventually waddled past them back to Davis’s bedroom, a warm bowl nearly as big as he was balanced on his head. All dreams of boats forgotten for the time being. Whether or not he had heard the beginning of their spat, Davis wasn’t sure. Regardless, he now wished his partner had stayed to break some of the tension that hung heavy in the room.

What he really wanted was another drink.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Instead, he lurched forward, propping himself on one arm as he reached over Yolei. She opened her mouth, ready to rebuke him again, until he reached past her and snatched the clunky laptop that sat on the end table.

It was five pounds heavier and just as many years outdated for anything Yolei would have considered satisfactory, but Davis had got it for a good price in a resale shop and desperately needed a computer for school. He grunted as he settled back in his seat and flipped open the lid, determined to find a way to break the awkward silence.

“Can I – um, play some music?”

He was already scrolling through his rather extensive music library, not waiting for an answer, but Yolei nodded anyways.

“Just no dub-step, please for the love of God.”

He chuckled and something in her chest unwound. He eventually settled on something, and with a double-click the room was filed with smooth guitar and steady drums. They listened, Davis nodding his head in beat and Yolei watching him.

“The speakers on that thing are awful.”

“Yeah.”

The song transitioned, adding more varied guitar and aggressive vocals.

“I haven’t heard this one before.”

“Ken showed it to me.”

“It’s good.”

“Yeah.”

As the song started to fade, Davis reached, without looking, and rubbed a line up and down Yolei’s thigh. She unfolded her arms, but before she could move further towards him, he was lifting the laptop from his lap and moving it into her’s. He stood up.

“Gotta take a piss.” He muttered, trudging towards the bathroom, tripping over the same pair of cleats as he went.

Yolei watched him leave, long nails tapping on the plastic laptop chassis. After the bathroom door closed and she heard him emptying his bladder into the toilet through the thin wall, she sighed and began flicking through his music.

She had gotten a little too defensive earlier and she knew it.

The truth was, she did feel a little guilty for parting ways with her Digimon, even if it was only for a night. Despite the lack of crises in the Digital World needing their intervention, it sometimes felt like she was shirking responsibility by turning more attention to other aspects of her life.

But she was older. She was busy – they all were.

Breaking up with Davis a few months ago had been a mistake, a rash decision after a stupid fight.

Drawing a good night out by coming home with him and arguing tonight had been a mistake. The wounds from the breakup were still fairly fresh. They couldn’t exactly just pickup where they left off.

Hell, maybe getting back together had been the mistake.

She wasn’t even reading the list of songs anymore as she scrolled. Her ring finger tapped a little too quickly on the arrow keys and the music program locked up from overestimation. Grumbling, she tapped more—even though she knew better—and the window was suddenly minimized, and then she was confronted with the egregious mess of folders on Davis’s desktop.

What immediately caught her eye was the folder labeled ‘Sexy Sexy Sexy’, and with that, any thought of innocently returning Davis’s music library vanished up in smoke.

Eyebrow quirked, she clicked and opened the oddly-named folder without hesitation. Of course she knew that most every guy had that particular folder stashed away. Having it on the desktop was definitely bold though.

What she saw though almost made her guffaw, and she struggled to steel herself.

The folder contained pictures upon pictures of different styles of ramen, most likely purloined from some high-end bistro’s online menu, judging by the nearly indecent high quality and their tiny watermarks in the corner of each. Nearly every photo was accompanied with an adjacent text document, containing what Yolei astutely guessed were Davis’s attempts at parsing out the recipe by looks alone.

This ramen folder was probably more organized and cared for than the one he used for homework, and a quick visit back to the desktop and to a directory simply dubbed ‘hw’ confirmed this.

Yolei glanced at the bathroom door. Things inside had gone silent, but if history and the number of sliders he ate at the bar were reliable indicators, Davis would probably be preoccupied for a few more minutes. She had plenty of time.

Yolei cruised through the rest of his desktop in record time, finding nothing of note outside of a few folders containing game roms, a second folder of his own home-brewed ramen recipes, and much to her surprise: an alarming amount of digitized Shoujo manga, definitely pirated. She filed that away for teasing ammunition later.

Now, to find the really good stuff.

Her practiced fingers danced over the keyboard, running a shell command to search for recently accessed items. Buried in several sub-folders was one entry that caught her eye, a single folder with a timestamp indicating it was opened just an hour or so before he’d picked her up for their date earlier that evening.

The folder was named ‘yolei’.

A swirl of emotions flooded her as she opened the file with her namesake, and she found it was a dumping ground of yet more photographs.

Instead of gratuitous snapshots of food however, they all featured her.

Yolei immediately recognized a series of selfies she’d sent him herself – some as early as when they had first started their on-again/off-again relationship years ago. It had never occurred to her that Davis would be the type to save them anywhere but his phone. It was surprisingly sentimental of him.

An image of Davis lying in his bed, clicking through and lovingly studying a slideshow of her, sprung to mind and she felt a warm swell of affection for him. She had done something similar on occasion, when their respective university work had kept them apart for multiple days on end.

There were other styles of pictures too. As she scrolled further, she found photos they had taken together at her high school graduation ceremony, shots of them at a beach trip, and one from her recent birthday where he’d tried to wrestle her face into the cake. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

She came to a stop at one photo in particular, the image’s age betrayed by how grainy it’s quality was.

They couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Davis was round-faced and grinning in the middle, one arm slung over Ken to his left and the other over a mildly miffed Kari. T.K. stood on Kari’s other side (Yolei had forgotten about that silly hat he used to wear) and on the opposite edge stood Yolei herself, all spindly limbs and thick, round glasses—stained brilliant white from the flash of the camera.

Their Digimon partners stood huddled around their feet and Yolei felt a fresh pang when her eyes fell on Hawkmon.

She scrolled further, perhaps more quickly than necessary, but then came to a screeching halt.

“Bastard.” She hissed, an angry blush spreading across her cheeks.

“What?” Davis had somehow exited the bathroom and was halfway back to his seat. Yolei had been so engrossed in her recent discovery she hadn’t even heard him flush.

Without missing a beat, she twirled the laptop around and pointed the screen at him accusatory.

“What the hell is this?”

To his credit, Davis had learned since the gum smuggling attempt in his youth that it was best not to lie when he’d be caught.

“Oh,” His mouth formed a perfect O-shape. Now he was blushing too. “I can explain-”

“You better!” She rattled the laptop at him, the hinge wobbling dangerously. “I told you to delete these, Davis!”

It had been her one demand when they had broken up most recently. He had listed several himself, including the unconditional return of the multiple sweater-shirts she’d swiped from his dorm. She considered this a devastating blow, as they made the perfect sleeping shirts in her opinion. But to be fair, he actually needed them more than she did, his winter wardrobe being sparse as it was.

“I did delete them!” He shot back.

“Oh—that is so obviously not true.” She flipped the laptop back around so she could look at them again. The photos were definitely there, present and accounted for, completely not deleted. Her eyes were flashing as she glared back up at him. “Why did you keep these?!”

“Look, you specifically asked me to delete from my phone,” He explained. “And that’s what I did.”

“Oh, so you thought you could keep these on a technicality, huh?”

“We’re back together now so why does it matter?” He threw his hands in the air. “They’re not even that bad of pictures.”

“They’re disgusting.”

Davis chose not to argue with that. Certainly most of the photos could be construed as less-than appealing.

His laptop currently contained the only copies in existence of seventeen candid photos of Yolei, caught in various stages of sleep, sickness, and general foulness.

It had started as kind of sweet. On one of the nights she had slept over he’d woken first, and had snapped a quick picture of her face as she slept rather serenely, messy hair splayed over his pillow. When he’d showed her the picture later, he’d called her beautiful. She made a show of rolling her eyes, but smiled and blushed all the same.

For the second photo, he’d caught her while she was trying to subtly pick her nose.

It had kind of snowballed from there.

“Why were you even going through my laptop anyways?” He demanded in turn.

“I was looking for music.” Yolei turned her nose up matter-of-factly.

“In my pictures? Yeah, Right.”

“You’re missing the point.” She waved her hand as if his words were a fly buzzing by her ears. “This is a major breach of privacy.”

“Now that, you’re right about.” He stepped forward finally and reached for his laptop, but she pulled it to her chest.

“I mean my privacy, you jackass.”

“I took those, so they’re actually mine.”

“But they’re not pictures of you, are they?” She looked down, scrutinizing one of her in an unseemly, homemade guacamole facemask, filename: ‘she-hulk’. She had seen all these pictures before at one point or another, usually accompanied with some gentle ribbing at her expense, but seeing the collage now felt entirely different. “Davis, how could I ever trust you again? You promised me that you’d get rid of these.”

She was right of course, and that caused the words to sting all the more. Davis was near a hundred percent sober now, but his vision still blurred. Hot tears of shame, and a heaping dose of frustration, pricking his eyes. He fought and managed to keep his voice level, mostly:

“Yeah, well... how am I supposed to just go around like it’s nothing when you could be sniffing through my drawers every time I turn my back?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

A half minute passed where neither said anything. The music from the laptop was still playing passively, shuffling through Davis’s library automatically and currently playing some upbeat video game OST Yolei didn’t recognize. Eventually he moved and sank down onto the futon with her again, a few inches of space between them, and both their eyes settled on the gallery of photos still on display on the glowing screen in Yolei’s arms.

Davis remembered telling his friends oh so recently that he and Yolei were back together. Tai and Izzy had exchanged a quick glance, a silent exchange of barely-contained, mild exasperation. He imaged them placing bets on how long he and Yolei would last this time and pictured money exchanging hands when he broke the news that they were surely once again parting ways-

“That was the most sick I’d ever been in my entire life.” Yolei muttered suddenly, indicating one of the pictures. “I literally thought I was dying.”

He chuckled despite himself.

“Your nose is so red there.”

“Yeah, the tissues from I-Mart were like sandpaper. They still are.”

“Red looks good on you though.” Their eyes met then, and Davis continued quickly, stammering slightly. “I mean, not many people can pull off crimson flight pants, but- um… you did.. for years.”

Her face had an unreadable quality to it, and it seemed as if she might respond with something, but then she turned away and began scrolling through his computer again. He noticed her eyes weren’t focused though and he didn’t have it in him to try and dissuade her from searching still. There was nothing else to find anyway.

“Why do you even have this folder?” She asked, eyes forward.

He debated with himself for a few seconds, then decided on the truth.

“I like… having photos. You know, of you.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And when we broke up last time, and you told me to delete all those ugly pics of you, I did.” Yolei’s mouth opened to object, but he continued before she could interject. “I really did. I honestly just forgot that they were on my laptop with everything else too, and when I saw them later, I just… couldn’t get rid of them.” He stared at her profile, tracing with his eyes the lines of her cheek, the bump on her nose. “I really thought this last time was the real deal.”

“Me too.”

“Do you think we should break up again?”

“I don’t know.” Even though they weren’t quite touching, Yolei felt him stiffen by her side. She closed her eyes, and said her next words to the blackness of her eyelids. “I don’t want to.”

He breathed out, the air leaving him as if released from a balloon.

“God, me neither.”

She twisted on her seat, opening her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry for looking through your laptop. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay.” He responded quickly.

Yolei continued anyways.

“If I’m being honest too, I was looking to see what kind of porn you had saved on here.”

“What?” Davis balked. “Seriously? Why would you think I had… that stuff… on there? I don’t even…” He shook his head, the image of incredulity. “I don’t even watch that.” Yolei watched him steadily, a single brow raised. “What? I don’t!”

“Sure. We’ll talk about that some other time.” She was only half teasing.

The promise of ‘some other time’ bolstered his spirits quickly. He eyed his laptop in her hands, suddenly loathing the pathetic thing and how he’d used it to hide away the secret vestiges of what he had once thought would be all that remained of his and Yolei’s relationship. She had owned up to her transgressions.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Standing, he pulled the laptop from her slack grip before she could argue, and looking her dead in the eyes, gripped each half of the computer and snapped it in half along the hinge. The music died with a pitiful wheeze and splinters of plastic flew everywhere, a few bouncing off Yolei’s glasses to disappear into the fibers of the rug at her feet.

“Davis!”

“I shouldn’t have kept those pictures.” He discarded the broken halves of the computer, speaking passionately. “I want us to start over fresh, okay? I don’t want any dumb secrets or anything like that to cause any problems. I want you to trust me, because I trust you – I really do.” He swallowed hard. “I still love you, Yolei.”

Her eyes shone and laughter bubbled in her throat.

“But you computer-”

“I needed a new one anyways. You can help me pick one out!”

“Yeah, but,” She wiped her eyes clear. “What about all the other pictures? My graduation, the Digimon?”

“I still have those on my phone, no worries.”

“And your homework?”

“My homework?” It took a second for Davis’s brain to catch up. His eyes passed from one broken piece of the laptop to the other, then his hands rose to bury themselves in his hair. “Oh shit, shit. My mid-term paper is saved on there...”

Yolei wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, but instead she reached out and pulled him to her. She gently unwound his fingers from his hair and twined them with hers. She kissed him and kept pulling until he was climbing onto the battered futon with her, then over her.

In the morning, she would take off the back panel of his broken computer and pull the hard drive. She’d help him recover his homework and maybe, just maybe, a couple of the more agreeable photos that she would allow him to keep.

For now though, he didn’t need any of the digital keepsakes. As far as either of them were concerned, any number of pictures paled in comparison to the real thing.

For now though, she held him close and breathed in his ear.

“I love you too.”

When DemiVeemon bounced back into the living area sometime later, he found the pair asleep and huddled under a blanket together on the futon. The small Digimon took in the mess on the floor, the couple’s mussed hair, their slow and steady breaths, chests rising as one. Of course, he had heard every word of their argument from Davis’s bedroom, but he was used to the ruckus by now and too preoccupied with his noodles to care. Anyways, no doubt there would be many such squabbles in the future for him to witness.

He decided to let them sleep for now and bounded to the kitchen in search of a mid-night snack. He would just have tell Davis about his dream some other time.

#digimon #davis motomiya #daisuke motomiya #yolei inoue #miyako inoue #daivis/yolei #daiyako #demiveemon #my fanfiction

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