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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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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

Note

please please a part 2 of that gamer!geralt au, them doing something like Q&A

Nonie, I hope you know what you signed up for. This got out of hand lmao. like 2.4k of Q&A kind of out of hand.

Warnings: swearing, talk of drinking to excess, kinda spicy questions, lil kisses, idk how but I meant for this to be goofy and horny and it got kinda soft? what’s new?

____________

“Holy shit,” Geralt sat staring at his phone as he mindlessly stirred pasta.

“I swear to god, if you found a way to burn noodles-” Jaskier turned away from the blender to wave a wooden spoon covered in pesto puree.

Geralt shook his head and held his phone up to him, scrolling through the replies to a tweet as he did, going on for ages as Jaskier’s jaw slowly got closer to the floor.

“What are those for?!”

“I put up a poll for a boyfriend Q&A or a game review and not a single person has voted for the game review.” Geralt was still scrolling through questions people wanted answered as he watched Jaskier’s face go from shock to confusion to a smug grin.

“They love me,” he sang, kicking his heel up as he turned back to the pasta sauce.

Geralt rolled his eyes and started screenshotting some of the less invasive questions, shaking his head and muttering, “Course they do.”

Geralt pressed record, waited a moment, and heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “You guys literally didn’t even give me a choice on this one,” he reached off frame and scruffed Jaskier, plopping him down on the couch with him.

Jaskier didn’t stay where he was put for even a moment, using his momentum to bounce up onto Geralt’s lap with a shit-eating grin, “Oh? Are we rolling?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, stifling a laugh, “This is gonna be a long one.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jask agreed, then turned to the camera, stroking Geralt’s hair, “My fans want more!”

“OH-kay,” Geralt manhandled Jaskier to sit next to him which earned him a pout and a leg draped over his lap as he continued his intro, “I’ve got a bunch of questions from twitter. I didn’t even have to confirm which video we would do, you guys just went straight for the kill. I picked a few, Jask picked a few, neither of us knows which ones the other picked.” he turned to see Jaskier wiggle his eyebrows at the camera, “Why am I thinking you picked the raunchy ones?”

The brunet pretended to be offended before he smirked, “Only a few.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he nudged Jask with his shoulder and opened up his phone to his screenshots, “Okay! First up is AdamSandlersBitch, nice name. They asked what Jaskier’s favorite gaming console and game to play is.” he turned to Jaksier with raised eyebrows.

His boyfriend cringed, “My.. my phone? I don’t know? I play a lot of Candy Crush while I listen to podcasts?”

Geralt smiled sweetly, “Wait what about Stardew Valley? I thought you started that?”

“I did!” Jaskier brightened up for a moment before he deflated again, “But I got confused and then the ADHD made me bake cookies.”

“Those were good cookies. I’ll play with you if you want?” Geralt’s normal ‘streamer dude’ persona melted away while he played with the rips on Jaskier’s jeans.

Jask leaned forward and kissed his temple, “I’d love that.”

Geralt blushed, even after years, Jaskier’s affection still caught him off guard.

“Mkay! My turn!” Jaskier flashed his devilish grin and read, in his most obnoxious voice, “Dwn2Clwn said ‘do you two live together? Have you said ‘i love you’? And who tops?’”

Geralt’s mouth twisted into an upside-down U as he stared at Jaskier in muted surprise, “Honestly, not as bad as I expected.”

Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s, “I’m starting off easy.”

Geralt let his mock-disapproving gaze linger just a bit before he answered, “The living together is kind of new-like a few months. This one said ‘I love you’ on, what? The fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth.”

“No, it was the fifth, Eskel locked himself out on the fourth. Remember?”

“Shit you’re right,” Jaskier gave the camera a stern look, “In my defense, we’d been friends for a good four years before this. I wasn’t just confessing my love to a tinder date - though I have done that before.”

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

Jaskier tapped his nose, “Don’t avoid the last part, darling.”

Geralt huffed and stared down the camera, and, in the most matter of fact tone possible, said, “We switch. Compromise, folks. Can’t have one person doing all the work all the time.”

Jaskier nodded sagely, patting Geralt's chest, “We got a pow-”

Geralt clamped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, 100% sure he was going to say ‘power bottom pillow princess’, “Nope. I’ll get demonetized for that.”

“But not who tops?” Jaskier asked through Geralt’s fingers.

He just shrugged, “I don’t make the rules.”

Jaskier tapped his phone and raised his eyebrows, telling him to move to the next question.

“Mis- Mischanication? Shit I hope I said that right, Mischanication asked, ‘would you ever get a pet together?’ We did! Her name is Roach and she’s a little shit! I told Jaskier not to feed her, but he did, now we have the snuggliest, crankiest cat I’ve ever met!”

Jaskier had gotten up to pluck Roach from her perch on the windowsill when Geralt had read the question and plopped down with her as Geralt finished his proud speech, “She’s not a little shit! She’s just delicate! Isn’t that right, darling?”

Geralt scratched under her chin and cooed, “You are a nasty little dragon baby, aren't you?! Just a little garbage child! Yes, you are. We love the tiny demon beast.”

“Geralt!”

He snickered and kissed Jaskier’s hair, “Next question, love.”

Jaskier grumbled something about positive reinforcement as Roach scampered back to her cat tree and he unlocked his phone for his next tweet, “This darling wants to remain anonymous,” Geralt gave him some serious side-eye at that, “they said ‘I think I’m in love with the flower twink, where can I find one of my own?’”

Geralt frowned at the camera and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, holding him close and snuggling into his chest, almost growling, “Hands off.”

Jaskier giggled, brushing Geralt’s hair out of his face as he talked to the camera, “You heard the man. Unfortunately, I was not mass-produced and I’ve been spoken for.”

Geralt looked up at him with what could only be called suspicious puppy eyes, “You picked that one just to sit in my lap didn’t you?”

“Yes. And because I want to change my socials to ‘flower twink’.”

“Do it,” Geralt kept Jaskier on his lap as he swiped to his next question, “Eggsfuckingsuck - heh, my dad hates eggs- Eggsfuckingsuck says, ‘what is the most embarrassing thing you’ve caught each other doing/saying?’ Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

"Oh I couldn't say the thing but you can tell this story!?"

"...you have a point... Check my insta stories. I'll put it there after I post this."

Jaskier nodded, ever so pleased, and turned to the camera, "Our dear Yennefer of sorceryglammour once beat Geralt at trivia night when the theme was 'video games'."

“We did shots before we went to the bar and she goaded me and Lambert into a chugging competition before the round started. I’m telling you, she planned this. Yen is ruthless.” Geralt desperately tried to justify his defeat but Jaskier was having none of it.

“She’s mostly harmless, plus I have video evidence from that night. You weren’t that far gone.”

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s head like one would a toddler, “I’d have to get my old laptop out. Later, darling.”

Geralt had a smug look on his face, “That means he doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Next question!” Jaskier squeaked, not at all changing the subject.

Geralt shrugged, “If you admit I won that one.”

“It’s not a competition!” Jaskier laughed, looking down at him with that stupidly smitten look on his face.

“Hmmm…” Geralt tilted his chin up defiantly, “if you say so.”

Jaskier kissed him, lingering a little bit more than could be considered chaste, “I do.”

Geralt looked up at him, batting his eyelashes, “Fine then, next question.”

Jaskier handed him his phone and he read it off leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, “CountryBumpkin42 asked if we play any instruments. I play the recorder very poorly, but Jask plays everything.”

“Not everything, but yes, I could cover a Trans Siberian Orchestra song if I had a pedalboard with enough loop settings.” Jaskier preened.

“And more,” Geralt added, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “In this house alone he has two pianos, three different types of guitars, a drumset, a violin and fiddle, a flute and piccilo, an oboe, a mandolin, a lute, bongos, saxophone, clarinet, tambourine, trumpet, and xylophone. Did I get them all?”

Jaskier glanced from side to side with a guilty look, “Ah… no, I bought a bass sax that showed up last night.”

“Oh, did Thursday at 3 decide they wanted to switch after all?”

“Yeah! She got the third chair as a freshman on a loaner instrument! I’m very proud!”

Geralt seemed to remember they were recording and turned back to the camera, “J teaches music at the university and does private lessons.”

“It’s how I can afford such a pretty trophy boyfriend,” Jaskier teased, ruffling Geralt’s hair and earning a little chuckle.

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

Jaskier smoothed Gearalt’s hair back down as he read the next question, “3R4108F6!J asks if we have any cute nicknames for each other.”

Geralt’s eyebrows nearly flew past his hairline, “J has a new one for me almost every day.”

“Its true,” Jaskier nodded, “I am a slut for cute nicknames. This morning was Ger Bear, one of my faves. I called him Thumbs for a bit, I lovingly call him Dumb Fuck rather often.”

“And he is Dip Shit, it’s balanced. I usually just shorten names? Jask or J is usually it, right?” Geralt asked, shifting so Jaskier was sitting on the couch between his legs and they were both turned out toward the camera but very much still cuddling.

“And when I’m being childish I get Alfie. But Geralt is much more deliberate and specific with his nicknames. It’s a bit of a friendship level up when he uses nicknames.”

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

He tilted his head, giving Jaskier a quizzical look, “Not at all.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, “You’re so cute.”

Geralt blushed again, leaning into the touch just a tad, “Who’s turn is it?”

“Yours,” Jaskier hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Okay,” Geralt blushed even more, “I had this one as an alternate, but uh, Yen asked what we’d name our first kid?”

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and hummed as he thought for a moment, “I always like Blake or Spencer, but I seem to remember you saying something about old world traditional names?”

Geralt nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, “My grandma was hoping each of us boys would be a girl and wanted mum to name us Cirilla every time. I quite like it, but I’m rather open as long as I don’t know someone with the name. I really like Eric?”

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

“I do, but it’s your hypothetical kiddo too.”

Geralt gave him a little squeeze, “There’s time for that later. What’s your next one?”

Jaskier snorted when he looked at his phone, “What are your guys’ love languages?”

Geralt just looked down at Jask, completely entangled in his arms, then up to the camera, “I’m gonna hazard a guess at physical touch.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Jaskier giggled, “I haven’t taken the quiz in years, but I was that and gifts.”

“Oh, yeah. Physical touch and words of affirmation. I got like a 0 on acts of service and gifts, but I really like giving gifts.”

“Mhm, yes you do,” Jaksier wiggled his eyebrows, then turned to the camera, “I also had no idea you could have different giving and receiving languages till I met this one.”

Geralt nodded then turned to him with a slight frown, “you know I really thought your questions were going to be more graphic.”

“Oh, honey I saved the best for last,” Jaskier winked.

“Fuck me,” Geralt grumbled before reading off his last question, “Cali852 asked what we did for Pride.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, “Oh Pride was fun. We watched the parade, of course, then Yen did our makeup and… and where did we go after that?”

Geralt looked like he’d been waiting for this, “We went to a club, where you ordered three kamakazis, knocked them all back, danced for twenty minutes, then I took you home.”

“N-no… we went to the beach, didn’t we?”

“That was the year before. We were going to go to the drag show at our regular bar too, but someone had just finished grading finals and went a little too hard.”

Jaskier grinned, “Speaking of finals, time for the last question. I had a different one in mind but if the thing I cant say from earlier would get this demonetized then that defintitelyi would. So we’re going with ‘what is the wackest placy y’all banged?’”

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

“Nah, too standard. What about the cabin?”

“Heh, no I think your o-”

“I don’t have tenure darling,” It was Jaskier’s turn to slap his hands over Geralt’s mouth, “The answer is a dilapidated structure my parents still try to call a cabin out in the foothills.”

Geralt laughed and pulled his hand away, “Okay, that can be the answer.”

“Is that it? Now we just say bye?” Jaskier looked between Geralt and the camera.

Geralt shrugged, “Yeah. You wanna say the thing?”

Jaskier wiggled with a little pride and excitement, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe! Bye Fuckers!”

They both waved for a couple seconds before Geralt got up and turned the camera off. He popped out the memory card and was going to immediately start loading it onto his computer but Jask hooked his finger through a belt loop as he walked past and tugged him back down.

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.”

Geralt hummed, “We just snuggled that whole time.”

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh, “I know and this is exhausting. I don’t know how you talk to a camera all day.”

Geralt stretched to set the chip on top of his laptop before collapsing back on top of Jaskier who had stretched the length of the couch, “Are you making fun of me?” he teased.

Jaskier cupped his face between his hands and pulled him up for a deep kiss, “Oh never.”

#geraskier #gamer geralt #streamer geralt #teacher jaskeir #noob jaskeir #geraskier boyfriends #geraskier fluff #soft geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #geraskier modern au #the witcher modern au #look this is so self indulgent i hope yall still like it #lmao

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yunhoez · 3 years ago

Text

Swell

♄ pairings: suna x reader (in their 20s)

♄ genre: romance, angst, bestfriends to lovers (if u keep one eye open)

♄ warnings: cussing, smoking, suna & atsumu aren't volleyball players okay (don't yell at me), sfw for now

♄ wc: 2.4k

♄ a/n: okay so this is based on a script I wrote (it’s gonna be a film soon hehe), but considering I have to keep it short I wanted to continue it on as a fic! thank you to @chifuyuzu, @arumiee, @psmugglerr, and Mal♡ for encouraging me to do this and reading it <3 I hope y’all enjoy!

♄ songs - Swell by Lunar Vacation, I Don't Know You by The Marias

_______________________________________________

The low humming of the car and soft music coming from the radio sends you into a trance as you look out at the familiar streets of your hometown. Your head pressed against the seat feels heavy with the thought of being back in the place you ran away from. Your gaze trails to the two in the front seat, the streetlights hitting them enough for you to make out their features you’ve seemed to forget. Ava hums to the song on the radio lightly, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. Atsumu’s eyes are fixed on the road before he turns toward Ava and rubs her back slightly. She shoots him a small smile before returning her gaze to the road. The aching feeling in your heart swells, making your stomach churn.

“It’s weird.” You say, breaking the peaceful silence that once graced the car.

“Hm?” Ava hums, looking at you through the rearview mirror.

“Nothing ever seems to change here.” You state, staring back out at the window with a blank expression, catching a glimpse of the houses you’d pass on the way to school.

Ava shakes her head, although you tried to mask your emotions, she could tell that you were irritated. Atsumu laughs looking out of the passenger seat window, noticing the park he used to practice volleyball at.

“It really hasn’t been that long since we’ve been here, Y/N.”

“I know, but you’d think things would at least feel different.” You throw your head back in frustration, letting out a loud sigh. Ava laughs, turning her blinker on before she begins to turn into yet another familiar street.

“I don’t know, I like that things are the same here. It feels like home, ya know? Knowing that there will always be a place that feels familiar is kinda comforting.”

Your gaze settles onto Ava with a mischievous grin. You scoot into the middle seat, leaning in between your two friends. Atsumu looks over at you and giggles, looking up at Ava to stare at her with you. Ava takes her eyes off the road for a second to see you two, she rolls her eyes.

“What?” She deadpans.

“That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard you say.” Your laugh fills the car, making Atsumu join in and eliciting a small huff from Ava.

“Shut up! Is it so bad I actually like my hometown?”

“Yes.” Both you and Atsumu state at the same time, further irritating Ava as she swerves slightly making the both of you slide in your seats.

“Crazy how I can just drop you two off on the side of the road and leave.”

“Not like we don’t know the way around here.” Atsumu says, poking at Ava’s cheek.

“Looks like you’re walking to the studio then.” Ava stops the car in the middle of the road, Atsumu looks at her with a puzzled look. She leans over to open his car door, you stare at the two in amusement waiting to see what happens.

“Babe, it’s another 10 miles!” Atsumu exclaims, shutting the door.

“Atsumu, just shut up or walk before these cars come.” You state, looking behind you and see the car lights coming from a small distance.

“Why do I have to shut up when this one started it?”

“Huh?! What did I do?”

Ava rolls her eyes, picking at her nail polish as the two of you bicker over nothing. She puts the car in drive and slams on the breaks causing the two of you to fall over.

“What the hell, Ava?” You ask from the middle of the driver and passenger seat. “I could’ve died?” Ava stifles a laugh before putting the car in park. She looks at Atsumu pouting in his seat, rubbing his forehead and refusing to make eye contact with her. Ava lets out a loud laugh, wiping at the corner of her eyes. You giggle to yourself as you lift yourself up, moving towards the right side of the car to take your seat. You notice Ava placing a kiss on Atsumu’s forehead and the fond touches the two share. A small smile appears on your face seeing them interact, their love radiating off of them like the sun on a hot day. It felt so nice to be around them, but the heat in your heart was beginning to sting. Was it jealousy? No. Anger? No. Longing… Maybe.

“Geez, ya nearly gave me a concussion!”

“Serves you right.”

Ava puts the car in drive, cruising along the dimly lighted streets. Atsumu continues to mutter to himself about how his head hurts.

“I felt my brain rattle.”

“Crazy because there’s nothing in there.”

They continue talking as you look out the window, blocking out their conversation with your own thoughts. Why did I come back here? Surely, I could’ve made up some excuse and made it up to them another time. I don’t think I’m ready to see-

“Anyways, Y/N, do ya really hate it here that much?” Atsumu breaks your train of thought.

“S’not that I hate it.” You mutter, head resting on your hand. “It’s just a weird feeling coming back to a place that doesn’t change. Like everything’s frozen in time… it freaks me out.” Scarlett peaks at you through the rearview mirror, once again, observing your facial expression. Always the mysterious one, aren’t ya? She thought.

“If you ask me, I think it’s nice having a place that doesn’t change. Somewhere you know you can be comfortable and find some sort of peace.” You stare at her for a second, before returning your gaze to the window.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Wow, you’re actually agreeing with me for once?”

“I mean I’m not opposed to the idea of it, I just don’t like getting too comfortable…”

“Fair enough.” Ava sighs, glancing over at Atsumu who nods knowingly at her as he puts his window down. Your window begins to roll down causing you to look at Ava in confusion. “Fresh air will do ya good.”

You rest your arms on the car window, slightly leaning your head onto them as you peek out of the window. The cool autumn breeze tickles your face, as you soak in the darkness of the night. It was a new moon, the only light coming from the sky was the twinkling stars and planets. You look up to the sky and catch a glimpse of a shooting star. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of those. You thought. I wonder if he still does this.

“Nice being able to see the stars, ain’t it?” Atsumu says, half way out of the car window.

“Yeah…” You smile, a giggle leaving your mouth as he sways in the wind dramatically. “One break from Ava and you’ll fly out!”

“Oi, don’t give her any ideas!”

Ava laughs, turning into the corner store you all used to visit everyday. Atsumu sits back into his seat, handing Ava a wad of cash from his wallet.

“Any requests?”

“Starbursts, make sure ya get the one with all the reds!”

“Alright, Y/N?”

“Oh! And one of those fancy lookin’ waters! Ya know, with the cool designs and shit?” Atsumu interrupts. Ava sends him a teasing glare and he smirks. She turns towards you, your attention fixed on the store that seemed to remain the same. The beige building had the same lettering and advertisements as it did when you were in high school. The railings had a fresh coat of paint on them, but still looked scuffed from all the times you and your friends would sit on them. It was just how you left it. How annoying.

“Oi, Y/N! Getcha’ head out of the clouds, Ava’s askin’ ya something”

“Sorry, what’s up?”

“You want anything?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Twizzlers? Got it.”

Ava exits the car and runs into the shop. Atsumu lifts off his seat slightly, digging into his pockets and pulling out a pack of Seven Stars cigarettes. He plucks one out and lights it, puffing the smoke out of the window. The scent envelops her, giving her a sense of both warmth and pain from the memories it holds.

“Thought you quit.”

“I did. This is for nostalgic reasons.” He smiles, inhaling the smoke and releasing it out of the window in a swift movement.

“Right, you and Rin…” You trail off mid sentence. Atsumu looks up at you through the rearview mirror, just as Ava did, and takes another drag.

“Mhm, this was our go to place for a while.” His eyes flicker from you to the inside of the store. He relaxes back into his seat, looking over at Ava with the biggest grin on his face. She’s looking intensely at two bottles of water and making small talk with the cashier. You smile to yourself, pulling your knees to your chest as you remember the times you all used to meet up here and spend hours talking about nothing.

“When was the last time you two spoke?”

“I can’t remember.”

Atsumu nods, knowing the answer. He flicks the bud of the cigarette out of the window, turning slightly to see you staring at the ground. He flicks your forehead softly, earning a yelp from you. He laughs.

“He’s still here, ya know?”

You look up from the ground, but stay silent for a few moments before he speaks up again.

“He never wanted to leave.”

“Sounds like him.” You let go of your legs, opening the car door and stepping out. You stretch a bit before shutting the door behind you. “You think he’ll be at the show?”

“I don’t think he’d miss getting the chance to see you again.”

You let out an annoyed sigh, walking up to the door and exchanging a couple words with Ava before she exits. The cashier greets you just how he did when you were sixteen and the layout of the store is the same as it was 4 years ago. Nothing’s changed here… so why do I feel so out of place?

“What did you do?” Ava sighs, rummaging through the bag of snacks she just bought.

“Huh? I didn’t do anything!” Atsumu exclaims, hands held up in surrender as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Sure, you didn’t. I’m assuming you mentioned Rintarou.”

“Hm? Rintarou? I don’t even know who that is.”

Ava scoffs, throwing the bag of Starbursts at him. He turns to her in shock, dramatically falling into his seat and gripping at the spot the candy hit him. She giggles, taking a bite out of a twizzler and lifting her leg onto her seat.

“What is she getting anyways?” Atsumu mutters, obnoxiously chewing on his candy.

“Lollipops.” Ava shrugs.

_____________________________________________

The smell of cinnamon and the bright lights of the studio overwhelm your senses in the most pleasant way possible. People you’ve never seen before walk past you, admiring the works of art your best friend, Rei, has displayed. Quiet chatter is heard over the music playing from a record player in the corner, occasionally Atsumu’s loud voice is heard saying “Yeah! Rei’s my best friend, she did all of this, ya know? I was her inspiration for most.” You giggle to yourself, hearing a small “Ow” when Ava elbows him in the rib. You observe the people around you, keeping an eye out for a certain brown haired boy. He’s not here. Your thought is interrupted by Rei’s sweet voice and a small shot glass held in front of your face.

“You look like you need this.” Rei giggles. You laugh lightly, grabbing the glass and clinking it with Rei’s before downing it with her.

“Strawberry?”

“Just like old times.” She smiles. You give her an annoyed look, causing her to roll her eyes and sling her arm over your shoulders. “Shut up, you know it’s our tradition.”

They part for a second then hook their arms together as they walk around the studio, Rei pointing out her favorite pieces and explaining them to you as you admire how ecstatic she is. The two of you stop at the last few pieces of her exhibit, the wall filled with pictures she’s taken over the years.

“I’m so proud of you.” You state, leaning your head onto her shoulder.

“Being vulnerable counts for something, doesn’t it?” She smiles, patting your head lightly.

Rei looks over at the entrance of the studio and waves to a couple people. You lift your head up and let go of her arm, as she smiles at you.

“I’ll be back!” She exclaims, running over and greeting them as she takes them on a tour of her art studio.

You debate whether to roam around the studio or stick to this exhibit, when something catches your eye. You stand closer to the photos, noticing how they date back to 2015. A couple photos in the timeline up to the present catch your eye. Ava, Atsumu, Rei, You, and Suna were in nearly every single one of them. You feel tears prick your eyes at how simple those times were, annoyed at the feeling of nostalgia seeping into your mind.

“Well this fucking sucks.” You whisper to yourself.

“I know, I look terrible in that picture.” A familiar voice states. A tall, lanky man stands beside you. His messy brown hair framing his face perfectly, as he gazes at the photos. You glance at him slightly, realizing who it is and avert your gaze back to the photos. “Seriously, who let me wear that?” He asks, looking over towards you and stifling a laugh at your reaction.

You turn your face to the other side, hoping he hasn’t recognized you. How could he? It’s been what? 3 years? I’ve changed my hair since then, there’s no possible way he’ll know it’s me. Suna lets out a laugh, making your heart ache. You turn to where he was standing and he wasn’t there. You furrow your brows and sigh with relief, but a hint of disappointment. You return your attention to the photos, only to be met with Suna’s chest. You hold your breath and remain still, as he bends down to meet your gaze. His golden eyes peering at you with a mischievous grin on his face, one that you remember all too well.

“Long time no see, angel.”

#suna rintarou #suna fluff #suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna fic #suna rintarou fic #atsumu fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyu x reader #UM HI I HAVENT WRITTEN A FIC SINCE I WAS LIKE 15 AND THEY WERE ABOUT HARRY STYLES #PLS BARE W ME AND BE NICE TO ME #IM A TRIPLE WATER SIGN

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years ago

Text

But professor… - c.8

Summary: Walter and Penny adapt to Maryland

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: None

Masterlist // But professor… masterlist // Previous chapter //

Tomorrow Walter and I are going to move to Maryland and there is just one more thing I need to do: buy some snacks. My cravings have been all over the place recently, so a trip without snack is asking for trouble. Walter is packing the final things with my mom and dad and in a minute they are going to put everything in the truck and U-haul. Since I’m the only one that knows what I really want, I decided to go on a little grocery store trip.

I’m wearing an oversized sweater on top of my leggings and it’s almost the only piece of clothing that is able to hide the bump. I’m seventeen weeks pregnant now, meaning the bump is harder and harder to hide, however this sweater will do. The chances of me running into someone I actually know is next to zero, but better be safe than sorry.

I walk into the grocery store and grab a basket, slowly filling it with what I want. ‘There she is,’ I hear a voice say, one I haven’t heard in so long and certainly haven’t missed.

Fitzgerald.

Every hair in my neck stands up straight. I simply pull my lips into an awkward smile, before walking off to the register. As I’m scanning the products, he actually follows me and I hate how this guy never understands the message, spoken or unspoken.

‘So, you haven’t been coming to classes,’ he says.

‘I know,’ I say, ‘I quit. Been looking into some other things.’

That is already more than I actually wanted to share with him, but hopefully it’s enough to make him go away.

‘Oh really? What you been looking into?’

Just fuck off, Fitzgerald. ‘First of all moving back home,’ I say, packing everything in my bag. ‘New York never really was the place for me.’ After paying for my snacks, I walk out of the store, only to hear the footsteps of the guy who just won’t leave me alone following behind me.

‘Did you hear that professor Marshall is quitting?’

Yes, I actually helped him writing his resignation letter. ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I didn’t.’

‘Apparently he got a job offer somewhere else.’

Yep, in Maryland. ‘Good for him,’ I say. ‘Well, I gotta go. Bye, Fitzgerald.’

He wants to say something, but then his eyes widen. ‘Yeah, bye,’ he says. He quickly turns around and is gone by the time I looked over my shoulder at him.

What was that about?

When I look up, I glare at Walter, who is standing on the other side of the road, leaning against a street light, his arms crossed. I walk up to him and without saying a word at first, we get mixed into the crowd. ‘What was that about?’ I ask him.

‘Nothing,’ he says, a little too nonchalant for my liking, ‘just wanted to make sure that you weren’t carrying anything too heavy.’ He pulls the bags from my hands and adds: ‘I hate that snotty kid.’

‘I had everything under control,’ I say, poking his side. ‘Did you see him scooting away?’

‘I wish I had it on video,’ Walter chuckles.

My parents are already in the U-haul they rented to make moving as quickly and easy as possible for us and I hand them some snacks.

‘Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re moving back,’ mom says, after our final pee. Walter just handed over the key to the realtor of his loft and stands behind me, before he says: ‘I know I am happy to move to Maryland. I quite love the place already.’ He presses a kiss on my temple.

My parents get in the U-haul and I wave to them as they drive off. Walter helps me in the truck and when he sits next to me, he gives me a kiss. ‘I love you,’ he tells me.

‘I love you too, Walter.’ I take off my sweater, before strapping myself in the seatbelt. ‘It’s ridiculously hot in here,’ I say, leaning back against the seat.

‘Twenty bucks you are gonna be cold within half an hour.’

I glare at him. ‘That’s mean.’

‘Ah, princess, don’t pout. You know how that makes me weak.’ I continue to tut my bottom lip out and he chuckles. ‘Let’s just hope the baby doesn’t get your pout, because otherwise I can never say no.’

‘No matter what the baby looks like,’ I say, ‘you’re gonna be unable to say no anyway. You are such a push over with me, this baby will wrap you around their finger in no time.’

‘Ai, exposed.’ He holds my hand in his as he drives off and gives me a kiss on my knuckles.

‘You thought about the co sleeping thing I mentioned to you?’ I ask him.

He sighs. ‘Yes and I’m not sure about it. I mean, we could place a crib in our room, right?’

‘But that’s so sad for the baby. To be alone like that after living inside my stomach for so long. What if they don’t be to be alone? They are not gonna sleep in our bed forever, Walter.’

‘I know,’ he says, ‘but… what if I crush them? I mean, they would be in between us, so… That means no sleep for me.’

I start to laugh. ‘That was your worry? Oh, Walter.’ Since I’m already close to him, I wrap my arms around his neck to give him a kiss on his cheek. ‘Aren’t you absolutely darling?’

I actually spot a faint blush on his cheeks.

I decide not to push it any further, because I feel like this co sleep thing is something that needs to simmer for awhile. ‘Can I ask a question?’ I ask.

He nods. ‘Of course.’

‘What if something goes wrong,’ I start, but he is having none of it.

‘No, no, no, nothing is gonna go wrong.’

‘But what if?’ I say. ‘I mean, something could go wrong during birth.’

He clenches his jaw, not wanting to talk about it obviously. ‘I see,’ he mumbles.

‘What I wanted to say was that if I am unable to answer, that you should decide what happens, okay? I’m one hundred percent sure you are going to choose the right thing for us.’

He smiles. ‘That’s what you wanted to tell me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh, princess, princess, don’t scare me like that, okay?’

I smile. ‘Sorry.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Walter and I bought a house and never in a million years did I expect to have this type of domestic life at only twenty one, however it’s exactly the life I have now and I wouldn’t change it for the world. The move from New York and Maryland went pretty swiftly, especially because my parents helped a lot, since it’s only twenty minutes from my parents’ place.

The place we chose was already pretty great, but Walter and I decided—okay, I decided—that some wallpaper should cheer it up. It was a lot of white and it made me feel like I was at a dentist. There’s lots of pastel going on now, mint green, baby blue, soft pink and some yellow.

However, Walter did all the work, because he doesn’t want me to do anything. Too much work can’t be good for the baby, princess.

He now works at the Maryland Police Department and he is actually enjoying it a lot. He now is on patrol duties, but it will only take a few months before he is back as a detective again.

Weeks have gone by and today marks me being twenty seven weeks pregnant. I won’t lie about it, but I’m very over this pregnancy already. Everything hurts. My head hurts, my stomach hurts, my boobs hurts and don’t get me started on my back. I’m mostly sitting on the couch, reading both informative books and novels if I’m not mindlessly watching Netflix shows.

I am a horrendous cook, but I continue to try some things for Walter, because I hate it that he has to both work and cook himself some dinner when he’s off.

Walter comes back from work and smiles when he sees me. ‘There is my beautiful woman,’ he says. ‘Princess, princess, aren’t you gorgeous.’

‘Stop,’ I chuckle, trying to get up from the couch, but fail miserably. ‘I’m sorry, but dinner got burned.’

He smiles. ‘That’s okay, princess. I’ll order some take out, don’t you worry.’

‘I’m really useless,’ I admit. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He scoffs. ‘Don’t say stuff like that. You’re never useless.’ He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his side. ‘Tell me what did you do today?’

‘I went to that meeting,’ I say, ‘talked about being a first time mom. It’s just that…’ I place my head against his shoulder. ‘I’m scared.’

‘Why is that, princess?’

‘What if I’m a terrible mom?’

‘You’re not gonna be a terrible mom,’ he retorts. ‘The audacity to think you’re gonna be a terrible mom, when I know that you are nothing but sweet, kind, lovely and you will be a wonderful mom.’

‘Really?’ I ask.

‘Really, darling.’ He places his hand on my stomach and says: ‘It’s okay to be scared, however, you have nothing to worry about. Not when I am right here for the two of you.’

✎ ✎ ✎

The next day, while my mom and I are folding some baby clothes, we watch dad and Walter finish the crib. Mom has been sharing embarrassing baby stories about me and to make things even worse, my dad adds a few stories to it, some I didn’t even know.

Thankfully Walter really enjoys them, because he chuckles loudly. It took him awhile, but he is really liking it, having my parents around.

‘You really don’t want to know the gender?’ mom asks me.

‘No,’ I say, ‘I like to be surprised.’

‘Walter,’ my mom sighs, ‘can’t you talk some sense into her?’

‘Sorry, CC,’ he says, ‘but I kinda like the surprise too.’

She scoffs, before she lets out a chuckle. The baby already made the bond between my parents and I a lot tighter and for that I’m forever grateful.

I resit a little and Walter wouldn’t be Walter if he didn’t notice immediately I was slightly uncomfortable. ‘Princess, are you okay?’

‘Yeah, just my back hurts.’

‘How about you go to bed?’ Walter suggests. ‘Rest a little? You’ve been up pretty early on.’ When I don’t stand up immediately, he walks over to me and crouches down in front of me. ‘What’s wrong, princess?’

‘Nothing, just tired and in pain, that’s all.’

He nods, pulls me up and holds my hand tightly in his. I want to apologize to my parents, but my mom simply tells me not to worry. ‘Pregnancy can be rough, darling,’ she says, ‘so please don’t worry.’

I wonder if it’s hard for my mom to see me pregnant, when she couldn’t get pregnant herself. She never said it to me, but still I wonder from time to time. Even if she does have some hard feelings against it, she never shows it, as she is super supportive of the pregnancy. I give her a kiss, just like I give my dad a kiss and mom says: ‘Walter, did you even sleep last night?’

‘No, this one woke me up,’ he says with a smile.

‘You should sleep as well. You had a late shift the day before yesterday and you two should get a lot of sleep when you can. When the baby is here, she’ll keep you up.’

‘We really don’t know the gender, mom,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘I don’t know if they are gonna be a he or a she.’

‘Worth a shot, you gotta give me that. Okay, you go rest, we finish up in here and let ourselves out. We love you.’

‘Love you too,’ I say back, before Walter and I walk towards the bedroom. He helps me out of my sweatpants and into the bed. I hug the pregnancy pillow, and the bed dips down a bit when Walter gets underneath the thin blanket behind me. He places his hand on my stomach, before kissing my temple. ‘You comfortable, sweetheart?’

‘I am,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry I’m keeping you up.’

‘No, don’t do that.’

It only causes me to sniffle, but Walter knows exactly what to do when I have these slight emotional outbursts. He pulls my back closer against his chest, despite him being very warm, he tugs the blankets over our bodies and warms me up even more, giving me more kisses on the side of my face. ‘It can get pretty rough, princess,’ he says, ‘and that’s okay. Just let it all out, okay?’

‘Why are you so sweet?’ I hiccup.

He chuckles. ‘Well, you’re gonna be the mom of our kid and you’re my girlfriend. Of course I’m gonna be sweet to you. Forever and ever, princess. Forever and ever.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #walter marshall x penny townsend #walter marshall x asian ofc #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall x oc #penny townsend #asian ofc #but professor

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

Okay, but hear me out. Cap cuddles become what everyone is OBSESSED WITH like since Finn hasn’t shut up about them, everyone now wants em. Sirius very rarely gives them out, but if u receive them they live up to the hype. So could u maybe write another part to the cap cuddles pls 😊😊

Anon 1: If you have time, I would love to see some platonic/brotherly cuddles between Lo and Cap! Their relationship just makes me smile🥰

Anon 2: wait wait wait... we've had finn & cap cuddles... what about some loops & lelo cuddles? bonus points if remus and sirius are cuddling later and something leads to remus saying "yes but now I want /two/ of you"

Prompt 16 (as requested by 4 people): “What’re you all pouty about?”

The Cap-Cuddles-verse has grown! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove, of course!

Nado rolled up his towel and smacked Logan on the ass with it as he passed. “What’s with the lip, Tremzy?”

“Quoi?”

“What’re you all pouty about? You look like someone just took your ice cream away.”

Logan’s frown deepened as he looked into the hotel common space. “Finn won’t stop talking about Cap cuddles.”

“And…you’re jealous?”

“Yes! I want Cap cuddles!”

“Not happening, Tremz!” Sirius called without moving the brim of his cap from over his eyes. “Your boyfriend drooled on me. Tes privileges sont révoqué, souviens?”

“It’s not my fault!” Logan protested, walking out and perching on the arm of Leo’s chair. “I’m basically your brother, give me my privileges back!”

“He’s been whining for days,” Leo muttered as he wound an arm around Logan’s waist and continued scrolling through Instagram. “Finn waxes poetic every night. I’m going to kill them both. Help me, Obi Wan Cap-nobi, you’re my only fuckin’ hope.”

Sirius sighed heavily; after a moment of silence, he opened his arms up. “Viens ici, Lo. I hope you know this is for Leo’s sake and Leo’s sake o—oof.”

Logan practically threw himself onto the couch, scrambling to shove his arms under Sirius’ back and nestling his head beneath his chin. “Oh, this is nice.”

“That’s what Finn said.”

“Keep talking.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re all rumbly when you talk and it feels amazing.” Logan pressed his cheek against Sirius’ soft tshirt and closed his eyes. “I’m never leaving.”

“Yes, you are.” He cracked one eye open and saw Remus standing over him, looking amused. “Up, Tremzy, it’s my turn.”

“I just got here!”

“Fiancé privileges. You have two whole boyfriends to snuggle you.”

“You can have them for the afternoon,” Logan mumbled as he shut his eyes again. “They won’t mind.”

“You’re selling me out?” Leo gasped.

“Nice try,” Remus laughed at the same time. A few seconds later, two arms wrapped around his chest and began hauling off of Sirius; when he tightened his grip, Remus began shaking him lightly.

“I’m gonna get whiplash!” Logan shrieked, though he maintained his hold. Sirius braced against the back of the couch, but the fabric was too smooth—with a thud, both of them slid off and hit the floor in a heap.

A foot nudged him gently in the ribs. “Up you go, Lo. If you ask nicely, Knutty might let you back into his chair.”

The assistant coach was hilariously underprepared to deal with the Lions. He fumbled practice times, mixed up names, and dismissed superstitions until ninety percent of the team was ready to throttle him.

Then he assigned bus seats and hotel rooms, and that percentage increased sharply.

Finn glowered at him in the rearview mirror from the front of the bus as Logan and Leo tossed balled-up notes back and forth across the aisles dividing them. Remus winced each time his head smacked against the window and finally grabbed one of the many duffel bags that shared his seat, cramming it between him and the glass as a makeshift pillow. Olli, who was been smushed into the very back with Kuny, grimaced whenever his knees hit his chest as they went over bumps.

One pairing, however, seemed perfectly content. Sirius tapped messages out on his phone as Talker curled into his side, dozing on and off with both their jackets as a blanket. He murmured in his sleep once in a while and Sirius rubbed his shoulder until he quieted down, adjusting to make more space under his arm.

“Are they…together?” The assistant coach asked Moody under his breath, gesturing to the duo in utter confusion. “Arthur mentioned something about couples on the team before he went on sick leave.”

Moody pinched the bridge of his nose. “You fucking idiot, no wonder none of them like you.”

III

“Bliz, you good?” Sirius asked as Kasey shivered in the cold air. Their Uber would be arriving soon, but it wasn’t fun standing in thirty degree weather without a coat when a storm was blowing in.

“Totally,” Kasey said, wrapping his arms around his torso and stamping his feet. “Fuck, it’s windy.”

“I’ll warm you up.” Kasey raised an eyebrow and Sirius rolled his eyes, holding the front of his coat open. “Not like that, asshole. Come here, you’re making me cold just watching you.”

Kasey shuffled over and cuddled up into Sirius’ warmth; his shuddering subsided as soon as Sirius wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pressed him in closer. “Shit, dude, this is awesome,” Kasey laughed, leaning his head on Sirius’ chest. “I get Cap cuddles just for being cold?”

“You get Cap cuddles because we need you for the game tomorrow,” Sirius grumbled. There was a beat of quiet. “Fine. Yes, you get Cap cuddles because you’re cold. Don’t tell anyone”

Kasey fist pumped and closed his eyes, feeling an edge of drowsiness creep in. “Nat’s going to be so jealous.”

“What did I just say?”

Contrary to popular opinion, Cap cuddles go both ways, but only two people have had the privilege of cuddling Sirius Black. Remus is the obvious one, of course—it’s a common sight to see him reading as Sirius’ dozes on his chest or settles between his thighs with his phone.

James, however, has clocked nearly as many hours as Remus over the course of six years of friendship. He’s broad enough that Sirius can lay comfortably across his front without squishing him, and he radiates warmth like a favorite blanket. He hums when he cuddles people, little tunes and fragments of songs as he traces wide circles on their back with his palm.

If there was a race between Harry and Sirius for who falls asleep faster when James cuddles them, it would be the competition of the century.

Remus has come home from running errands to find them curled up together more times than he can count; when Lily bought the couch for the house, she specifically found one long enough for them both to fit. It’s useless to try and dissuade them from cuddling, and there’s no reason to in the first place. Both James and Sirius are perfectly contented when they’re passed out cold together in a tangle of limbs.

V: Bonus

“Scoot over, baby,” Remus yawned as he slid under the sheets. Sirius obliged, creating a few extra inches of space before setting his phone on the nightstand and wrapping an arm over Remus’ waist to pull him close.

“It’s good to be home,” Sirius muttered, kissing the base of his neck. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too. Coach will be back Monday, thankfully.”

“Talker is amazing and all, but I hate not sharing a room with you.” They laid there in silence for a few heartbeats. “Why are you moving so much?”

“Hmm?”

“You keep shifting around. Are you cold?”

Remus sighed through his nose. “I want two of you.”

“What?” Sirius propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at Remus. “Re, I thought we agreed that we didn’t want an open—”

“No, no, not like that,” Remus said quickly, rolling onto his back. “I love and adore you, and I only want you. It’s just—you know how I shared a room with Leo and Logan because what’s-his-face is an idiot and didn’t do his research?”

“Yes. He thought Talker and I were a couple.”

“Right. Anyway, we were watching shitty cooking shows on my bed and we huddled up to fit since twin beds are crazy small and I got kinda sandwiched?” Remus cocked his head to the side, looking confused at his own memory. “And it was nice? Like, really nice? I dunno, I was super warm and kind of compressed.”

Sirius took a moment to let that sink in. “Do you…want me to grab you a pillow or something so you can cuddle it?”

Remus shook his head. “Not really, you’re perfect. It was just strange. I didn’t think I’d like it.”

“So we’re good?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Remus tugged him down by the front of his sleep shirt and kissed him gently. “You’re the best, my love,” he said between kisses. “No matter what, you’re always my favorite.”

Sirius smiled into his lips. “Good to know.”

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thewritewolf · 4 years ago

Text

Mari Christmas And A Happy New Adrien

Summary:

Lost in the aftermath of Hawkmoth's defeat, Adrien loses complete track of time and before he knows it, the holiday season is upon him. Will a Christmas visit to his girlfriend's house be just what he needs to move on?

Hello and welcome to my piece for the @mlsecretsanta event! My giftee, @lesslinette, asked for among other things, Adrienette, family bonding, fluff and just a bit of hurt/comfort and I aimed to please!

I had to do a good amount of research into French and Chinese Christmas traditions (including interviewing my long-suffering French friend - thanks @emsylcatac!), so hopefully I didn't get anything *too* wrong.

Read on Ao3

Enjoy!

Marinette 💖: You still up?

Adrien: Yeah Still not sleeping great House was always too quiet Never thought it could get more quiet tho lol Whats up?

Marinette 💖: :( Just wondering what u were doing 4 xmas Since You know

Adrien: Since father went to jail and mom died again? Haven’t thought about it Guess ive still got time to figure it out

Marinette 💖: … ..Its the 23rd of Dec Like 2am Not a lot of time left

Adrien: oh Guess uh Stay at home?

Marinette 💖: Adrien Its been like two months Youve been going crazy in there Youll just be stuck in there all by yourself Why don’t you come over?

Adrien: I don’t know… I don’t want to bring anyone down Or ruin anyone’s christmas

Marinette 💖: Adrien ‘Kindest Boy in Paris’ Agreste

Adrien: Oh no she used my middle name

Marinette 💖: You are coming over tomorrow And letting me pamper you And letting my family - your REAL family - love you And that is the end of that ...Is that okay with you?

Adrien: Whatever you say ma’am

Marinette 💖: Good Be here no later than fifteen hundred Let me know if I need to pick you up

Adrien: Will do

Adrien laid back down, his face lit up only by the glow of his phone and the only noise in the room being Plagg’s snoring. Putting his phone to sleep, he turned over, closed his eyes, and honestly smiled for what felt like the first time in a long time.

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

Adrien reached the door to his girlfriend’s house with a gift under one arm, an envelope in his pocket, and a weak smile on his face. The latter wasn’t because of a lack of feeling on his part - the exact opposite, actually.

It had been hard to go to sleep after their conversation that night, a swirl of mixed emotions keeping him from getting the rest that he craved. Last night wasn’t much better and he was left exhausted. He’d even been half tempted to call and say that he couldn’t make it, but somehow that only made him feel worse.

So here he was. He’d shambled his way to the car, driven himself there through blurry eyes and frequent yawns, and turned the doorknob. Maybe they’d understand if he just dropped off the present and headed home.

Well, maybe not home, but just where he lived.

The instant the door opened, a wave of hot air buffeted him. Not only did it warm his freezing face, it brought all sorts of wonderful smells on it. There were the expected scents - baked potatoes, salmon, chicken. But then was something else, something a little harder to place.

After puzzling over it for a moment, he shook his head and stepped into the house. No sooner had he closed the door behind him than he heard some voices calling out from deeper inside.

“Wait, was that the door? The family wasn’t supposed to be over until tomorrow, weren’t they?”

“Tom, that has to be Adrien!”

There was excitement in Sabine’s voice that warmed his heart, but not quite as much as when he’d taken a couple steps into the house and was blindsided by Marinette bursting out of the living room to wrap him in a hug.

“Worried I might not show?” Adrien whispered after they parted from their kiss.

“Not even for a moment, chaton.” She smiled up at him before her eyes wandered down to his arms, a suspicious look on her face when she saw the one present. “Looks like you showed some restraint this year.”

“Of course!” At her continued doubting look, he added. “Come on, I’m perfectly capable of giving reasonable gifts.”

“Last year you tried to give me my favorite restaurant.”

“But I didn’t!”

“Only because I hid your checkbook and credit cards!”

Adrien snorted. “Details.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette tugged on his coat sleeve. “Follow me, you ridiculous man. You can put your gifts under the tree, we’ll open them tomorrow.”

She led him into the living room, where their Christmas tree had been set up in all its glory. There were red paper chains wrapped all around it and a huge variety of homemade ornaments - including a few that he’d made in years past. Ever since he and Marinette had started dating, he’d been welcomed into their household with open arms. And even before that, they’d been nothing but kind to him.

His eyes poured over the tree, looking for one specific ornament. It didn’t take him long to find it - with its poor quality, it stood out among the beautiful glass orbs and painted baubles. His fingers brushed over the patches of glitter, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face as he took in the patterns of melted wax inside it. His first ornament. They’d barely been dating a few months when he’d made that one.

Had it really been four years already?

Arms wrapped around him from the side and he looked down at Marinette’s chin resting on his shoulder, peering up at him with big blue eyes.

“What’re you thinking about, hot stuff?”

“Old memories, that’s all.”

“Hmm…” She leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You just about ready to make some new ones?”

“With you? Always.”

“You two want to come in and help us finish cooking dinner?” They both jumped when Sabine’s voice reached them.

Blushing, Marinette reluctantly let Adrien go and headed toward the kitchen. “Coming, maman!”

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

A few hours later and the four of them were seated around the dining room table. Some things had been moved around from what Adrien remembered from the usual arrangement, and a long table had been set up. Most of the spaces were empty - with the four of them, only about a third of the table was occupied. But while the chairs were mostly left bare, the table was not.

Even though he had helped make some of it, Adrien was still amazed at how good the food all looked when laid out on the table like this.

Most of it was pretty traditional, at least from what he knew. A lot of the time his experience with Christmas dinners were meals allowed to grow cold until he gave up on his father showing. But the roasted chicken was still steaming when they cut into it, the smoked salmon and toast still holding the heat of the oven on them. Add in the gratin dauphinois and this was just about the ideal Christmas dinner he could imagine.

Naturally, it got even better with Sabine’s contribution - spring rolls.

As Adrien shoveled them onto his plate, he asked Sabine, “Is this the only Chinese dish for today, maman?”

“Just you wait, dear.” She smiled over her plate. “Today was Tom’s turn to make dinner. Tomorrow will be mine and you’ll definitely have your fill then.”

“I can’t wait!” Adrien took some of the chestnut sauce to pour over his chicken. Which reminded him… He glanced nervously toward the oven. “I don’t suppose you made foie gras, did you?”

Marinette made a face and shivered.

Tom quickly shook his head. “Oh no, son. Back when Marinette was… what? Eight, nine? She found out how it was made and made us promise to never have it again.”

“Eleven years later and we haven’t broken that promise yet,” Sabine finished. “There are plenty of other foods in the world.”

“That’s good.” Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. “It always made me uncomfortable when my father ordered it.”

“Ordered, dear?” Sabine gave him a confused look.

“Oh, we never really cooked our own dinners.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “Not even Christmas dinner?”

“Nope. Sometimes he’d have to order the dinner prepared the day before and then we’d reheat it the day of, since no one wanted to come into work on Christmas day, you know?”

“I see…” Tom shared a look with Sabine, but the meaning was lost on Adrien. “Well, you make sure you have your fill, son! We’ll be making more for tomorrow, so this is all for us.”

“Thanks,” Adrien said with a grateful smile.

The conversation meandered and for the most part Adrien was just content to listen in, drinking in the company after spending so much of his time recently just by himself. Well, mostly by himself. Marinette would visit whenever she could get the time between college classes and internships. Nino and Alya were more elusive, if only because they were outside the city so often these days.

But there was one person who was his constant companion, Adrien thought with a smile as he peeked into the breast pocket of his T-shirt…

...Only to see that it was empty. Maybe he’d gone to visit Tikki and the kwamis of the miracle box? Adrien was drawn out of his thoughts when Sabine directed a question at him.

“Are you ready for the pre-dessert snacks, dear?”

“Oh! Sure, yeah. What do you have?”

“You’ll love it!” Tom excitedly got up and hustled over to the kitchen, Sabine right behind him. He raised his voice to be heard as he went to the room next door. “We know how much you love camembert so…”

Adrien’s eyes widened. They didn’t…

Tom returned with a platter of cheeses in his hands and a frown on his lips.

“Something wrong, papa?” Marinette’s eyes glanced between Tom and the cheese platter.

“No, no… its just… I could have sworn I bought more cheese than this. And I was so sure that I had purchased camembert.” He rubbed his chin. “Ah well, there is more than enough for the three of us anyway.”

While Sabine set down a large bowl of salad in the middle of the table, Adrien glanced at Marinette. At his side, Marinette was biting her lips and pointedly staring into the middle distance, trying her hardest not to laugh. For his part, Adrien was frustrated that he couldn’t go anywhere without Plagg making a noticeable dent in the food supply.

His annoyance with Plagg was so great he almost didn’t enjoy the Yule Log that Tom had made for dessert. Almost, but not quite.

Once they were done with dinner, they cleared the table.

“So, how’d you like the meal?” Marinette asked as she dried off the dishes while Adrien washed them.

“Definitely better hot. And homemade.”

Marinette chuckled. “I’m glad the bar was so high for us. Really makes us feel like we accomplished something here.”

“How about…” Adrien bit down on his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. “It was the most delicious meal I’ve had in months.”

“Ooo, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Years even.”

“Good, good, go on.”

“I had never known food could taste so delicious until you graced me with your heavenly meals.”

Marinette’s eyes gleamed with restrained laughter, the hint of a barely contained smile ruining her deadpan. “Glad I could finally weasel how you really feel out of you.”

“Yeah you’re pretty good at that, aren’t you?” Hands still in the sink’s soapy water, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“No fooling around now, we still have to help put up the last decorations before we relax for the night.”

“What sort of decorations?”

“Paper lanterns and paper chains. That sort of thing.” At Adrien’s politely confused look, she added, “It’ll help make mom’s side of the family feel welcome. Plus they look pretty cool.”

“Well what are we waiting for then? Let’s kick this into overdrive!”

Adrien suddenly worked in a flurry, Marinette scream laughing as she got splashed with some of the water thrown up by his breakneck pace. Marinette could barely keep up between her giggling, but she somehow managed.

With the last fork, plate, and glass sparkling clean and put away, Marinette shook her head and dabbed at her slightly damp shirt with a fresh towel.

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“So my girlfriend tells me.”

Adrien relished the sometimes quiet, sometimes loud evening he spent with the Dupain-Chengs. When he went upstairs and cuddled Marinette in the cozy darkness, Adrien felt only excitement for the next day

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

Morning came swiftly, but Adrien rose to meet the dawn’s first light with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step. Marinette was… a little less eager, but he managed to coax her out of the bed, eventually.

When they finally got down the stairs and made it to the kitchen, Sabine’s eyes widened and she even froze in the middle of folding one of her dumplings.

“Marinette? I’m surprised to see you up so early.”

Bleary eyed, her daughter simply jabbed a finger toward Adrien and grunted. Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled.

“I knew you’d be a good influence on her, sweetie.” Sabine patted his cheek with a warm smile. “Now, once you’ve had some breakfast I’d really appreciate some help out here. From you especially, Marinette, since you know exactly how to do it the way I like it.”

“Can’t Tom help?” Adrien made some toast for him and Marinette, doing his best to stay out of Sabine’s way. “Not that I’m not willing to lend a hand, but he’s got to be pretty good at it after all this time, right?”

Sabine laughed and even Marinette cracked a smile. “You’d think so, but no. The man can make almost any dessert known to French mankind, but I’ve yet to see him finish one spring roll or dumpling in all our years of marriage. Just about the only thing I’m trusting him with today is the roasted pork.”

“Not even the cheese plate?” Adrien asked, tongue in cheek. To his surprise, Sabine shook her head gravely.

“We don’t make one for Christmas day. After all, everyone that is going to be here is from my side of the family and we’re all lactose intolerant.”

“Oh.” Adrien glanced at Marinette, who shrugged.

“I got lucky and got papa’s tolerance for it, I guess.”

“Huh… well, can I help?”

A few hours passed, most of which Adrien spent doing vital but unskilled cooking like stirring and kneading. Although they did let him try to fold a few dumplings. It ended up nowhere near as well done as Marinette’s, but she still gave him a kiss on the cheek for the good effort. From what he gathered, Tom had never even managed to get it to stay together.

They had just put the last batch in the oven when they heard a knock at the door, Sabine quickly taking off her apron as she rushed to answer it.

Adrien’s ears perked up when he heard a conversation in Chinese start up, but between him being a little rusty and them speaking so fast, he couldn’t pick out much.

A few moments later, Sabine walked back into the room with an older Chinese couple. Marinette pulled him towards them. Sabine put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and introduced them.

“Adrien, these are my parents. My mother, Ling,” she said, gesturing towards the grey-haired woman currently hugging Marinette. “And my father, Zheng.”

The older man’s grey eyes sparkled with excitement as he held out a red envelope for Adrien, who just now noticed that Marinette had also been given one. He froze, eyes widening. Was he supposed to have gotten them something too? He hadn’t realized that anyone would be getting him anything, except maybe Marinette. There was a moment where he was about to decline but he took a shot in the dark and accepted.

The moment his hand touched the envelope, Zheng spoke in Mandarin, “Best wishes for the New Year!”

“Thank you very much!” Adrien replied automatically in the same language. While the finer points might escape him, Adrien was fluent in niceties.

Zheng’s eyes widened before he nodded sagely to himself. “Ahh, I see you’ve picked up some Mandarin from my daughter, yes?”

“Oh, no, sir. I’ve been studying since I was fourteen.”

Once again, Zheng’s eyes widened before he chuckled and looked knowingly at Marinette. “This one is definitely a keeper! I approve.”

Marinette’s cheeks were almost as red as the envelope, but she still smiled.

The bright, enticing red of the envelope made him want nothing more than to open it right then and there. But Adrien took a nod from Marinette, who had very pointedly left it sealed even as she refused to set it down. He chose to follow her lead as they all made their way to the living room.

While the Dupain-Cheng parents and the Cheng parents were getting settled there, Marinette volunteered them to go make some tea. Once they were in the kitchen and out of earshot of the new arrivals, Adrien held up his envelope with a raised eyebrow and curious look.

“You can go ahead and look at it now, it’s just not polite to do it right when you get it.” She carefully unsealed the envelope. “It's this Chinese tradition - good luck money for the new year, you know?”

Adrien followed her lead and found one ten, one twenty, and one fifty euro note inside. Glancing over, it seemed Marinette got the same. He was half tempted to just give her his euros since he didn’t have any need for it, but decided that might be tacky. If she would even take them at all. After stashing the envelopes away in a kitchen drawer, they came back with tea for everyone.

Over the next few hours, more and more family members funneled into the house. Adrien, used to seeing maybe four people during the holiday season, thought the room would be close to bursting after the first aunt arrived with husband and two kids in tow. But then came the uncle and his family, then the second aunt with her boyfriend and by the end of it fifteen people were packed into the living room. For some reason apples in boxes became involved? Adrien thought that was a pun but that was more his pun sense than his linguistic skill.

Before anyone could get too settled in, they finally got to opening presents. Despite his fears from the red envelope, no one else seemed to have gotten Adrien anything.

At least, none of the extended family had. The Dupain-Cheng family, however…

“Here you go, dear.” While the rest of the room was chattering among themselves, Sabine placed a package about as big as a shoebox on Adrien’s lap. Before he could react to it, Marinette had shoved a bag stuffed with packing paper.

“Let me go get your-”

Adrien felt a tug on his arm and looked down at Marinette seated beside him. “Open your gifts first and then we’ll open the ones you got us.”

“Okay, okay.” Adrien looked at the box on his lap and tore it open. He tilted his head in confusion as he lifted the fabric that he found there out of the box. His eyes widened when he realized it was an apron with ‘Kiss the Chef’ on it.

“Its for when you come over to cook with us!” Tom beamed down at him proudly. “Now you don’t need to borrow our aprons any more - you’ll have one of your very own!”

Adrien felt his eyes get misty and he bit his lips to keep himself from crying. After a few moments of pulling himself together, he managed to say, “Thank you, guys. I’m really looking forward to wearing it!”

“Speaking of…” Marinette prodded the bag she left with him.

“Right, right.”

Adrien removed the paper and pulled out what turned out to be a sweater, cream colored and decorated with mistletoes and black cats in red scarves. It felt amazingly soft as he slipped it on over his head, embraced in a warm hug that - he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a deep breath - yes, smelled exactly like Marinette. For now at least.

“Do you like it?” Instead of replying, Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette and pulled her close to him, nuzzling his nose against her neck. Giggling, she smacked his arms lightly. “I’ll take that as a yes, now let go!”

After he pulled his arms back, he stood up and stepped between the Cheng family members and made it to the tree before heading back to the little corner of the living room that they had claimed. He passed the envelope to Tom and the box to Marinette.

“A… gift card for an appliance store?” Tom said, his brow furrowing.

“I wanted to get you an actual new stove because you’re always upset at it,” Adrien explained in a rush, feeling embarrassed that his gift felt so… impersonal compared to theirs. “But when I went to the store I had no idea what actually made a good stove and searching it up on the internet only made it more confusing and… yeah,” he finished lamely.”

He glanced up at them and felt better to see them smiling back.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Adrien! Thank you, we’ll make good use of this.”

Beside him, Marinette began opening her gift, which Adrien was much more excited for. Not because he had spent any less for it, but because that at least he knew exactly what to get.

He knew he’d done good when she gasped as she pulled out the expensive fabric she’d once stared at longingly from the otherside of a store’s window in Paris. Which, of course, meant that he was also expecting the smack on his arm from her as well.

“Adrien! This is expensive! You definitely shouldn’t have bought this.”

“Actually, you’ll remember that I get to spoil you exactly three times a year - birthdays, Valentine’s, and Christmas.” He gave her the most innocent look he could manage. “So you like it then?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I absolutely love it, you cat.”

“Then that’s great!” He continued with the overly chipper and oblivious tone, knowing how much it bugged her. He rubbed his hands together. “So… when’s dinner?”

-----------

After a Christmas dinner packed with Chinese dishes, they slowly returned to the living room.

Adrien sat in a corner of the room, taking in the warm and inviting atmosphere, the excitement and energy of so many people gathered together in such a small space.

Holding Marinette close, Adrien felt like he was part of a real family for the first time in a long time.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #Love Square #Tom Dupain #Sabine Cheng #ml secret santa exchange #my writing #Mari Christmas and a Happy New Adrien

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Chapter 7

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 7

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4184

Summary: Life moves toward normalcy for Sam and the reader, regardless of emotional turmoil.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

A few days later the Kaisers came into the bar for a nightcap and asked you and Sam to come to their house for dinner. You couldn’t think of a reason not to, and honestly thought maybe it would be nice to have something to structure the week around. It had been quiet, just barely beneath solemn while the dust settled and Sam stayed mostly silent while you moved around each other throughout the day. At least at the Kaisers’ Sam would have to talk to you, maybe even sidle up close to you during waking hours to keep up the couples’ charade. A little zap of guilt moved through you as you politely agreed to a time, that the second thought you’d had was about getting closer to Sam under this guise. In any case, the Kaisers were kind, it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal with someone else, and if you were going to stay here, it would be a good idea to avoid appearing standoffish. You bought their last drink and were waving after them when Sam came upstairs from changing a keg.

“We’re going to the Kaisers’ for dinner tomorrow,” you offered, trying to keep your voice even and making a point of not staring at Sam too long. It was a challenge; since Sam had kissed you and even more since he’d divulged that longing was part of the tangle of emotions he was feeling, it was on your mind nearly constantly, adding a murky stripe to the ever-present grief.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Sam jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he didn’t know what to do with them. “What time?”

“They said 7:30. Don’t let me forget; I think we should bring a bottle of wine or something, so I can grab one tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that works.”

You wanted to drag out the conversation but couldn’t think of any way to that wasn’t cloying or desperate. If this (hopefully temporary) emotional distance was what Sam needed, it was unfair for you to try to take it from him. A quick nod and you returned to washing glasses.

The rest of the shift passed agonizingly slowly. Sam put on a podcast about Jonestown for the drive home.

You’d decided to walk over to the Kaisers’ with Sam the next day, bundled up on top of a presentable sweater that you hadn’t worn in a few years. Biting wind sliced through your jeans and seemed to creep into your coat even as you dug your chin inside the collar like a turtle, and when Sam noticed he threw an arm around you. His side blocked a bit of the wind and he rubbed your shoulder to warm it with friction. The impulse to curl up into his ribs was fierce, but you fought it down to wrap your forearms around the bottle of red wine that looked the fanciest of the midrange bottles at the grocery store. Where seconds before you had been wishing the walk were shorter, now you could’ve stayed out in the ice forever if it meant Sam would allow himself to be close to you again without being asleep. You’d made peace with the want, trying hard to decide that feeling crazy on top of your grief wasn’t helping anyone.

“Ready?” Sam asked with a tentative smile at the doorway. The Kaisers lived in a version of your cabin, in the sense that many of the houses in the area were log-hewn and rustic. However, they were clearly here to stay. Window flowerbeds filled with pinecones for the season and delicately carved shutters framed warm casts of light streaming onto the snow through gauzy ivory curtains, and their door opened to a tiny front porch where yours simply had a small ungraceful cement platform. For a moment, you thought about how comforting it would be to come back here at the end of a shift. It didn’t feel like somewhere as darling as this could have a half-broken boiler that rattled all day or plastic-coated countertops. This was a home and not a hideout.

You gave Sam what you hoped was a reassuring grin and watched as his long finger pressed an old-fashioned doorbell encased in wrought iron.

Mike answered the door. He had on a fuzzy pullover that made him look even more like a teddy bear than he normally did, nubbly wool spanning his belly like fur. He had the kind of rosy full-cheeked smile some jolly men combined with their booming voices to seem like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and a well-groomed beard with two starkly delineated streaks of gray-white dropping straight down from the corners of his mouth. From previous neighborly hugs, you knew he smelled like piney aftershave. He was a little taller than average, and built former-linebacker solid. You would’ve bet anything he was the perfect dad to call to help move you into a college apartment or scare an ex-boyfriend, and the thought of it made you cheerful and sad all at once. The hand not holding the doorknob had a pint of dark beer. “Great, you’re here! Babs, they’re here,” he added over his shoulder, gesturing an arm to welcome you into the home.

Sam waited for you to go first, shuffling his feet along the doormat in tandem with you as Mike closed the door. You followed Mike’s socked initiative and gently toed your boots off while you handed him the bottle of wine somewhat shyly. For all the years you’d been on your own, there was something so decidedly adult about bringing wine over to the dinner party of a middle-aged couple that felt like those first few meetings of your parents’ friends after college, when you’re not sure whether to call them by their first names or resign yourself to a life of Mr This and Mrs That. Mike seemed to pick up on it, thoughtfully appraising the bottle and squeezing your shoulder, humming about how you didn’t have to bring anything. He clapped Sam on the back and asked him how he was doing before teasing gently about how long his hair had gotten, and you took in the house.

It was bigger than the cabin you were staying in, the staircase to your left suggesting an upstairs that yours didn’t have, but what was far more striking was how warm it felt both in mood and literal temperature. A fire crackled straight through the main room in front of you, surrounded by giant river rock stonework that offset caramelly beige walls. A deep, plush canvas sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by two equally overstuffed armchairs upholstered with burnt sienna stained leather. Quick visual survey gave you a count of 4 throws in the room of various weights and patterns.

The kitchen was over to the right through the dining room. Barbie was wearing an apron covered in piglets and appeared to be basting something in the oven, turning toward you and absentmindedly wiping her hands. Fluffy, soft-looking hair was held back from her face with a pair of no-nonsense tortoiseshell barrettes. “Oh, perfect! I thought I hadn’t left enough time for the roast, but it looks about done. Can I get you two a drink?”

Sam’s soft, encouraging smile was enough to make you feel a little weak in the knees. “Sure! It smells great in here.”

“How about an old fashioned? We’ve been working through a great bottle of bourbon.”

“Works for me,” Sam agreed, and you nodded as well.

A few moments of small talk later, Sam offered to help Barbie with the food. She graciously accepted, giving him some job you knew she could’ve easily done herself as a way to make him feel more comfortable. Mike noticed you looking at the variety of pictures on the wall and started talking about their kids, putting names to each cheerful face. They were a good-looking family, the Kaisers, all big beaming smiles and limbs protectively wrapped around each other over the course of different seasons and major events. You’d had to let go of this idea years ago, long before Dean was gone, but it still made you ache in a nondescript way to see a family so happy and so each others’, not only in the way they loved but also in the way they so obviously belonged. Mike and Barbie were good people, and they deserved this. You tried to focus on the affection in Mike’s face as he talked, asking a few clarifying questions as he went. A few moments later, Sam came up behind you.

“Barbie says we should go sit down.” There was a pinkness to his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of the kitchen or residual windburn from your walk over.

The table was one of those single-plank, live-edged ones you’d always coveted and knew were far more expensive than they looked. It fit the elevated rustic feel of the Kaisers’ house and the delicious, rib-sticking meal you were eating off of it. As you fawned over the roast and Barbie did the requisite Midwestern dance of ‘oh it’s nothing I’ll give you the recipe’ it was easy to fantasize about belonging somewhere like this, having parents like this, pictures of your cousins and nieces and nephews lining the walls of your childhood home. Indulgent, clearly, even more so than the rich food and smooth liquor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it.

“So, have you two always worked in the bar industry? That always seemed so fun to me—but I’m too old to do anything like that now,” Barbie asked.

“Oh, come on, you’d be a great bartender,” Sam insisted, always coming down on the exact right spot between flattering and politely flirtatious. “But uh, no. This is the first bar I’ve worked in for more than a few weeks, actually.”

Mike raised his eyebrows in an indication to continue but Sam artfully avoided his gaze. You couldn’t tell what the cue was—how honest was Sam planning on being? An old classic, the technically-true, seemed like the best option. “I worked as a bartender through and a little bit after college.”

“Silly me, I guess I had always thought that’s how you two had met; you seem like such a good team there! How did you meet, then?”

You artfully popped an entire fingerling potato in your mouth to force Sam to take over. “Uh, our, ah, families were friends.” In the sense that Bobby had been like an uncle to you both, maybe. A complete non-answer that sort of encompassed the barebones of the situation if you squinted at it right, but neither Mike nor Barbie seemed to recognize the opacity of it.

“That’s great. I bet your parents were excited then, seeing you get together,” Mike suggested before taking a sip of bourbon. Both you and Sam smiled affirmatively—not together, many of those parents long dead before we had even met—and hoped the moment would pass. “How long has it been, then? Since you got together?”

That one you couldn’t even guess what the right pretend answer would be and prepared to joke ‘too long’ before Sam said, “About two years. We knew each other for a long time before that, though.” It made sense, as far as answers went. ‘About two years’ since Dean was gone, since your lives changed, but it still ripped through you like an electric shock and sent you reeling. You could have spent an hour looking at that statement from every angle but snapped out of it when Barbie gave you a basket of rolls to pass to Mike.

“So that explains why she doesn’t have a ring,” Mike winked, playfully knocking Sam’s arm with his fork still in his hand. “Two years isn’t that long.”

Two years is a lifetime. Sam blushed and looked down at his plate. “Be nice. Kids don’t get married at 20 like they used to,” Barbie teased from across the table, smirking at her husband with so much love behind her eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would’ve looked at Dean like that across some dining room table if things had been different and your mind flashed on the kitchen counter a few nights before, silently clinking rocks glasses together over pie and wanting to hold Sam until the world got more fair.

The plates were cleared and an amazing, sticky bread pudding was brought out. Mike and Barbie coaxed each other into telling stories that made you genuinely belly laugh until finally you couldn’t suppress a tiny yawn and the final drink was poured with a joke about how it wasn’t like you were driving home, so what was the harm? You all moved to the living room in front of the fire, sitting next to Sam on the couch when Mike and Barbie took what must’ve been their normal spots in each armchair. Old cushions folded up around you comfortingly and rolled you slightly into Sam’s weight next to you, lining up the firm stretch of his thigh along yours. Warmth from the fire and Sam, the pleasant sounds of your hosts’ voices and Sam’s answers to them rumbling through you as vibrations when he spoke were so sweet and heavy under the bourbon, and your eyelids began to droop.

Sam’s hand gently covered your knee. “Ready to go?” he asked, low with a private smirk.

You made a conscious effort to sit up straight. “I’m so sorry, I can barely keep my eyes open! Where are my manners?”

Mike laughed a big belly laugh from his armchair. “Babs, we’re outlasting the bartenders!”

Everyone chuckled as you all got up from your chairs, Sam accepting a Tupperware of leftovers before the at-the-doorway conversation of people who didn’t want to go and hosts who didn’t want them to either. You’d been so nervous about the dinner and now you didn’t want to leave, honestly hadn’t really wanted to leave the sofa, just doze against Sam in the heat and company like a child. It had seemed before like maybe Mike and Barbie were just asking you for dinner because it was the thing to do, but they had been genuinely welcoming and you realized that these were the first non-hunter or hunting-related relationships you had made in literal years as you zipped your coat up all the way to the top and followed Sam outside into the quiet night.

“Man, they are really nice,” he remarked, walking closely enough next to you that your sleeves brushed together.

You could barely see his face when you looked up to him. “Yeah. We should have them over sometime.”

“Our place looks like a flop house.”

You giggled, the sound falling softly on the snow around you. “We can fix it up first.”

“No real point in fixing it up if we’re not staying here for a long time.”

“Maybe we could stay a while.”

Sam looked down at you, slowing to a stop even as the icy wind whipped around you. “You want to stay?”

“I mean, I—yeah, I think I do. Unless you think we should go somewhere else.”

“No, I just…I guess I hadn’t really considered it here, the whole “roots” thing.”

“It’s fucking freezing, can we talk at the cabin?”

Sam’s laugh rang out across the woodsy surroundings as he clapped an arm around you and shuffled you both home.

That night you tucked your cold toes between Sam’s flannel-clad legs and tried to imagine Dean as an old man.

If you’d thought December and January were bad, the intense cold snap of February sent you for a loop. Something about the months of darkness and frozen fingers was making you more stir crazy than normal; the idea of coming home to the cabin seeming less and less enticing as the days went on.

And then the boiler broke.

Well and truly broke, not just making the horrible clanging sounds it was prone to, but no heat at all. It had only been a couple weeks since going to dinner at the Kaisers’ and the experimental conversation with Sam about investing time into the cabin which had since fizzled out. A lack of heat at the border of the Upper Peninsula in winter was obviously untenable, and it forced the topic again as you grumpily helped carry in the remnants of another dead tree Sam had felled to heat the home with firewood.

“Is it worth fixing or is this a sign?” you huffed through the tiny clouds of steam coming out of your mouth. “How much would it cost?”

“I don’t have a ton of experience with boilers, but I’m pretty sure it’s the heat exchanger. And I have no idea how much it would cost to fix, but I can try to do it myself if the parts aren’t too much.” Pragmatic, genius Sam with the patience for machinery that you didn’t have. He snaked a long arm out from the bundle of wood he was carrying to open the door and hold it for you to scurry under his arm before closing it after both of you.

Generally, you thought a landlord would probably fix this kind of thing but it always felt a little scary asking him for anything, knowing you paid cash every month and the owner had never asked for a background check. It could have been fine, but every potential conflict seemed like it might be an opportunity to be unceremoniously evicted. Better to either leave before it could happen or solve the problem yourselves. You put a hand on Sam’s chest before he could go back for another bundle of wood. “Let’s talk about it for a second.”

Sam put his hands on his hips and it accentuated the broad span of his shoulders in his thick jacket. “Okay, right. What do you think?”

“Well, I mean, do you want to stay here? Or do you want to go somewhere else, or start moving again or something? We haven’t even really talked about it.”

He seemed to be weighing the options before biting his lip. “Here seems as good a place as any in a lot of ways, you know? Off the beaten path, probably not going to get spotted by anyone we know—knew—and the money is honest.”

You cut him off with a flippant wave of the hand. “Right, but I’m not talking strategically. Do you want to stay here? Do you like it here?”

A moment of silence fell as you searched his face for clues. “I—yeah, I do. I like being in the woods, I like the bar, I like people like the Kaisers and Steve and Jake. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the summer but right now I do.”

The grin cracked open your face slowly. “Good. I like it here too. Do you think the hardware store would have the stuff you need to fix it?”

“Definitely the first place I would check.”

After getting the rest of the wood inside and leaving it next to the small fire already burning to dry out, you started to follow Sam to the car before he turned around a step before the door. “Where are you going?” he asked as you almost bumped into him.

“Hardware store, I thought?”

“Nice try, we can’t both leave with a fire going.”

“Oh, I get it. So you get to go sit in the warm car and hang out in the warm hardware store while I turn into a popsicle over here.” You were half-joking, but it was genuinely freezing in the cabin, even with the fire going. Sam rolled his eyes over a smirk and strode around you, pushing the couch tight to the fireplace before retrieving the down comforter from the bed and throwing it on top. He grabbed a rinsed plastic bottle from the top of the recycling bin and filled it with water hot from the tap before throwing it in the microwave for a second.

“Unless you feel like learning a lot about boilers today, then yes.” He gingerly pulled the bottle out of the microwave and tightened the cap back on, deftly shifting it between hands before tossing it under the comforter on the sofa.

You were having a hard time holding onto your anger as you watched him make a cup of peppermint tea, still wearing his boots and coat as he moved around the tiny kitchen. Reluctantly, you shuffled over to the couch and removed only your boots and gloves before getting under the blankets, tucking your socked feet around the poor man’s hot water bottle and finally smiling only when Sam brought over the steaming mug of tea with more than a touch of affection under the exasperation coloring his face. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

When he came back, you were well into a worn paperback and had put two more logs on the fire already. “Do you need help?” you called over your shoulder from within the comforter cocoon.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks.” His words came into the room on a gust of cold air while he tapped snow off of his boots.

“Think you know what you’re doing?”

“Actually, yeah. The woman at the hardware store—you’d recognize her, Diane I think—knew a fair amount about it. I’m pretty sure I have it under control.” He brought a paper bag weighted with supplies over to the utility closet you knew held the boiler and got to work.

It was nice watching Sam in this element, always had been. As much as Dean had loved doing little projects and fixing things, both Winchesters were far handier than your average bear and Sam’s natural interest in learning lent itself well to tinkering with all kinds of things. Evidently boilers were not an exception. He shucked his coat off to lie flat on his back, looking up at something you couldn’t see with his hands gently resting on his ribcage before reaching to grab a wrench. The twisting motion raised his elbow and tugged his shirt a bit up his torso to reveal a few inches of Sam’s lower abdomen, the trail of hair tracing to his belt buckle in slightly sharper contrast to the taught skin around it given the consecutive months spent without sun. It made you blush and you quickly looked back to your book, grateful for the heat that the fireplace was bringing to your cheeks as cover.

About forty minutes later, Sam tapped your shoulder and startled you out of the goofy historical fiction of the paperback. “Wanna see if it works?”

He had a stripe of oil or something on his cheek but you resisted the impulse to swipe it off, instead nodding and extricating yourself from the heat of the blanket and couch around you. When you turned it on, the boiler clicked loudly twice in a way you thought might be a bad omen before going silent again. You let an extended beat pass and placed a palm on the side. It was already on the edge of being too hot to touch and you momentarily forgot that you and Sam had decidedly not been continuing your new normal level of comforting affection lately before throwing your arms up high around his neck excitedly. He chuckled into your ear and closed the embrace, forearms crossing your ribcage and hoisting you off the ground as he stood up in your hug. You could feel the fingers of one hand splayed out over your back and side through your jacket, the other still holding the wrench tightly.

“Okay, no promises it’s going to last, but I think that was it,” Sam offered as you released each other.

“Crank it! I want it to feel like the Caribbean in here.”

“You say that now, and in 3 hours you’re going to be whining about how hot you are,” Sam grinned, clearly feeling a little proud of himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. He tapped the wrench absentmindedly against his palm for a moment, considering whether he wanted to say something. “When I was at the hardware store she said our landlord might be open to cutting our rent if we offered to fix up the place.”

“Who’s we?” you teased, holding your frozen fingers close to the boiler like it was a campfire.

“I thought you might say that. But seriously, I know you don’t like the color of the walls or the shower pressure or whatever, could make it feel a little less…sterile.”

You tried not to remember that the last time you’d picked out paint was for a bright pink bedroom at age 12. Sam was right, it could be nice. Even more than that, it would be great to have some leftover cash around, and an extra project to kill a few hours of daylight wasn’t a bad idea.

“I kind of like the sound of that. I’ll talk to him about whether he’d be game.” Sam squeezed your shoulder before massaging your neck, admiring the boiler distractedly when you continued. “And seriously, thank you for fixing it.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 8

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years ago

Text

Flower | 33

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst

; Word Count: 6.1k

; Warnings: Discussion of car accident, brief sexual content mention, depiction of a PTSD/panic attack

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is a bit earlier than usual but I want to get it out while it was done and I was feeling okay about it...work and job rejections have been hitting ol’ self-confidence hard so writing is a bit tougher than normal. I’ve gone through this for grammar but I haven’t properly proof read. I hope you all enjoy this though and please send me comments and feedback so I know what you think! I love to read them and it helps to boost me :)

; Flower Masterpost

Straightening up, you winced before rubbing at the small of your back before stretching. It was summer, which meant the sun was shining strongly. As much as you like the sun, you weren’t so much of a fan when you knelt in the grass for hours on end. The sunhat on your head helped a little, as did the sunglasses but your skin was shiny with the veneer of sweat.

You were hot, and with a deep sigh, you wiped across your forehead with your arm. The thick gardening gloves on your hands were covered in dirt and compost, keeping your hands clean but also making them incredibly warm. As much as you enjoyed gardening, it felt like a chore in the heat of a summer’s day.

But at least you had some company for your misery today. Your mom was knelt next to you, leaning forward and diligently weeding her beloved flowers. Hoseok and you had come over for the day, intending to feast yourselves on your dad’s famous pot roast before heading home with a bag full of leftovers that would be eaten at work.

Watching your mom closely for a moment, you felt a surge of warmth and love for her. You never really noticed how much older she looked now; the lines on her face that were deepening and the greys in her hair that were multiplying more than you liked. It was easy to miss the passage of time on your parents when you weren’t paying attention too closely, but now that you stopped and looked at her closely you could see it.

You hoped she was happy with how her life had turned out. Even if it wasn’t the best, that’s all you wanted for your parents. To be happy and proud of you.

“So, what’s your plan for your yard? Are you going to get that porch built that you wanted? I wouldn’t bother trying to do any of your gardens and flowers at the moment. Unless you’re planning on planting flowers that will bloom in autumn and winter. Though there are some pretty ones. I’ll have a look online for you and find the best ones if you want? Maybe we can get your garden looking all nice together, a little mother-daughter bonding time.” Smiling at her, you nod your head slowly.

“Sounds good. Though we haven’t bought it yet. Officially. I mean, they’ve accepted our offer but now it’s all that legal stuff, you know? So I don’t feel too comfortable changing anything just yet, just in case anything goes wrong.” There’s a slight hesitance to your tone. So small that you don’t even realise it’s there, but your mom recognises it.

Sitting up, she stretches as well before shifting until she’s sitting cross-legged and facing you. There’s a wince on her face from overused joints that are ageing but she doesn’t complain, instead just looking at you intently.

“What’s wrong? I can tell there’s something. Is there something wrong with the house or anything like that?” It’s amazing how easily she picks up on things like but she did raise you. Cleaned you up when you were younger and you fell over, taught you everything you know and helped to make sure you grew to be the best version of yourself.

“No. No, there’s nothing wrong with the house. Or with Hoseok, before you ask. It’s just...I feel a little stressed. Or worried rather worried that’s better. More accurate. It’s just...a house, you know? It’s a big purchase, really expensive and it’s permanent. If anything happens with Hoseok and me then we have to go through the whole process of selling it and splitting the proceeds. And then we have to move out and I wouldn’t have a home anymore and-” The gentle pressure of your mom’s hand on your arm causes you to pause.

She has a gentle smile on her face and an understanding expression which soothes whatever frayed nerves you have. This is probably one of the few times you wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about this issue with Hoseok, being too worried he might take offence or something. But your mom understood.

“Sometimes...I think you get way too caught up in your thoughts. I want you to consider something, okay? Yes, it might all fall apart and it might not work out. But what if it does work out? What if everything is perfect and you get a nice house? And then Hoseok proposes and you get married. Then in fifty years, you can be telling your grandchildren all about meeting their grandad and falling in love in your lovely home.” Snorting slightly, you can’t help but roll your eyes slightly as your lips quirk.

“We’re not having kids, remember?” She makes an expression indicating she’s remembering what you’d told her. Your parents hadn’t been surprised to find out Hoseok didn’t want kids either. If anything, they’d been pleased because they knew how much you wanted to remain childfree.

“Yes, yes, but you know what I mean. Sometimes you just have to go with it. Enjoy your life in the moment sweetheart, you’ve spent far too long focusing on the negative aspects of life in my opinion. Just...take the time to enjoy the fact that you’re able to buy a house with the man you love and who loves you back. I can’t predict the future or anything but...I think you’re both going to be happy. So just focus on that, okay? You’ve got a nice little house to work on together, two cars, a cute cat, a good job and a great relationship. Focus on the positives.” Letting go of your arm, she took your hand before squeezing in reassurance.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly before shifting and reaching out to carry on gardening. You know that your mom is right, but it’s still a worry that buzzes in your stomach continuously. That something will go wrong and you’ll have no home along with no Hoseok.

The very thought of not having Hoseok in your life anymore makes your breath stutter, lungs freezing until you’re pressing a hand against your chest to try and coax them back to life. One of the reasons you’d been so nervous about getting into a serious relationship had been because you were terrified of falling in love only to have it all stolen from you.

It still scared you, the idea that one day you might wake up alone and that you’d never see or talk to him again. But that was just because you loved him so much that the very idea of not being with him anymore hurt. You wondered if Hoseok felt the same, deep emotions that you did.

“I know...I know. I can’t help it, you know? I’m trying, I promise. Hoseok’s finally convinced me to give therapy a try. The antidepressants are working well but I still have moments, you know? I don’t feel entirely settled and this whole house thing is getting me a little stressed. Not because of the house itself but...just everything it symbolises. So I’ve got an appointment for one next month, the earliest I could get.” Shrugging, you smile at her before digging back into the soil to make a hole for the flowers your mom had bought.

“Good, I’m glad. I hope it works. My advice to you is to just take everything a day at a time, okay? It’ll all work out for you.” There’s a quiet reassurance in her words and you can’t help but relax, knowing that for now at least you can just enjoy yourself without any negative thoughts.

A loud groan leaves her as she stretches once more, a loud crack emanating from her back as her bones move and you wince slightly. Reaching over, you rub at her back soothingly and laugh as she lets out a deep sigh before thanking you.

“Okay, finish that flower off and then we’ll head inside. My back is killing me and I just want to sit down for a bit.” Nodding at her, you let her go before finishing off the flowerbed and packing up all the gardening stuff into the small shed your dad had built last year.

Hands grasping at your waist cause you to shriek in surprise, spinning around and getting ready to push at the intruder. The sight of your boyfriend, his expression full of mischief, causes you to relax to the point your eyes are rolling.

“Hoseok! God, I thought you were some rando.” Hissing, you push lightly at his stomach and pout. A tiny bit of an over-reaction but if you couldn’t be dramatic with Hoseok then who could you be? He knew you weren’t truly bothered by his playfulness, especially when you leaned into his body a little.

“Bit weird for a rando to be in your parent’s backyard,” His arms slide around you, hugging you tightly and practically moulding your back to his front. “But no, it’s just your loveable weirdo.”

Snorting, you continue to carefully put away everything into their specified areas. Your mom liked things to look neat and tidy at all times now, which meant you were having to find where everything belonged. Otherwise, you’d get a phone call that would result in you being berated for leaving the shed messy.

“Is the door finished then?” Hoseok had volunteered to help your dad repaint the front door and start varnishing the porch steps. That had been around three hours ago, so you could only assume that not only were they finished but that he was probably famished. You’d discovered he seemed to have that stereotypical guy’s stomach in that it was a black hole which would eat anything and everything.

Burrowing his face into your neck, he hums in acknowledgement. Closing the drawer, you twist around until you can slip your arms around him in turn. Unlike the normal smell you’d come to adore, today he smelled of the overwhelmingly strong chemicals in the polish he’d used. It didn’t smell great and you wrinkled your nose, unhappy at the fact it wasn’t what you were used to but unwilling to move away from him.

“Thank you, for helping him. He’s been wanting that porch done for years now but his knees are so bad.” None of that is new information to Hoseok and you suspected that was why he’d volunteered to do it. To the point that he’d even headed out with your dad to the local DIY store to grab everything that they would need.

The look of happiness on your dad’s face when he’d realised that he was finally going to get one of his jobs finished had made you almost want to cry with emotion. You hadn’t though, but you were giving Hoseok a tight hug to convey your gratitude to him for being a good person. The quick kiss was just an afterthought, but he’d earned that too.

Wandering hands tell you that he’s more frisky than you’d thought he would be after the work he’d been doing, and it’s only when he squeezes a good handful of your ass that you pull away with laughter. While you still weren’t a big fan of your ass, it was still a little too big for your insecurities, Hoseok was very much a fan.

What some people call ‘an ass man’.

“Hoseok, come on. We have to go in and I am not doing anything with you in my parent’s shed. Plus, you got a blowjob this morning! I need to go help sort the vegetables out for dinner an-” Warm lips pressed against your own interrupt you, their softness making you give in almost instantly as you just enjoyed him.

Little butterflies were fluttering in your stomach as he just lazily kissed you, no urgency to his movements despite what you’d just said. Still, you didn’t push him away. He still remembered, even after over two years, that you enjoyed just kissing. Catching up on all the times you’d missed out on as a teenager and the intermittent years.

So you were loath to pull away from him; especially when he was doing what you imagined a loved-up teenage couple would do when out of sight of their parents. It was fun. Plus, Hoseok was a great kisser.

Finally, though, he stops and leans back to grin at you. It’s a testament to how much you are attracted to and love him with how strong the urge to drop to your knees for him right then and there. Maybe he could have two blowjobs in one day.

“Okay, we can go in now. Do you need help with the vegetables?” The way he changes the mood so quickly has you almost experiencing whiplash, eyes widening as you watch him turn around and walk out. Bringing a hand palm up, you squint at his back and mouth out ‘what the fuck?’ before following him.

By the time you manage to catch up to him, giving him a slightly sullen look even if you’d been the one to deny anything was going to happen, he’s already entering the house. The air is rich with the scent of slow-cooking pot roast and you sigh in contentment, heading into the kitchen.

“You can help if you want. Hey mom, it’s okay. We’ll do that for you.” Gently, you push her away from the counter and take the peeler from her hand. She looks between you both with a quizzical look, her lips quirked up into a half-smile when Hoseok just starts to wash his hands with no complaints before taking control of the carrots.

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything except for thanks as she leaves you both to it. You get the strong feeling that she’s bemused he’s helping you without complaint or further prodding. As much as your dad likes to cook on occasion, he usually takes a little bit of convincing to get him to help out.

“Oh hey, there’s stuff to make my mom’s roast potatoes...do you want me to make them?” You don’t see the curious expression on your mom’s face as she tilts her head, watching as Hoseok lifts a bottle of soy sauce and the grinder full of black pepper. Instead, you’re too busy making an excited face at him as you nod eagerly.

“Oh my god, yes! My parents have never had them before. I think it’ll go well too as my dad always likes to put everything in the cupboard in his pot roast…”

“You know...you weren’t kidding when you said that there was a high chance that I could end up getting the shits from your dad’s pot roast. That was a spicy ass meal. God, it tasted so damn good though. I’m glad he made so much for us to take back.” Hoseok was sat, or rather slouched, in the passenger seat of your car.

A hand was resting on his stomach, which looked to be holding a significant food baby. Snorting with laughter, you nodded in agreement before grinning as he let his head loll on the backseat. You’d been telling him about your dad’s infamous pot roast for a long time now and he’d finally gotten to experience it.

On top of that, your parents had been wowed by the roast potatoes Hoseok had made using his mom’s recipe. To the point that your mom had begged him to tell her how to make them, at which he’d made a big show about having to ask his mom for permission.

Somehow, that had all led to her calling his mom to formally ask for it. Even though Hoseok had been joking about it and fully intended to let her know how to make it. An hour after that, when you’d finally left after bidding your dad goodnight and with a bag full of leftover roast in Tupperware, your mom’s were still chattering away to each other.

You didn’t have too much experience with how parents were supposed to interact with each other but you were pretty sure becoming close friends wasn’t too normal. But again, you didn’t have any relevant experience here so maybe it was.

“Have you ever seen Step Brothers?” The question comes out of nowhere but Hoseok’s used to it by now. He doesn’t even look over at you in confusion or amusement, just answers you like you’d asked him what his favourite colour is.

“Yeah, why?”

“I think our moms just did that whole ‘did we become best friends?!’ thing.” Now he’s the one letting out a snort, his smile big enough that you can spot it out of the corner of your eye. He knows exactly what you mean, nodding even though you can’t see him properly.

“I think they did. You know, I’m not sure if this is a good or a bad thing. We’ll never be left alone now, you know that right?” Shrugging, you flex your fingers on the steering wheel and enjoy the texture of the leather beneath your hands. You were already approaching home, the roads quiet in the warm evening sun as everyone probably spent time in their yards.

“I like your mom. And I like my mom...sooo, I don’t see any problem with that.” Given you’re focusing on the road, you don’t notice the droll stare he gives you. Which is probably a good thing, because you’d just poke him if you had seen it.

“Are you kidding? Okay, maybe it’s just me that won’t be left alone then. I’ll never be able to do anything wrong. Whether it’s trivial or something serious.” There’s a serious whine to his voice and a glance over shows you that he’s pouting almost comically, causing you to giggle at his protruding lower lip. He may be a little dirty and sweaty from his day’s work, covered in tattoos and piercings but he just looked adorable.

“Well...I guess you’ll have to be on your best behaviour then, won’t you?”

“Very funny. I tell you, I’m going to hear about everything tiny thi-” He’s cut off by your loud cursing, the words coarse and filled with vitriol as you glare at the asshole who almost hit you. Slamming on the brake, you jerk forward hard as the car stops far quicker than you expected and the seat belt feels almost like it’s choking.

“Fucking hell, these brakes are sharper than I expected.” You exclaim, resting your hands in the perfect driving position on the wheel while letting out a deep breath to calm yourself. Glaring down the road, you note that the other car isn’t even there anymore and you can’t help yourself from flipping the bird in the air.

You were at the last intersection before your street, the opening just ahead of the traffic lights that had been green for you. Which meant that they had been red for whoever that ass was. It hadn’t stopped them from speeding as they ran their red, coming within inches of hitting your side of the car if you hadn’t braked so suddenly.

Shuddering, you crack your neck and wince as you rub at it, hoping you hadn’t caused yourself whiplash. Setting off again, you scowl before realising you were hearing a weird noise. Frowning deeply, you look over the display to see if any warning lights have come on before realising it’s coming from your side.

It takes one look to realise Hoseok is very much not okay.

He’s paler than you’ve ever seen and that immediately startles you, but what’s even more worrying is the way he’s got a death grip on the door handle and his seat cushion. You have to look away from him sooner than you would have liked given you were still driving, turning into the street with the house in sight now but you could hear him.

And you weren’t sure that you’d ever heard something so...haunting.

It was like he couldn’t breathe properly; his chest constricted or something while pained noises were being dragged out of his throat. You don’t even realise that you’ve sped up, subconsciously trying to get home and park so that you can help your boyfriend with whatever’s going on.

He’s still making those horrible sounds and breathing like he’s run a marathon when you pull into the drive, putting the parking brake on and turning the engine off before turning to him. Reaching out a hand slowly, it’s only when you can feel his bicep that you realise he’s trembling. No, not trembling. He’s shaking almost violently despite his death grip on the car.

“Hobi...Hoseok. Baby, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” You didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t understand what was happening. Why was he acting like this? Like he’d just seen a ghost or something.

And then it clicks in your head. The intersection, the idiot who almost hit you, the way you’d slammed on the brakes and cursed a storm. For you, it had just been an annoyance and a near miss. But Hoseok had been in a situation like that when he was a child, and it hadn’t been a near miss.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Fuck,” Muttering, you look around the car as you wonder how to break him out of whatever attack he’s suffering. “It’s okay, Hoseok. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe, you’re okay. I promise.”

As you try to find something to jar him out of his memories, you talk to him constantly. It’s utter nonsense what you’re saying but you want to make sure he can hear someone he loves, reassures him that he’s not alone. Glancing over to him, you swallow thickly at how panicked and frightened he looks.

Pulling out the tube of hard peppermints that had been living in your bag for probably two years at this point, you thrust them into his nose. It’s probably a dumb thing to do but something you’d learnt since your panic attack had been that a good way to get people out of the looping fear was something unexpected.

The strong scent of the hard-pressed mints was probably hard to miss given you jammed it against his nose a little too hard. There was white powder left, which wouldn’t look too great if anyone happened to see him, but you didn’t care. It worked.

Yanking his head back suddenly, Hoseok took a deep breath that sounded more painful than you like before looking at you with wide eyes. Letting the mints drop to the floor, you shift until you can reach and cup his face in your hands.

He feels cold yet the apples of his cheeks are so hot, his breath still faster than you liked but there’s coherence in his gaze. The Hoseok you know and love is back, no longer trapped in the memory of an eight-year-old. Guilt overwhelms you as you realise that you’d probably caused this.

“Hobi…” Is all you manage to get out before you’re stopped once more. Only this time, it’s by the way his face crumples and his eyes glisten as tears bank in them. It makes your chest tighten painfully to see him hurting; especially given how he so clearly tries not to let himself fall over the edge.

It’s only when your thumbs gently stroke at the skin of his cheeks, soft yet ever so slightly prickly from his evening shadow that was beginning to make itself known, that he cracks. The tears slowly slide down his face, each one shining in the evening light while his lips wobble as he tries to keep them pressed together.

“Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay, we’re okay.” You’re pretty positive that you’ve never seen anything more heartbreaking than watching Hoseok slowly break down. The rock in your turbulent emotions and mind, eroding as the dark currents of his mind hit at his weak points.

He just stares at you for a moment before he’s grasping at the door handle, breathing heavily before almost throwing himself out of the car. For a moment, you just stared out of the open door, watching as Hoseok practically scrambles for the porch of your house. It takes a few seconds for your brain to finally catch up, propelling you out of the car to follow him.

Crouching down, you reach out slowly to see if he’d be okay with you touching him. He’s sat down, the faded white paint on the old porch looking chipped and dirty as he rests a hand on it. When he doesn’t push you away, you carefully sit down next to him and rub his back in slow, soothing movements.

You can feel the muscles there shaking, his limbs still trembling slightly from the traumatic memory he’d probably had. Not a word has passed from his lips, only heavy breathing that he’s slowly managing to regulate once more and worry fills you.

“Hoseok...it’s okay. You’re okay,” Shuffling a little closer, you move your hand up to stroke the short hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m okay, you’re okay. We’re home. Nothing bad happened. I’m sorry for triggering bad memories.”

Hoseok shakes his head suddenly, the movement fierce and firm. Eyes widening, you let out a small ‘eep’ as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly. This gesture is much different from his earlier embrace in your parent’s shed. There’s a little more urgency to this, the way his hands run along you isn’t sensual but more like he’s reassuring himself that you’re real.

That you are okay.

“You’re not hurt, you’re okay. Right? No pain, n-no injuries? You’re okay?” His voice quivers, breaking halfway through his words and your heart contracts at the sight of the fear in his eyes. The tears are still falling down his face, almost like he doesn’t realise and you gently cup his cheeks once more, wiping away at them.

This time, he seems to recognise your touch fully and leans into it, pressing his forehead against yours as a choked sob sounds from his throat. Cooing to him, you rearrange him until his head is buried in the space between your neck and shoulder, his larger frame seeming so small as you wrap your arms around him protectively.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, I swear. Nothing happened. That asshole ran the red light but I braked quick enough. I was just angry at him, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...to do this. I’m so sorry.” Now it’s your turn for your voice to crack, emotions tumbling together at seeing him so afraid and upset.

“S’not you. It wasn’t you,” He mumbles against your hoodie, squeezing you a little tighter. “It was...it was just the sound and the feeling. The brakes screeching, the cursing, being thrown forward. It was...I was back there. Then, back then. It was just so similar. The intersection and it all just...I guess my mind just got lost in it. It was like I was reliving that moment in my head; both here and back then. I could hear you but I could hear my parents, my sister. I couldn’t figure out what was real.”

You didn’t have any experience with this, with any of it and you didn’t know what to do. From your limited experience of watching shows and movies, you guessed he’d had some kind of flashback to his childhood accident. The sounds and movements of the incident throwing him back decades into that traumatic moment. You felt stupid that you’d never even considered he could still have some form of PTSD it.

At least, you assumed that’s what it was.

“You’re here. Here with me and we’re okay. I don’t...I gotta be honest baby, I don’t want to say. Or do. What do you need from me?” You hated having to ask that, putting the onus on him to figure out what you should be doing to help him. But you had no idea, you’d never dealt with this. You couldn’t even manage your panic attacks, nevermind one caused by a flashback.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t stress about it. You got me out of my head, that was good. Quick thinking,” Pulling away from you, he laces his fingers together before lowering his head till it’s between his knees and just breathes slowly. “Fuck, I’ve not had one of those in a long time.”

“You’ve had them before?”

There’s silence for a few minutes as he just breathes slowly, his eyes closed as he forces himself to relax. Twisting his lips, he rolls his head and the crack of his neck is loud in the quietness of the street. You don’t push him, letting him take his time to get to terms with what had just happened.

It was a good thing because you weren’t entirely sure what you were meant to do.

“Yeah. I used to get them when I was a kid. It took months for my parents to convince me to get in a car after it happened. Certain things would just...trigger a panic attack or a flashback like then. I can’t listen to the song that was on the radio at the time and...well as you’ve just seen, a sequence of events like that sets me off. A lot of my behaviour when I was younger, was a result of the PTSD from the accident. I thought I’d pretty much got past having these incidents as it’s been forever since I’ve had one.” Wiping at his face, he looks away from you and down towards the end of the road.

Wiggling over to him, you lean against him supportively before carefully taking his hand and linking your fingers. He lets you, his hand mostly limp except the slightest tremble of his fingers. Running the fingers of your free hand along the back of his, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Don’t be angry or upset or anything, you can’t help it. I know very well that we can’t control what our brains do. It probably thinks it’s trying to protect you somehow but...you got through it pretty quickly. You’re okay and you’re here, talking to me rationally pretty quickly. Maybe you had this because you weren’t driving, right? So you weren’t able to do anything about it. When you’re driving, your mind is usually focused on something else.” Part of you recognises that you’re just rambling crap to him but you want to keep him listening. Make sure that he doesn’t fall back into his mind.

Turning to look at you, Hoseok gives you a weak smile and you feel pain in your chest at how tired and sad he looks suddenly. All signs of your happy and boisterous boyfriend have vanished for the moment. You’ve never felt more useless.

“Yeah, probably. You’re probably right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin-” Cutting him off with a sharp gesture, you gently poke at his arm before smiling.

“Don’t apologise. Please don’t apologise for something you can’t control. You tell me this all the time, so now I get to tell you. It’s okay to not be okay, remember? All I care about is that you’re okay, that you’re not hurting or scared. That’s it. I don’t care that it happened, I only care about you.” His eyes look a little watery again at that, his smile weak yet a little happier than before.

“I know it’s early but...can we just go to bed? Just nap or something? I’m so tired. From working on the porch earlier and from this, I just want to cuddle you and sleep.” Tilting your head, you scan over him slowly and sigh softly.

Hoseok looks tired, his shoulders slumping and back slouching from the weight of everything. It’s the least you can do for him, especially if that’s all he wants. So you nod, smiling at him before squeezing his hand.

“Sure. You go head in, I’ll grab the stuff and put it away then come up.” Standing, you head over to the car to grab everything your parents had given you to bring home. The sound of Hoseok’s keys jangling together as he opens the door is familiar, as is the door closing to prevent Kasumi from getting out. A glance back tells you that he’s inside and you let your head drop, hands resting on the cushion of the backseat as you take a deep breath.

Taking the time to just inhale and exhale slowly, you tell yourself to relax as well. Just as you’d told him that he was okay and safe, you had to acknowledge the same for you now as well. Seeing Hoseok like that was scary and you would be happy if you never saw anything like that again. It hurt to see him afraid, to see him cry and struggle with himself. Was this what it was like for him when you were experiencing a bad mental health day?

Shaking your head, you blow the air out of your cheeks before looking up at the sky. The colours are starting to become more extravagant and vibrant, the blue deepening into purples, pinks and oranges as the sun sets. It’s still warm out but there’s a pleasant breeze that cools you, blowing gently through the grass and the branches of the trees that line the road.

It all looks so peaceful and calm, so unlike what you’d been experiencing not even ten minutes ago. Swallowing, you grabbed the bags and pulled them out, closing the door and locking the car before heading inside.

His shoes are alongside the others but there’s no sign of him downstairs. No noise coming from the bedroom either and you look up the stairs with a concerned expression. You didn’t know what to do, what was right to do. So all you could do was what he asked.

Quickly putting away the leftover food and baked goods your mom had given you, you head upstairs to the bedroom. The curtains are already closed, leaving the room darker than in the hallway and a glance at the clothes hamper lets you guess he’s probably gotten into some comfy pyjamas.

The shape underneath the covers doesn’t move, but you smile at seeing Kasumi laid alongside him with wide and unblinking eyes. Quickly pulling your clothes off, you get into a fresh pair of pyjamas as well before heading over to the bed, placing your phone on the bedside table.

“Hey, pretty girl. Are you looking after daddy?” Whispering, you slide into bed and stroke at her soft fur. Hoseok’s eyes shine slightly in the dim light, the covers pulled up to his chin in an almost protective way as he watches you shower love onto Kasumi.

Turning your attention to him, you take him in for a moment with a soft smile. Gravity makes his cheeks softer and rounder while lying down, his lips pouting a little more than normal while his hair half flops onto the pillow. He looks adorable, yet there’s still that vulnerability in his eyes.

“Do you want to be the little spoon?” You ask, grinning when he nods quietly. It takes no time for you to shuffle forward, meeting him in the middle of the bed and wrapping your arms around him. He nuzzles his head into the space below your chin, his arms trapped between both your bodies while you throw your leg over him as well.

Grinning to yourself despite the serious situation earlier, you can’t help but find some peace and happiness at this moment. To know that he loved you enough to feel safe in your embrace like this, to feel protected and not silly. You were smaller than him, yet you knew that you would keep him as safe as you possibly could.

Reaching up, you alternate between running the strands of his hair through your fingers and massaging his scalp in the way he likes. A quiet rumble of appreciation leaves him at the feeling, his body relaxing in your arms. It would never fail to amuse you how easily you could get him to sleep just by playing with his hair. And you wanted him to sleep right now, to have good and pleasant dreams to rid himself of the anxiety and panic from earlier.

Pressing your lips to his head, you sigh quietly and tell him something that you rarely vocalise. Normally it’s hard to get the words out, but today they flow easily and you can practically feel the way he relaxes even further.

“I love you.”

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strangeradventuresofp · 4 years ago

Text

happy together (five x reader)

requested by : @asphodelshare - omg would u be willing to do a five x reader harry potter au 🥺 like a collection of slytherin!five and ravenclaw!reader cute moments/little scenarios and everyone even the professors can’t deny their chemistry (dumbledore would be a shipper for sure) and just them being known as the badass, real smart, match made in wizard heaven couple 😫❤️

a/n : thank you so much this was so fun to do!! little bit of ooc five but obviously hes gonna be different in a different universe i think anyway. i loved this idea so much cus personally im a ravenclaw so it felt PERFECT but anyway thank u sm for this i hope u enjoy <33333

Everything started on the train. The train to Hogwarts, that is. You said a tender goodbye to your parents before stepping on to the train. You were so focused on waving goodbye to them that you had forgotten all about actually getting a seat, and they were filling up fast. Eventually, you got to this carriage that had only two other people in it, a boy and a girl. and you hesitantly slid the door open.

You cleared your throat. “Do you guys mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

“Of course not.” The girl flashed you a friendly smile and you hummed happily in response, taking your seat beside the window, sat next to the girl. Considering she had actually answered you; you felt a lot more comfortable sitting beside her than the boy, who merely shrugged one of his shoulders when you had asked.

His hair was carefully swiped over and looked as though it was made of silk. When she caught a glimpse of his eyes, they were a piercing blue, the kind that made you squirm under the stare of them. His face was chiseled kindly and he radiated with confidence. It seemed like he put no effort at all into his appearance, but at the same time, it seemed that he put every single effort he had into it. His demeanor seemed rather uppity, like he was too good to even respond to someone who had asked a simple question.

As you studied him, you watched his brows furrow in confusion and you lightly leaned over to read what he was writing down on the piece of paper in front of him.

“Three hundred and sixty-nine, point eight. (369.8)” You answered to the question he didn’t ask. He quickly snapped his head up to look at you and you sat back in your seat, offering him a small smile.

“What?” He spat, his eyes narrowing as he looked over you. You swallowed, moving uncomfortably in your space.

“I—I said, three hundred and sixty-nine point eight. (369.8). That’s the answer, isn’t it?” To your equation.”

His eyes widened in shock as they scanned back over the page he had scribbled over, biting the inside of his lip as you pulled out a book, reading it though you could feel his curious gaze on you.

Then, there was the sorting ceremony. You were sorted into Ravenclaw, which you knew you was your house anyway. The boy, whose name seemed to be Five, was sorted into Slytherin, and his eyes couldn’t seem to leave you as you tucked into your food.

The start of the year seemed to go on pretty similarly, Five continued to stare at you from afar or even from beside you in some lessons.

One day, you were feeling particularly rubbish. Your head resonated with pain and the bags under your eyes could not be mistaken for anything other than complete exhaustion. When you sat beside Five for your transfiguration lesson, you had entirely expected him to make some snarky comment, or snicker at the rough sight of you, but instead he simply looked at you, offering a small smile, much like the one you had given him on the train on the first day.

“Are you alright?” He whispered.

You smiled at that, nodding slightly, applying pressure to the centre of your forehead. “Yep. I’m okay.”

“You sure? I could try a spell to fix your headache if you want.” A cheeky smirk spread across his face and you giggled quietly.

“Hm, perhaps it would feel more pleasant than—”

“Mr Hargreeves, Miss L/N. Stop talking.” The teacher glared at the two of you from the front, and the entire class turned to stare at the two of you. A pink blush dusted over your cheeks and you swallowed.

“Sorry, Professor.” The two of you said in sync, keeping your heads down to get on with your work.

Just from that tiny interaction, you were pretty much inseparable from that moment on. The two of you had made a plan of the school, so that whenever you had lessons apart, you would pass each other in the corridors. You would make sure that you sat back to back in the Great Hall, so you could chat at every available opportunity. He would walk past you in potions and steal your ingredients. You would stay late in the library with each other, doing your homework and just talking. Quite quickly, the two of you were the top of every class you had, constantly battling for the very top spot.

Then there was Christmas. You had planned to go home, but something came up and you simply just couldn’t get home. Your parents were devastated, as were you. But at least you got to spend it with your best friend. Five hadn’t gone home. He hadn’t said much about why and you were hesitant to ask, but you were still glad that you weren’t alone for Christmas.

You skipped into the Great Hall, where he was sat reading a book. When he heard footsteps he looked up, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

“Y/N! I thought you were going home, what happened?”

“Something came up, and I couldn’t get home.” You shrugged and he frowned, squeezing your hand gently.

“I’m sorry. I know how excited you were.”

“It’s alright. At least I’m not alone.” You flashed him a grin and he chuckled, returning your smile and you took a seat opposite him. “Why aren’t you going home, anyway?”

“Oh, I, uh… I don’t exactly have the best relationship with my family.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Y/N. It’s okay.” He laughed and you smiled. Your gaze turned downwards onto the table, where your fingers were picking regrettably at the skin around your nails. Five’s brows furrowed together, watching you curiously. “Are you alright?”

“I, uh… I got you something. For Christmas.” His widened slightly, as if he had never received a gift before. You could’ve sworn you saw the slightest hint of a tear in his eye, but he quickly blinked it away, a confused look on his face.

“Why?” His brows knit together in genuine confusion and you didn’t quite know how to respond.

“B—Because I wanted to.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.” He scoffed at your words and you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why would—”

“Five.” Your stern face made his collapse and he sighed, his eyes turning soft.

“I’ve never been given a gift before. And I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t even think about it.” He admitted and your heart simply shattered for him.

“Five, I got you a gift because I wanted to give you one. You’re my best friend. I didn’t get you a gift because I wanted one in return.” You smiled and the edge of his lip turned up slightly. He faked a yawn, grabbing his books and standing.

“I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight.”

Christmas morning, you made your way to the Slytherin common room, waiting outside like you said you would for Five. After a while of waiting, you sighed. You knew he wasn’t coming. Luckily, you had made chums with a fair few people in Slytherin house, and they gladly let you inside. A frown fell over your face when you saw Five sat by himself, staring into the roaring fire in the center of the common room.

“Five?” You said softly, and his head turned to you. You made your way over to him, sitting beside him. “If you don’t want it, I won’t give it to you. If it’s too weird.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do, what I’m supposed to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” You smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll give it to you, you can put it n your bed now, until later. You don’t have to open it in front of anyone else. Okay?” He nodded and you smiled. Handing him the parcel that you had neatly wrapped.

That night, Five stared at the present lingering on the edge of his bed with hesitance. His arm kept stretching out to then and then pulling itself back in again, but eventually he ripped off the paper, feeling awful that you had probably spent so long making it look nice, but he wasn’t too bothered. What lay inside the paper, however, had Five bubbling with excitement. There was a notebook, a book and a small envelope. The book was all about time travel, something Five had shown a frequent interest in. The notebook was completely blank, save from a little doodle that you had drawn in on the back of the cover. It was a doodle of the two of you, of him not being able to stop reading the book you bought him and you getting angry that he wouldn’t listen to you. He opened the envelope. Its contents contained a little letter you had wrote, explaining how grateful and happy you were being his best friend and taped to the back of the letter was a small polaroid photograph of both of you, that took not too long ago at all.

Five had not noticed the stray tears of appreciation falling down his face until one landed on the note he was holding, and he gasped, swiping his tears and blowing on the paper to dry it out. He didn’t know why, but he felt comfortable being vulnerable around you. He felt comfortable showing his emotions, he had felt it from the very first time you had met. Something in his heart told him you were a good person and you wouldn’t leave him.

The next three years carried on the very same but what was different in your fourth year was the Triwizard Tournament. You planned on asking Five to the Yule Ball, or rather you hoped he would ask you, but when he did nothing of the sort, you decided to start dropping hints yourself.

“I got my dress for the Ball. Have you got your dress robes yet?”

“Y/N, I’m not going to the stupid ball!�� He snapped, completely unnecessarily rudely. You sighed, clearing your books off of the desk before clutching them to your chest, walking back to your common room without a word. It was at that moment when a boy from your own house decided to ask you to the ball, and you gladly agreed, your heart burning with excitement that you would actually get to go. You would much rather go with Five though. Your heart fluttered when you imagined the two of you dressed up, holding hands while you danced together. Years of close friendship had led to you developing deep feelings for him. But regardless of how you felt about him, you were going to the ball, whether he was going to take you or not.

The night finally arrived, and you stood at the top of the stairs before the entrance to the Great Hall. You looked incredible. Five’s eyes landed on you in no time at all, an incredulous look slapped across his face. His jaw dropped to the floor, his eyes scanning every inch of you, his heart thumping vigorously. His face fell when he watched you call out to your date.

“Sorry, Y/N. I said I’d actually go with Allison.” Your date wandered off, hand in hand with another girl and you frowned, tears welling your eyes. Storming away, you swiped angrily at the tears falling from your eyes. All you wanted was a simple dance and a nice evening. Your head fell into your hands as you sat on the steps, hot tears steaming from your eyes. A soft voice called out from behind you and you quickly wiped away the tears on your face, plastering a smile in your face as you turned around.

“Five! I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Are you alright?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, blinking away the new tears that formed in your eyes, glancing over his frame covered in his dress robes. “You look nice.”

“Y/N, I saw. Are you okay?” A deep sigh left your lips at Five’s words, and he came to sit beside you.

“Yep. I’m perfectly fine. Y’know, I didn’t even wanna go to the dance in the first place.”

“You don’t? Oh, well that’s too bad… I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go with me.” He gently took your hand in both of his, intertwining your fingers and your eyes lit up, receiving a smile from Five.

“Are you serious? I—I thought you didn’t want to—”

“I changed my mind.” He cleared his throat after a while, speaking in a whisper. “You look beautiful.”

Your eyes locked with his as you tilted your head up to his, gently pressing your forehead against his. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips and slowly, his face was drawn closer to yours, the temptation and want too huge for him to bear. When his lips found yours, the two of you were in a complete heaven, your lips moving together so generously, at a gentle but steady pace. The hands came up to hold your cheeks, holding your face close to his, both of your hearts racing at a lightening speed while the world around you turned to slow motion.

When the two of you finally announced to your friends that you were dating, you were met with a sea of ‘finally’s and ‘it’s about time’s. All you would do is chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss to Five’s cheek and he smiled. You were happy. Five was happy. You were happy together.

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hurricanery · 4 years ago

Text

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 2

A/N: Here’s part 2 of If the Sun Comes Up! (AU- interns fic). Thank u thank u thank u for the nice messages about the first chapter, your messages and replies seriously warm my lil heart. I’m still basically planting seeds for some future plot points here, but I hope you enjoy anyway <3

You can read part 1 here.

_______

And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up

And I still don't wanna stagger home

Then it's the memory of our betters

That are keeping us on our feet

_______

Everything’s different when the sun comes up. It all comes to light in a different way. The sun rises, and reality settles in. Like sleep is some magic reset button. And all of the thoughts and decisions, all of the fun, all of the mischief, it all seems worlds away. Like that was then, and this is now.

A funny thing happens though, when that reset button gets skipped. When there is no sleep, and no separation of night and day. When you stay awake for 24 hours straight and you watch the sun come up in real time; you watch the sun rise twice in fact, and there isn’t that detachment. It all flows together like a never-ending moment.

It’s strange, Amelia thinks, to have no reset button. To sacrifice the idea of choosing sleep. Because instead of calling it quits after two sunrises, she finds herself in a bar, of all places, sitting across from the people she’d met just 24 hours ago.

“I’m sooo happy you’re moving in with me,” Maggie yawns hugely next to her. And Amelia bites down on a smile at the confession; at what no sleep and a slim two beers has done to this previously panic-stricken intern. The intern that was currently dealing with the impact of being related to a Grey.

Except the panic isn’t worth it. Because there isn’t any fallout. Lexie practically laughs until she cries, when it all comes to light. When Maggie finally lets it slip about who her birth mother is. Between the delirious fits of laughter, all Lexie can manage is a “good luck telling Meredith that.”

And it only gets more chaotic.

There’s no reset for all of the sleep-deprived decisions. Lexie and Jo, in an impressive and almost falsely confident manner, venture off towards the bar, where a handful of residents and attendings claim territory. The rest of the newly formed crew stick together, in their quiet corner of the bar.

Amelia can feel Link’s eyes on her from across the booth as she brings a warm mug of tea to her lips. But her eyes remain glued down, staring down at the crumpled tea packet on the table. One of those cheap brands. Cheap because it’s a rare request in a place like this. The kind of drink that ends up taking longer for the bartender to make. More time-consuming to prepare than one of those fancy cocktails even, because it ends up that the bartender has to go search in the stock room for a tea bag in the first place.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a strong hand occupies her line of vision. It’s jolting, to say the least. For her focus to be intruded on like that. The tea packet she’d been so comfortably resting her eyes on, now suddenly consumed by Link’s grasp. He covers it completely, picking it up and further crumpling it in his fist before dropping it back down on the table.

The action forces Amelia to look at him. Which is probably his intention, anyway. So she does, and it’s equally as jolting. His expression. Because she’s half expecting it to mirror the harshness of a crumpled tea packet. But it doesn’t. It’s warm. And it’s soft. And it’s slightly curious.

“You should all move in with me.” Maggie’s voice chimes in.

And Amelia rips her gaze away from Link’s.

“Okay, slow down there,” she lets out an amused exhalation. “You were barely on board with the idea of me moving in.”

Winston playfully nudges Maggie’s side, from where he’s seated on the other side of her. And Amelia doesn’t miss the way his hand settles just above Maggie’s knee. The interaction stands out to her, and she decides she’s going to bookmark it for later. Revisit it perhaps when everyone’s feeling more awake and alert.

“Who should all move where?” Lexie slides into the booth next to Link, eyes wide with naivety as she sips a full drink.

“My apartment,” Maggie responds matter-of-factly. “I have one more room open.”

Amelia scrunches her nose at this, and she staggers through her confusion. “Wait. Just one more? What happened, I thought-”

“Well, I already promised a room to Link….” Maggie’s voice is laced with exhaustion and something else, as she turns to explain to Amelia. “When you were in the bathroom….I told him, I-” She hiccups slightly, abandoning her sentence. And Amelia tilts her head to the side quizzically. “Anyway,” Maggie gestures across the booth towards Link. “Meet your new roommate.”

Amelia’s gaze returns to Link, and he shrugs somewhat defensively, muttering under his breath, “Sorry.”

But Amelia doesn’t feel sorry. She feels something else. The notion rises in her chest, and she wants to label it as anticipation.

“Okay, but I have to get out of Meredith’s house!” Lexie slams her drink down on the table. “I’m living with a bunch of residents.”

There’s unanimous murmurs of condolence from the group.

“Oh! Speaking of….” She continues, picking her drink back up and nodding towards the bar. “The plastics attending….Mark Sloan? Just bought me this drink.”

“Ugh,” Amelia’s quick to counter. “Do not go there.”

All heads turn to her, and she feels heat rise in her face as she takes in the curious stares. When she doesn’t follow up on her previous precaution, Lexie speaks up again.

“....Have you?” Lexie swallows, a disconcerted expression on her face. “Gone there?”

Amelia doesn’t miss the way Link surveys her expression, following this particular question. She clears her throat, eyes shifting back to the crumpled tea packet.

“No, no. God no.” Her tone is low as she shakes her head dismissively. “I’ve just….known him my whole life.”

“Oh,” Lexie shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. And Amelia quickly surveys any other reactions to her response.

A general quietness falls across the table and Amelia’s eyes eventually settle back to the tea packet. She can��t quite determine why it seems to be the focal point of her evening. Or morning. Or whatever this was. She wants to claim it’s the vivid yellow packaging that keeps catching her eye.

But, her thoughts are intruded once again when Link suddenly stands up from the table. She peers up at him intently.

“Shepherd,” his tone is gentle as he starts moving away from the table. “I think I promised you a game of darts.”

Amelia blinks. Partly in confusion. But also mostly against her sudden bout of exhaustion.

“I, uh,” she mutters, turning around in her seat as she watches Link make his way around the booth.

“Come on.” He raises his eyebrows at her.

And she bites the inside of her cheek, turning around to set her mug down.

“Okay, okay,” she’s not yet facing him when she stands from the booth. “One game and then I’m out of here.” She looks pointedly at Maggie as she exits the booth. “And I can drive anyone home that needs a ride.”

Maggie offers her a toothy grin, and Winston nods in grateful agreement at the offer. Amelia steps away from the table, and tries not to mirror the smug look on Link’s face.

“One game,” she repeats.

And he chuckles a bit, proudly.

“I don’t know….” he lets her lead them across the bar, towards the wall that’s filled with dart boards and other bar games. “You’ll probably want a rematch….when I beat you the first time around.”

Amelia feigns shock at his words. But really, somewhere deep down, she’s suppressing her gratification. Because he’s feeding into her competitive side completely.

“We’ll see,” she says, as she collects the darts and starts separating them.

She hands Link his portion of the game’s pieces and he mimics her words back to her. “We’ll see.”

_______

It ends up that uninhibited decisions turn into concrete plans. Link and Lexie move into the apartment. And Amelia adheres to her pride that she was the first choice in the matter, and that everyone else just happened to follow suit.

She wakes up in the new apartment on this particular morning, and it takes her a moment to adjust to her surroundings. She groggily registers that the unfamiliar space around her is, indeed, her own bedroom.

Her alarm blares again loudly, after it’s been snoozed repeatedly for the last 15 minutes, and she aggressively shuts it off. Sitting up in bed, she throws on a cardigan before shuffling out of her room and down the hall, towards the shared space of the apartment.

“Gooood morning,” Maggie practically sings, her voice an irritating level of cheerful for the early hour.

As Amelia rounds the corner into the small kitchen area, her tired eyes settle on Maggie, where she occupies one of the stools at the counter. All she can manage to mutter is a slight “mhm,” in acknowledgement of the greeting.

She reaches into the cupboard for a mug, before filling it from the coffee pot that’s already been prepared. Once her mug is full of the steaming liquid, she turns back around to face Maggie. She leans against the counter as she brings the cup up to her nose, inhaling the scent and closing her eyes in gratitude.

The sound of Maggie’s bedroom door creaking open eventually shakes her from her blissful moment, and then her expression quickly turns to one of shocked amusement. Because her eyes settle on Winston, as he exits the bedroom and enters into the main room. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing the day before, and Amelia looks him up and down, biting her lip in excitement, like she’s just remembered where she’s hidden the last piece of a puzzle.

“Ha,” Amelia’s delighted revelation sounds gravelly, the sleep still evident in her voice. “You don’t live here.”

She shifts her gaze to Maggie, who offers a pleading look in return. And then she looks back to Winston, who has since halted in the doorway. She can’t hold back the raspy sounding chuckle that escapes her lips. “I get it. You guys are sex friends. It all makes sense now.”

Winston scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly. And Maggie blinks, dumfounded. She stands suddenly, stepping away from the kitchen counter, like she’s desperate to remove herself from this situation.

“I’m gonna go shower. Don’t want to be late,” Maggie mutters.

Amelia just smiles further, eyes shifting playfully between the two, before she turns to walk back to her room. She raises her coffee mug slightly above her as she walks away, like she’s motioning a ‘cheers’ to the air. She tilts her head back once more in their direction, before she disappears from the kitchen, and sarcastically repeats Maggie’s greeting from before. “It is a good morning.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, but follows after her through the hallway, turning into the bathroom.

“Let me know when you’re done!” Amelia announces when she reaches her room. “I want dibs on the shower next!”

_______

Amelia finishes her coffee, and as she sets her empty mug in the sink, her impatience steadily rises.

“Maggie!” She yells, as she returns to the hallway. “You’re gonna make us late!”

There’s no response, but she hears that the shower is still on, and she even hears music coming from the bathroom. She finds the music choice odd for Maggie, and also finds it odd that Maggie is even the type of person that listens to music while she showers.

“Maggie,” she tries one more time, knocking her fist against the door.

There’s no answer.

She sighs, glancing at her watch. And then she decides to push the door open slightly, stepping into the small bathroom. “Maggie are you almost done?! I’m just going to brush my teeth real quick while you’re in there,” she announces loudly, over the music, as she reaches for her toothbrush on the sink.

“Um, not Maggie.” A surprisingly deep voice sounds from the other side of the curtain as she starts brushing her teeth.

And oh, that’s Link. “Shit, sorry! I thought you were Maggie! Wow, I just barged right in-”

“It’s fine” he interrupts, and then Amelia hears the water get shut off. “Could you, uh, actually hand me a towel though?” A dripping wet hand shoots out from behind the shower curtain and Amelia just stares at it, her toothbrush falling slack between her lips.

“Hello….? Towel?”

“Uh, right. Here.” She mutters around her toothbrush.

Blinking from her daze, she slowly reaches for a towel and hands it to him. And then suddenly the curtain is sliding open and Link is climbing out of the shower, towel around his waist, in all of his soaking wet glory. And holy shit, Amelia thinks, as she not so subtly darts her eyes around the tight space. Attempting to look anywhere but at him. She settles on turning around, and facing herself in the mirror as she makes quick movements of brushing her teeth.

She doesn’t know where the sudden panic comes from. She’s a confident person. Never timid. And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she retaliates against the idea that she’s lost any of her game. Or that she’s the one creating any awkward tension.

Link enters her line of vision through the bathroom mirror, and she feels frozen where she stands. Because, for some reason, he starts inching even closer.

He clears his throat.

“Just need to, uh, grab something…”

She practically jumps out of the way as Link reaches around her for the medicine cabinet.

“Ah, sorry. I’ll get out of your way,” she exhales a sheepish laugh at her own reaction, and tries not to cringe at the way she sounds with her mouth still full of toothpaste.

Link finally moves to exit the bathroom, and Amelia wants to sigh in relief, as she resumes her position in front of the sink. But she doesn’t. She holds back. And from her peripheral, she can see him pause in the doorway.

She turns her head in his direction. And he smirks at her before he leaves.

“Shower is all yours.”

The bathroom door clicks shut and Amelia spits harshly into the sink.

_______

Carpooling is apparently a thing they do now. They arrive at the hospital, and everyone piles out of Maggie’s car, beginning to cross the parking lot.

“Hey!” Jo’s breathless voice sounds from somewhere behind them as she locks up her own car and jogs to catch up with the group. She steps into pace with them, walking next to Link. “Whose service are you guys on today?”

“Neuro. With Shepherd,” Winston responds.

“Same here!” Lexie actually sounds excited.

“Okay, but why are we all on Shepherd’s service?” Jo mutters.

Everyone turns towards Amelia, as if she knows the reasoning behind her brother’s request. She just shrugs nonchalantly.

“Someone a little let down that they aren’t with Karev today?” Link nudges Jo playfully, and Jo feigns shock at the accusation, swatting at his shoulder.

As they enter the hospital, Amelia slows a bit behind the group, letting everyone else venture off ahead of her.

“Not excited about neuro?” She hadn’t realized Link had slowed down with her. “Not exactly my first pick either, but-”

“No, no,” she cuts in. “That’s not it.”

Link just stares at her for a moment, and Amelia almost feels scrutinized by it.

“Oh,” he continues. “Not excited about your brother, then?”

Amelia sighs, questioning to herself when they started getting so personal with each other. And then she cringes at the direction of her thoughts. Because maybe the getting too personal thing had started this morning, following the shower incident.

“That’s not exactly it, either.”

“Not exactly?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, what’s with-”

“Amy Shepherd?!”

Both Link and Amelia turn around, following the voice that’s interrupted their conversation.

Mark Sloan is walking towards them full force, a huge grin on his face.

“Mark?!”

“Amy?!”

“....Amy?” Link mutters under his breath, chuckling at the nickname. And Amelia glances sideways at him in warning.

“The only person that still calls me that is Derek,” she raises her eyebrows at Mark, matching his grin.

“Well, Derek didn’t mention you were in town,” He finally approaches, and Amelia pulls him into a tight hug. They pull apart and Mark looks her up and down. “You look….different than the last time I saw you.”

“You look different, too,” she smirks.

Link looks between the pair curiously.

“And I’m not just in town,” Amelia adds as she steps out his embrace. “I work here now.”

“You work here?! Why didn’t Derek say anything…” Mark gets momentarily distracted by something, or somebody behind them. “Derek!” he yells. “Why didn’t you tell me your sister works here now?!”

Derek approaches, his demeanor reflecting his overall impatience. He completely disregards Mark’s question.

“Why do you people not answer your pages?”

“....And this conversation’s no longer entertaining. Catch up later?” Mark glances at Amelia a final time before stepping away. Then Derek turns towards his sister expectantly.

“When I requested you all on my service today, I expected punctuality.” He raises his eyebrows, and when Amelia offers no response, he continues. “I have a patient being admitted today. She’s had a sudden onset of seizures. We don’t know the cause. But we need to figure out the cause.”

There’s slight hesitation at his instructions.

“Okay, you! Dr….” his eyes shift down to glance over Link’s ID badge. “Dr. Lincoln. I want you to grab the rest of the interns and head to the library. Starting now, you all are in charge of research. Anything, I mean anything, you can find on this. Case studies, research papers, all of it. Just….find something for me.”

Link nods respectively, and he begins to turn towards Amelia.

“And Amy,” Derek’s eyes settle on hers, in an almost disdainful way. “You’re with the patient.”

Amelia is stunned for a moment, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“You want me to do what, exactly?” She steps forward towards Derek, who mutters under his breath in frustration. “Babysit your aneurysm? Because my time is worth way more than-”

“An aneurysm, is the last thing this is-”

“And what makes you so sure of that?!” She looks between his eyes incredulously.

“You think this woman’s just been walking around with a ruptured aneurysm-”

“I didn’t say ruptured-”

“Well if it’s not ruptured, she’d likely not have any symptoms at all, so your logic makes absolutely no sense.” Derek raises his eyebrows, like he’s won the argument.

“I’m just saying! I did a research paper on this. Similar case. Sudden onset of seizures. No prior history. But, this woman fell and-”

“I never said my patient had a fall.”

“Well did you ask her that?”

“Amy,” Derek breathes, exasperated. He tries to move around her, completely done with the conversation.

But she blocks his movements. And he gives her a blank stare. While Link stands off to the side, looking between the two uncomfortably.

“Derek.” She retorts, the frustration in her tone highly evident.

“Take my patient to CT. And then stay with her, while she gets transported to a room. You can manage that, right?”

Amelia bites her tongue, nodding numbly. She refrains from voicing everything she wants to say, and she tries to fight off the emotions that arise as Derek steps around her. She feels defeated. And small. Which was typical lately, following any interaction with her older brother. She curses herself for thinking it would be any different, now that she was here under specific circumstances. Professional circumstances. Hand picked for this surgical internship out of a large pool of equally impressive applicants. But it’s not different. If anything, it’s even more demoralizing, to be met with this discouragement both personally, and now professionally.

Derek steps away and she’s left standing there with Link.

“Your brother is….kind of a jerk.”

Amelia rolls her eyes, pushing past Link.

“Shepherd, wait-”

She ignores the way he calls after her, and she keeps walking. Because she has a patient now. A patient who needs a head CT.

_______

Link finds her about a half hour later. She’s walking from CT with a stack of scans in her arms. She nods a greeting at Link as begins walking with her.

“Hey! So, we've all been in the research library, could probably use your help-”

“I was right,” she says simply, shaking her head. “It’s an aneurysm. It’s tiny, but it’s there.”

Link doesn’t hold back his surprise. “Wow, how’d you-”

He’s cut off again when Amelia turns to him, forcing the scans over into his hands.

“What are you-”

“Make sure Derek gets these.”

“....You don’t want to hand them over yourself?” Link objects, trying to give them back to her. “Tell him you were right?”

“Nah,” she breathes, turning away from him. “I want off his service.”

Link comes to a halt in the middle of the hallway, watching her continue in the opposite direction. She turns around, facing him once more before she’s off again.

“Just please, hurry. He needs to see those now.”

_______

Several hours later, after her shift has ended, all Amelia wants is a peaceful evening. The first thing that comes to mind for her, when seeking this, is chamomile tea.

After changing into her sweats, which includes her favorite Harvard sweatshirt, she wanders down the hall to the kitchen to begin her evening routine.

The kitchen is dark, so she flips on one of the dim lights before she starts rummaging through the cupboards. To her left, from the balcony attached to the small kitchen, she can hear the sound of Jo’s exuberant laughter, mixed in with a couple of other voices.

A moment later, the sliding glass door is opening and Link is stepping inside. He slightly grimaces at the difference in volume to the quiet kitchen, as the voices outside get cut off with the door sliding shut again.

“Oh, hey,” he mutters, as he sets an empty beer bottle on the counter. “Didn’t know you were up. Are we being too loud?”

Amelia shakes her head, her focus still on her tea set-up.

She knows she’s being standoffish, and probably to Link’s notice, too.

“Weird day, huh?”

Amelia shrugs. And then realizes she has yet to say anything out loud here.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“You seem like someone….that would want to talk about it, no?”

Amelia smirks at this revelation.

“It’s a long story,” she murmurs, listening to the water in the electric kettle start to boil, and then the comforting sound gets interrupted by Jo’s laughter from outside. “Shouldn’t you get back out there, anyway?”

“Sounds like Lexie’s keeping her entertained.”

Amelia leans her back against the counter, peering across the kitchen at him.

“Derek….he’s not a jerk,” Amelia says simply. “I know it seemed that way earlier. But really, there’s more to it.”

Link shrugs, moving to lean against the opposite counter.

“It just seemed like he wasn’t taking you seriously. When you happened to be right, so. Maybe he should have.”

Amelia nods to herself.

“Do you have siblings?”

“No,” he chuckles. “Only child.”

Amelia grins. Something about this piece of information makes sense to her.

“I think sometimes it’s hard to....I don’t know,” she trails off momentarily. “Take the baby of the family seriously?”

It’s probably obvious to Link that there’s more to it. Reasonings that she’s conveniently leaving out. But he nods along with her explanation anyway.

“Anyway, I don’t want you to go on thinking my brother is some bad guy….” she mutters as she turns around to face the kettle again. “Because he’s not, he’s….one of my favorite people, actually, so.”

Link watches as Amelia starts drumming her fingers against the countertop, her eyes glued to the tea kettle.

He steps towards the fridge, because he’d originally come inside to grab another beer.

The kettle clicks off and Amelia’s fingers against the counter come to rest. She places a tea bag into her mug and pours some of the boiling water over it. She turns around just in time to see Link shut the fridge door, empty-handed.

“Aren’t you heading back out there?”

“Yeah, I just….” he gestures towards the kettle. “That looks pretty good, actually. Is there any left over?”

Amelia holds back her surprise, but quickly nods. She reaches over for another tea bag and hands it over to him.

“Knock yourself out.”

She watches Link hesitate, turning the packet over in his palms.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she grins. “Just use the water from the kettle.”

Link nods, reaching for a mug.

“I’m going to bed. Think you can handle it?” Amelia gestures towards the mug in his hands.

And Link rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’ve got it. Is it that obvious that I’m not really a tea guy?”

Amelia bites her lip, and shrugs, turning on her heels and back towards her bedroom.

“Goodnight, Amy.” She can hear Link snicker from the kitchen. And the use of the nickname causes Amelia to halt in her tracks. She slowly rounds the corner back into the kitchen.

“Don’t even.” Her voice is tight with astonishment. “Do you want me to start referring to you as Atticus? Because I will.”

The threat causes Link to falter only a little. And then he grins.

“Try again,” she mutters.

“Okay,” he’s laughing now. “Goodnight, Amelia.”

She thinks it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. Or called her by her first name at all. She’s been so used to hearing him refer to her as ‘Shepherd,’ that the sound of her first name falling from his lips actually stirs something inside her. She convinces herself that that’s it. That’s the reason it stuns her a little. It’s simply because she’s not used to it. Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she enjoys the way it sounds.

She can’t help the smirk that crosses her face, as she repeats his sentiment. She turns back towards the hallway, an amused edge to her voice.

“Goodnight, Link.”

44 notes · View notes

spencerspecifics · 4 years ago

Note

What about a moried fluffy fic based on You Belong With Me by: Taylor Swift

You have no clue how much I absolutely love this song prompt thank u anon moreid is my shit here we go. (It is fluffy but it’s angsty in the beginning so yeah stay for the fluff thanks.) And I’m so sorry this took so long to get up! I took some time off from writing bc of lots of factors.

Lowkey TW?? Slight homophobia Bc Derek’s gf thinks he’s “too gay” even tho he’s just bi Also, song lyrics are in bold lettering. They’re going to be part the story here and there to help plot and whatnot so yeah!

———————————————————————

You Belong With Me

———————————————————————

Spencer had a problem. Namely a person problem. A Derek Morgan problem. Spencer didn’t hate Derek, quite the opposite, actually. Spencer was crushing hard on the man. And he couldn’t do anything. Spencer would rather lose his right hand then tell Derek how he felt about him, he couldn’t risk their friendship over his stupid little crush.

But just because he hid his feelings, ignored them through hell and high water- it didn’t mean they weren’t real, or weren’t there. They were both very real and apparent. Every time Derek called him ‘pretty boy’ or ‘genius’ or ‘handsome’, every time Derek wrapped his arm around him casually or did small things to showed him he cared, caused Spencer to blush and go speechless. Spencer was smart, but how to react to someone you’re infatuated with giving you attention, he’d never be able to solve that.

Time and time again, though, he found himself in situations where it was just him and Derek- and everything in his brain and body would scream at him to tell him how much he liked him, tell him how they should be together. It just made sense, after all.

Long paragraph short, here are the four times Spencer felt like they belonged together, and the one time Derek realized they do belong together.

“...You’re on the phone with your girlfriend, she’s upset. She’s goin’ off about something that you said, ‘cause she doesn’t get your humor like I do...”

Spencer hung out with Derek a lot, it was just by default. He wasn’t a social individual, but he pack bonded with the team. Spencer saw everyone there as his friends, so yeah, he hung out with Derek. They would go do things together, grab lunch, get coffee, meet up to go shopping. Painfully mundane tasks that were so domestic it could cause spencer another migraine if he thought about it for long enough.

It was on one of these mundane days when problems slowly arose. They were in the mall, sat in the food court. Spencer was looking over a new book he had just bought, it was a thick book on physics, it would probably take him a day or two at most to read it, his tray of food in front of him was still mostly untouched.

Unlike Spencer, Derek was eating. Though it was greasy mall pizza, it was still food. Derek decided he’d run a few extra miles to work it off as some sort of consequence for his action.

They sat in silence, Spencer already flipping through pages quickly, mouthing the words he was reading over to himself; and Derek chewing silently as he watched the genius in front of him.

That was, until, Derek’s phone rang. Breaking the ambiance that had surrounded the two. Spencer didn’t look up, he was too invested in the book in front of him. Derek reacted, though, wiping his hands off on a napkin before grabbing his cell phone out of his back pocket. He looked over the caller ID, it was Melissa.

Melissa was his newest fling, Spencer had heard bits and pieces of Garcia and Derek’s conversation surrounding the topic, but he knew the bare minimum- deciding best to not involve himself with how his crushes romantic life was soaring- meanwhile his was crashing.

Spencer didn’t know it was Melissa though, not until Derek pulled the phone up to his ear and said; “Hey, Melissa!”

If anyone on their team was with them and watching Spencer, they would have noticed the way his eyes looked off the book for a moment, up at Derek, before immediately turning back down; to reread the same page he didn’t need to reread because he could just go back into his memory to figure out what the words on the paper meant to say. But he had to reread the page. The strongest memory in the whole universe couldn’t tell him what was on the page in front of him, he was distracted.

Melissa on the other line started speaking. Derek listened before responding; “Oh, not much, Y’know- just at the mall with the doc.”

Spencer kept himself staring down at the book in front of him, even though he could feel the blush rising up to his ears. It was stupid that made him blush like a schoolgirl. But he couldn’t help it. So instead, he hid in the pages about quantum mechanics. Something real, something not confusing. Something that was pure and basic and understanding.

“No-“ Derek chuckled, “No, pretty boy ain’t that type of doctor,” god, this was going to be the death of Spencer. Pretty boy always was something that made him melt. He couldn’t help it, god knows he tried. He did all the distraction techniques he could find. None of them really worked.

Spencer opted to hide in his book more, act like he wasn’t listening to Derek. Even though he was. He was always hooked on every last word the man spoke, it always mattered. This was just a hopeless effort, Spencer realized, as he sunk down in the uncomfortable plastic chair.

“Now, what on earth are you- hey, baby- beautiful, what are you-“ Derek started, sounding concerned.

Spencer couldn’t help it at this point, he looked up over the top of the book. Derek was looking at his phone in bewilderment. It was no longer up to his ear.

“...Everything okay?” Spencer asked curiously after a moment. Derek just sighed setting his phone down on the table next to his food tray. “I don’t even know, man. I called you pretty boy and that made Melissa flip- she was all like ‘who’s pretty boy? We discussed you being bisexual already, you better not be changing up on me’. Then she hung up.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Spencer replied, book still up between him and Morgan. “Yeah, I’m confused. It was a joke.” Derek explained to Reid, as if Spencer was ever owed an explanation regarding this.

“She must be insecure.” Spencer theorized plain and simple. Derek watched him curiously instead of asking anything to lead him on, “If she gets the idea that we’re a thing- just based on a nickname, then she’s gonna hate you and Garcia. You don’t need someone like that.”

Derek sighed, “You’re right. But I really thought she was great.” “Maybe she is,” Spencer shrugged, “I don’t know her. You do. All I’m saying is, she won’t like you and Garcia if she didn’t like my nickname.”

That elicited a chuckle from Derek, a sound Spencer always cherished in hearing. “Yeah, I can’t have someone hating my favorite boy wonder,” once again, Spencer could feel the blush coming onto his face. He was just hoping the lighting inside the mall food court didn’t make it all too obvious. “I’ll talk to her about it.” Derek decided. Spencer just nodded, not entirely wanting to talk right now.

“Yeah.. um, do what’s best.” Spencer agreed blandly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. And wasn’t this just laughable? Giving his crush dating advice? Spencer wasn’t stupid, but he was in this scenario.

“Yeah, I will. Anyways,” Derek continued the conversation casually, reaching out covering Spencer’s book with his hand. “What are you-“ Spencer started, confused. “Taking away your book. Eat before your food gets cold.” Derek spoke plainly, as if this was so obvious. He pulled Spencer’s book out of his grasp, setting it down next to himself; before pushing Spencer’s untouched tray of food in front of him.

“I’m not very-“ Spencer started, already trying to reach back for his book. Derek just shook his head, pulling the book closer to him. “Nuh-uh, not today. Not today. You’re eating. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.”

Spencer sunk down in his seat a little as he finally caved, agreeing and eating the mall food. Granted, it wasn’t great, but it was food, and he did need to eat. Last thing he had eaten that day was a granola bar for breakfast, and Derek knew that he forgot to eat.

He ate in silence as Derek watched him, before moving his gaze to casually watch the other mall patrons. It was so entirely stupid and domestic of them. It was nothing special, it wasn’t even that good of a memory. But for some reason, Spencer knew that was the first time he felt something new towards Derek. More new than just his crush. It was a new, overwhelming feeling of “I wouldn’t treat you that way” “I wouldn’t care if you called someone babygirl” “I would be better for you” before finally, his mind landed on, “you belong with someone who wouldn’t judge. Someone like me. You belong with me.”

That’s when Spencer knew he was fucked, more so than before.

“...I’m in the room, it’s a typical Tuesday night. I’m listening to the type of music she doesn’t like. And she’ll never know your story like I do...”

The second time was at Spencer’s apartment. He had complained about his bookshelf not being stable enough to hold all his books, and Derek had practically invited himself over; “C’mon, Reid. It’ll be good. Get some quality time without the ladies, we can order Chinese, plus I can show you how to fix your shelf so you don’t have to ask for help next time.”

So yeah, now they had gone directly from work to Spencer’s apartment- the only pit stop being to Derek’s house to pick up his toolbox, as Spencer didn’t have one.

Spencer wished he wasn’t such a pushover, because damnit, now he was gonna be in his apartment with Derek. That didn’t seem like a problem to anyone else, obviously- because they weren’t crushing hard on the guy. So Spencer just had to stand there and hide how much he liked Derek, and how at home Derek made his apartment feel- because it felt better with him there. He belonged there.

Spencer ignored his thoughts as they got into his apartment, he led Derek over to the problematic bookshelf in question. Some of the books had toppled off the shelves, and were on the ground below. “Damn, Reid, you don’t mess around with all these books.” Derek joked lightly as he looked over the immense amount of books Spencer had shoved onto the shelf; Derek squatted down, lowering the tool kit next to him as he started taking books off the shelves one by one so he could further inspect what was wrong with it.

Spencer protested, not understanding Derek was joking, “It’s not my fault- the bookshelf is supposed to hold books, if it can’t do what’s promised then that’s on the manufacturers error.”

Derek just chuckled slowly in response before replying, still pulling books off the shelves “Don’t worry, pretty boy, we’ll get this sorted out for you, alright? Just get some music on so we got something to hang to.” Derek wasn’t looking at Spencer, thank god- or he’d see how the genius got so flustered so quickly, how quickly a blush spread across his face, and how he immediately looked away from him, to the walls, the floor. To look at anything but Derek.

“Yes- right. Music.” Spencer changed his focus, he couldn’t think about how good it felt to be called a pet name by Derek. He couldn’t let himself think about it, or else he’d never stop. So he busied himself with getting some music to play through the quiet apartment, he turned over to his old radio that was sat on his study desk, it was a loud radio, that’s why he got it. It was compact, but if he put it in the bathroom he could hear it from the kitchen. It was the perfect device for him.

Spencer turned the radio on, the channel he always listened to was already tuned in, so he left it that way. Soft instrumental music started flowing out of the speakers, Derek stopped his motion of putting books down to turn and look at Spencer semi-curiously; “What’s this music?” “Classical.” Spencer replied easily, looking down at the radio as he messed with the volume dial that always seemed to be loose. “It’s on 88.1, they play strictly instrumental and classical pieces. It’s nice.”

Derek didn’t respond, Spencer didn’t need him to respond. It was an inconsequential conversation about music. If Derek didn’t like the station, he was more than welcome to change it to another. But he didn’t, it was Spencer’s apartment, and the soft classical music playing just seemed fitting to play there. Plus Derek just wanted the music as a background sound to help him focus, it wasn’t really important what it was- just that there was music playing.

Spencer went off to the kitchen to find the menu he had saved from the local Chinese restaurant that does deliveries, meanwhile Derek continued pulling books off the shelves. Melissa would hate him for being here, ever since the call at the mall, she was convinced Derek was going to leave her for him- or for another guy. She thought he was “too gay” to stay with her, obviously that’s not how him or his bisexuality works. But Melissa didn’t see it that way.

God, everything Derek saw, Melissa saw differently, it was ironic he was even with her. He saw Penelope Garcia as his best female friend, his babygirl. Melissa saw her as a threat, they had a whole argument about it. Melissa had finally stopped seeing Garcia as a threat when he told her that Garcia was wrapped up in Kevin drama. He wanted to tell Garcia about all of this, but he knew that if he did she would immediately tell him to dump her. Anyone that came between their friendship wasn’t allowed, and that wasn’t a rule Garcia had made up, it was more of an understanding they had come to about their dynamic as friends.

Derek just hadn’t dumped her yet out of fear. This was his first significant other in so long, it felt like a failure to start something and end it. He wanted to fix it. Though he knew it was unlikely he could, he still wanted to try.

Derek kept thinking as he finished pulling the books off until there were none left, he then pulled on the board of the shelf to see how unstable it was, all while continuing to think. He thought about Melissa, but none of it was really positive. It was all what she would hate about him being here, other than the obvious of being with Spencer (which she already disliked. She hated the genius and she hadn’t ever spoken to him, which Derek didn’t think was rational at all.) She would hate how Spencer’s apartment was, the green walls and shelves of books, the lack of a television, the soft glow from the lamps. Derek found every single last one of these qualities endearing, it helped show who Spencer was as a whole. Melissa would see it as a problem.

She’d say green was a gross color, that Spencer needed to be aware of pop culture and get a television, she’d say that Spencer didn’t get out enough and he lived like a hermit; she’d say the lighting was weird and dark, instead of soft and calming.

Derek let out a sigh, deciding to abandon his thoughts as a whole, because they were just starting to irritate him. Spencer was great the way he was, Melissa was being problematic; and him and her really needed couples counseling or something. That was the decision he landed on as he gave his full attention to the wiggly boards in Spencer’s bookshelf.

Derek pulled on the shelf again to test it’s strength. It was loose, pretty close to just falling down altogether. It was good he was here to fix it, Derek concluded, as he reached for the screwdriver in his toolkit.

The night continued on, Derek went through part by part, working on fixing Spencer’s bookshelf; meanwhile Spencer had ordered them dinner from the local Chinese place. Reid had thought about setting up the dinner at his kitchen table, before immediately regretting that idea. This was casual, it wasn’t some type of sit down dinner with Derek. That’s the last thing he needed, Spencer decided, as he walked over to Derek and handed him the carton of beef broccoli and a pair of chopsticks to go with.

Derek took them and put them down next to himself quickly, before pivoting into a sitting position on the floor and turning himself away from the bookshelf, facing exactly to the dinner table- which is where Spencer had opted to sit at, alone.

“What’re you doing all the way over there?” Derek’s spoke out to him. Spencer tried to be casual, “All my stuff’s over here, and it’s not that far from you,” he shrugged, hoping Derek wouldn’t go any deeper. But of course, he did. “And I’m over here, so bring your stuff my way- you’re gonna make your repairman eat sitting on the floor alone? That’s cold, man.”

Spencer rolled his eyes as he picked up his carton of orange chicken and rice, “Okay, I’m here.” He tried to sound like he was annoyed, instead of stupidly simultaneously happy and unhappy with derek’s request (happy because his stupid crush on Derek, unhappy because of the same, unfortunate reason).

He made his way over to Morgan, sitting down across from him and using the back of his couch as a makeshift chair prop to lean against. He opened up his food, as Derek was now satisfied with this series of events and had gone back to paying attention to his beef broccoli. Spencer picked up his fork, ready to eat and just ignore how he was feeling, when Derek spoke up again; “Seriously- you still don’t know how to use chopsticks?”

Suddenly, Spencer was giving Derek a glare that had no malice, while Derek just chuckled at Spencer’s fury. “I’m tellin’ you. You need to learn how to use chopsticks.” “It’s fine.” Spencer argued weakly, “No way, if suddenly all the forks, knives, and spoons vanished, you’d have to eat with chopsticks.”

“Not true if sporks are still a thing.” Spencer pointed out, “I’m gonna smack you.” Derek replied, now it was Spencer’s turn to laugh.

“...But she wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts, she’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers. Dreaming ‘bout the day when you wake up and find. That what you’re looking for has been here the whole time...”

The third time was when Spencer had resigned, accepting his feelings for what they were. He was now simply playing the waiting game, of waiting his crush out- because god knows he can’t go on like this forever. He hated how things have changed from a small crush into a serious never ending stream of thoughts he had whenever he was with Derek, but that’s how it was for him now.

He had ways to keep himself in check, though. As he always did. One was re-reading long old stories to himself from memory. It usually worked pretty well, and it was a good way to just pass the time in general.

Except for one, especially horrid time, when the FBI baseball team had a game against the CIA’s.

Spencer wasn’t playing, thank god for that. He wasn’t good at sports, though that one time he played baseball with Derek earlier in the season was a great memory he loved to go back to and remember. But that was a fluke, and he knew if he played again it wouldn’t go nearly as well.

Since he wasn’t playing, him and the rest of the team had come along to bring Morgan moral support from the sidelines of the bleachers. What Spencer hadn’t expected was Melissa showing up, too.

She showed up at the same time the team did to the field, they set up on the bleachers with some blankets and a basket full of snacks (courtesy of one Penelope Garcia.) and then she was suddenly walking over, surprising the team.

“Hi- um, are you Garcia? Is this the area for the BAU?” She asked, she had shoulder length brown hair, hazel eyes, and was wearing a flowy pink and yellow sundress. She was pretty, borderline beautiful, there was no denying that.

Spencer decided to start re-reading the books in his head by that point. He could already guess it was Melissa, as Rossi wouldn’t have invited a woman to this event until at least the ninth or eighth date (though with Rossi, Spencer never really knew how he operated in terms of dating, and he had no desire to know). Spencer also knew she wasn’t Hotch’s, as Hotch was too focused on Jack and the team to even consider dating.

Emily was single, and definitely would not invite a guy (or girl) to this either. J.J. was happy with Will, and Penelope had the on and off thing with Kevin. So yeah, Spencer deduced easily that this beautiful mysterious woman was Melissa.

The fact Derek invited Melissa rubbed Spencer the wrong way. But it wasn’t his business, he reminded himself, as he did his best to start focusing in on pride and prejudice in his mind.

Garcia began welcoming Melissa, even though it wasn’t necessary; “It is! And I am! Hi! Are you Melissa? Derek told me you were coming!”

Spencer did his best to not focus on Melissa, skipping forward a few chapters into pride of prejudice in his mind, to keep himself focused. He got pulled from his book though, as Melissa introduced herself and Garcia started introducing the team back;

“Well, grandpa over there is David Rossi,” “Easy, or else you won’t get those extra vacation days I offered you.” Rossi replied simply as hell, reaching for a bag of chips from the basket. “Fine- that esteemed gentleman right there is David Rossi.” “Better.” Rossi responded, a small grin showing across his face. Melissa laughed softly with Garcia and Rossi for a moment before Penelope continued on;

“That’s Aaron Hotchner, and his son Jack.” Garcia pointed them out, Jack was playing on his Nintendo DS, only looking up to wave briefly as Hotch reached over to shake Melissa’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” “You too.” She smiled at him.

“Those two lovely ladies are Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss, plus Jennifer’s hubby Will and their adorable son Henry,” they all shook hands with Melissa, and J.J. briefly told her that it wasn’t necessary to call her “Jennifer” but instead “J.J.” as that was the name she was most used to.

“Then, we got Doctor beautiful brain, Spencer Reid.” Spencer looked up, giving Melissa a small wave, finally looking her head on. He had seen her, sure, but he hadn’t made eye contact with her until right now. And damn, she looked wild behind the eyes. And not in a good way. She was perky, seemingly almost as positive as Penelope. But that positivity didn’t reach her eyes. She looked Spencer up and down, and there was something deep in her gaze that made him want to get up and walk to the CIA side of the bleachers. It was clear he was going to have to walk on eggshells around her, and he wished he knew why.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Spencer offered up as a greeting, “You too,” Melissa replied, smiling as she turned on her polite charm again. It was only in her eyes he could see her distaste towards him. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Melissa settled down, sitting next to the rest of the team as they waited for the game to start. She was thankfully seated near Emily, J.J., and Garcia. So Spencer and her’s conversation was limited.

That was until, he was brought up in conversation; “Oh geez- one of the funniest things was when Spence and Morgan got stuck in that elevator together,” J.J. recounted, causing all four of them to laugh; meanwhile Spencer didn’t react. He was still deep in his mind reading, and though he heard his name called, it didn’t cause him to want to stop.

“Yeah- I heard about that from Derek, he said Spencer spouted off some fact about people and elevator deaths because he was scared.” Melissa turned to Spencer as she spoke, giving him an in to speak. Spencer didn’t realize she had even turned to him, as he was fully focusing his brain power on the pages of the book he had read over before.

“Uh.. what’s he doing?” Melissa asked in a hushed voice to J.J., “Oh- he’s just reading. Spencer, hey.” J.J. said, leaning over and tapping his shoulder, finally catching his attention; causing him to open his eyes.

“Sorry- what?” Spencer finally spoke, as he was fully there and listening to them now, instead of somewhat ignoring them and focusing on a memory of a book.

“..J.J. said you were reading?” Melissa asked curiously, obviously confused. Spencer nodded, “Yes. I was. I have an eidetic memory so I can look back at anything I’ve ever read. So sometimes I go back and read books I’ve read before.” Spencer explained awkwardly, “I do it to, uh, pass the time.”

“Hm.. that’s.. that’s cool. Derek mentioned you were smart, recounting lots of facts.” Melissa said slowly, it seemed like she was trying to gain some sort of edge in the conversation, but thankfully Emily butted in casually- not realizing the odd atmosphere that was slowly building.

“Oh yeah- Reid’s always doing that. Talk to him on Halloween and all he talks about is how paganism played a major role in the now very American, very non-pagan holiday.” The girls laughed on innocently as Melissa gained a serious look in her eye again.

“You know everything?” She asked him, “No.” he replied, he was self assured in this field, he knew how to handle himself when people were doubting his intelligence level. “I just know a lot.” He clarified.

Melissa looked like she was ready to speak, say something to him- he had no clue if it would be good or bad. But everyone’s attention got redirected on the whooping sounds both teams made as they entered the field. The game was starting.

Spencer had stayed focused on the game, even running statistics and probabilities in his head on who would come out victorious. Rossi made a joke they should bet on the game like people do on horses, and he’d just cheat and use Reid to make sure he won.

The rest of the team didn’t go for that, as they would employ the same strategy as Rossi, and Spencer was smart enough to give them all the wrong answers so he would actually win.

It was now the third inning, J.J. had gone with Hotchner and Will to take a short walk with the kids, as they were getting bored in their seats. Rossi went off to flirt it up with the older woman who was running the concessions stand, and Emily and Garcia had gone off to the bathroom together.

Now it was just Melissa and Reid alone, and Reid didn’t like her company. He didn’t mean it in a rude way, but also maybe he did- for his very stupid and very personal reason that she was actively dating his crush. But besides that reason, she seemed off, and on a team of behavioral analysts, he couldn’t be the only one who noticed.

There was something wrong with her, but Spencer couldn’t place his finger on what. That was, until, she sat down next to him on the bleachers. “So,” she started casually, “what’re you reading up there?” “Pride and Prejudice.. have you read it?” Spencer replied, doing his best to make polite conversation.

Melissa shook her head, “No, way too long of a book for me.” Spencer just nodded, an “Ah” sound escaping his lips before their conversation entirely diminished as they sat in silence, watching the CIA’s team line up for batting.

Derek was on second base, and while he waited for the CIA team to finish lining up, he turned to the only two people still on the bleachers and waved. Melissa waved in response excitedly, “Go Derek!” She shouted for good measure, Reid on the other hand just gave a small wave to him.

Their personalities were very different, Spencer gathered.

“Derek helped you with a bookshelf the other week, right?” Melissa asked after silence had settled over them, and Reid had almost returned to his brain book. Her question stopped him from reading, though.

Spencer nodded, “Uh, yeah. He helped fix my bookshelf, the boards were all wobbly and books couldn’t stay on.” Melissa hummed in response for a moment, before looking back out to the field. Derek was now busy talking to a teammate, a guy Spencer recognized from the terrorist division.

“Look, Spencer,” Melissa finally spoke again, letting out a sigh before she continued on; “We both know Derek is an attractive man, a great man. But he’s my man. I don’t need you confusing him and making him switch sides- believe me, I want to think that you two are just the best of friends and that’s it. But I don’t believe it, not for a second, especially not after hearing how he talks about you, and finally meeting you.”

Spencer stayed quiet, not looking at Melissa, instead opting to stare at his hands, that were now firmly clasped together as he took in what she was saying. “We are just friends, though..” Spencer finally spoke up in a weak defense for himself. Melissa just chuckled, their pleasant conversation had somehow turned to her speaking to him in a sickly sweet malicious tone.

“I don’t think you are. I think there’s something more, and I don’t want things to go any further- with either of you.”

Spencer stayed quiet again, seriously considering exiting the bleachers and getting a cab (as the team had carpooled over to this event together.) and just leaving, going back to his apartment and faking the stomach flu for a day and a half. It seemed so appealing to just disappear right now.

Melissa continued on after she realized Spencer wasn’t going to say anything. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here, Spencer. You seem very kind, and smart. You told me earlier you don’t know everything, but you know a lot,”

Spencer nodded, that was true, he had said that, she kept going; “I hope you now know where your place is. Away from Derek. And I hope you know you aren’t alone with me talking to you, I would be telling Penelope Garcia the same exact thing, except she has a boyfriend, Kevin. Derek told me. So you’re the only single one who poses a problem. I hope we can be friends- but you need to back up.”

And that was all, she got up and moved away, and just in time as Emily and Garcia made their reappearance from the bathroom and onto the bleachers.

Spencer stayed frozen, however. Not really sure what he could say or do. All he knew now is that he had a very good reason to dislike Melissa. And he did, as much as he hated to admit it. He disliked Melissa, he wanted her gone. He didn’t want her and Derek together.

He was now only more sure that he would treat Derek better, he wouldn’t go around threatening his friends- he couldn’t even imagine that as something he would ever want to do.

Spencer stayed, shrunken on the bleachers as he watched the team play, staying quiet and reserved while Melissa and the rest of the team cheered.

Spencer just hoped Derek figured out that Melissa wasn’t good for him sooner than later, or else he’d never get out of the relationship scratch-free.

“Walkin’ the streets with you and your worn out jeans. I can’t help thinking this is how it ought to be. Laughin’ on the park bench thinking to myself, ‘hey isn’t this easy?’. And you got a smile that could light up this whole town. I haven’t seen it in a while since she brought you down. You say you’re fine I know you better than that. Hey, whatcha doing with a girl like that?”

Since Spencer’s unfortunate encounter with Melissa, he had done his best to steer clear of Derek. Only being with him when necessary (and they were only really together for work, though for the few latest times that Derek’s invited him out to get food or see a movie, Spencer’s declined).

Derek had subtly caught notice, wondering why Reid had been declining his invitations. At first he thought it was because Reid was busy, he was somehow also getting a bachelors degree in philosophy at the moment, it made since if he had limited free time.

But then he did more thinking, and even if reid was busy- he always made time for Derek. Morgan knew that for a fact, because every time he needed help (work related or not) Spencer was there, and ready to assist. Even if Reid was studying, the kid read so fast he only needed to read something once to remember everything. So it didn’t make sense. Not at all. Spencer was avoiding him.

So why? Derek now had to get alone with Reid, he needed to see what this was about.

And Derek got his chance, after solving a case in the sleepy city within Maine, called Rangeley. The teams plane was having a malfunction issue with a part of the engine, so they were stuck there for an extra day. Unfortunate for everyone else, but a blessing in disguise for Derek. It was the perfect time for the team to hang together, maybe get some meals or see a movie. But Derek set up a plan.

Morgan knocked on Spencer’s door the morning they had nothing to do, with his plan already getting set in motion. This was step one, of many.

Reid responded in his own special fashion, opening the door a crack to look out at Derek and into the hall, his hair looked messy, he was still slightly bleary eyed- and he was still in his pajamas and mismatched socks. He had just woken up.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Derek asked, he didn’t want to start this morning off on Reid being rudely awoken. Reid nodded as he opened the door more, stepping forward the slightest bit. “Yeah, but it’s okay. What’s going on?” Reid was already aware of the plane situation, the whole team had been told last night, which forced Derek into making this last minute plan.

“Nothing- the team doesn’t have anything to do. Wanna go get breakfast?” Derek asked, trying to phrase his words and himself casually. He didn’t want Reid to get suspicious and back out. He just wanted answers from his best friend, that’s all.

Spencer rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before responding. “Okay, yeah. Let me go get changed.”

They arrived at an Ihop. It wasn’t anything special, but it was the nearest breakfast place to the hotel, so it worked for them. They were greeted by a hostess who showed them to a booth.

Spencer didn’t know why he agreed this this, he shouldn’t have. But in his half-awake and still somehow sleep deprived mind, breakfast seemed like a good idea. A great idea, in fact. But he now was anxious again. He didn’t want to deal with Melissa, call him scared, nonconfrontational, weak- whatever. He just didn’t want to have to deal with her. He enjoyed hanging out with Derek, but he knew if he did then it would be inevitable that he would end up facing her wrath again.

Almost immediately after the hostess showed them to their booth, their waiter appeared to take their orders. “Goodmorning, what can I get started for you two?” The older gentleman, whose name tag simply read “John” asked them.

“Just some coffee, please.” Derek ordered for the both of them. He knew what Spencer would want to order, and he also knew how bad Spencer was at conversing with people he wasn’t familiar enough with. John just nodded, saying a quick; “Comin’ right up!” Before walking off to leave them alone.

“Is the rest of the team coming?” Spencer asked as he stifled a yawn with his hand. Derek shook his head, “No, they all wanted to sleep in. Lucky I dragged you out of bed, though.” He joked, hoping to lighten the mood in the room. Spencer just smiled sheepishly for a moment before looking back down at the table.

They stayed quiet, which wasn’t unusual for the two, especially considering they were both still tired. But Derek didn’t want there to be silence, he wanted to talk about what was going on. “Reid-“ he started, but before he could continue his sentence, John was standing by the table with a pot of coffee. Derek and Spencer both wordlessly pushed their mugs over towards John, watching him fill them up with coffee in silence.

John finished pouring and stepped back, “I’ll give you folks some more time before ordering.” Derek just nodded at him, “That would be great, thank you.” And with that, their waiter was gone.

Reid was now focused on his mug of coffee, grabbing some sugar packets from the container on the table and ripping one open after another, before finally pouring it into his coffee. “How many sugars you plan on putting in there?” “Two.” “You’re already ripping open a third packet, Reid.”

“Oh.” Was all he said in response, Derek sighed, Spencer wasn’t acting right; he hadn’t for a while but this morning was peak Reid-being-weird, so Derek needed to take a stronger approach; “Reid. What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing’s wrong.” Spencer said all too quickly to be believable. Derek rolled his eyes, watching the tired genius grab a spoon and stir his coffee with an intensity he never normally used. “That doesn’t work on me, man. We’re all profilers. I know when something’s up.” Spencer stayed quiet, still stirring his coffee with the spoon.

Reid didn’t want to be in this situation. He knew he should’ve hidden himself better, said and acted in different ways. Derek knew something was up, and Spencer couldn’t hide it forever. Especially not from him. He hated lying to Morgan.

“So..” Spencer spoke quietly, “What do you think is up?” Derek rolled his eyes at Spencer again, “Don’t talk to me like an unsub trying to stall. Somethings wrong. Did I do something- was it something I did or said?” Spencer put his spoon down as he watched Derek.

“I gotta be honest, Reid. I don’t know what’s going on here. We used to hangout so much, and suddenly you’re giving me the cold shoulder. I thought it was because of your studies- but you’ve done written whole thesesis while we’ve hungout. So it’s not you being busy with school. You make time. Why isn’t there any time now?” Derek kept going, voice raising in intensity as he got to the end.

Spencer wanted to say something, he wanted to say something so bad. But he didn’t know what. So instead he took a sip of his not-sweet-enough coffee. Derek watched him as he did so, intensity not wavering.

Spencer put the mug back down onto the table before he finally found his words, “It’s not you. You didn’t do anything.” “So what is it?” Morgan asked him almost instantly. Spencer sighed, he didn’t want to say it was Melissa. He couldn’t, he didn’t want to make Derek feel bad, he thought Derek was happy with her. He didn’t want to ruin that, even if Melissa was terrible. Derek was seemingly glad, and Spencer didn’t want him changing from positive to anything else (except somehow maybe more positive.)

“It’s nothing.” “It’s definitely not nothing, Reid. Please tell me.” Derek pried more. He couldn’t let this go. Spencer sighed, a weak sign of defeat. “Okay- but. I’m sorry. This involves Melissa.” He admitted, looking up to see Derek had a confused expression on his face. “What about her?” “When we went to the baseball game a few weeks ago and met her. She was really pleasant at first, but as soon as we were alone on the bleachers together she told me that I needed to stop being so close with you. And it really freaked me out, she saw me as a threat.”

Derek leaned back in the booth bench, unsure of what to do. “What did she say?” Derek finally asked after a moment, deciding he wanted to know what Melissa said to Spencer in full to make him act like this. Spencer didn’t deserve to be treated this way, he just didn’t. “I’m not going to-“ Spencer started, Derek just cut him off, “Yes you will. I know you remember what she said. So tell me. Please.”

Spencer fidgeted with the handle of the mug, “Okay, okay.. she said that you were her man and then she said, ‘I don’t need you confusing him and making him switch sides’...” Spencer spoke once more after that, before he could forget, “She also, um.. she said she would tell Garcia the same thing, except she didn’t because she knew she was with kevin.”

Derek stayed quiet, looking at Spencer before looking back down at his mug of coffee. Spencer stayed quiet, he didn’t know what he could say or do right now to make this better.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer finally decided to speak after it had been silent for a few minutes. “I didn’t want to tell you because you-“

Derek held his hand up as a simple gesture, indicating Spencer should be quiet. Spencer hushed up quickly, watching Morgan, who was sitting silently still, staring down with an intensity that could burn stronger than the sun. He stood up after a moment, pulling out his wallet and putting two twenty dollar bills down on the table, in front of Spencer. “For the coffee. Get some breakfast, too. I need to go.” “Derek, I-“ Spencer started, standing up, he wasn’t gonna leave Derek alone, especially to process this large amount of information. but he had started walking away, back turned to reid- leaving him alone at the booth. He wasn’t going to come back, and as much as Spencer wanted to follow him and never leave his side- he could tell he should leave him alone, at least for now.

After that whole experience, Spencer didn’t stay to get breakfast. He finished his coffee, paid, and left quickly. Deciding Derek needed space, and he wasn’t sure what else he could do, so he tucked tail back to the hotel. He lied to himself, saying maybe he could nap or watch T.V and ignore his imploding thoughts.

He couldn’t ignore his imploding thoughts, if that wasn’t painstakingly obvious. Spencer’s mind reeled from every aspect of their breakfast, to how he was curt and almost rude to Derek- he now wished he hadn’t been, but how else could he have acted? He didn’t know. He hated how things had went. He should’ve lied and told Derek he didn’t have the time for breakfast.

So, when Spencer finally got the hotel, he sat and thought and waited, waited for any sounds outside of his hotel door. Derek’s room was directly across the hall from his. So he waited for the sounds of the door opening, the beeping of the keycard, the sound of footsteps that were muffled by the soft carpet. Anything that would show Derek was back, back close to him, close enough to him for a conversation again. Because he knew that they needed to talk.

Spencer was counting. One hour and eighteen minutes passed before he heard any sounds of life that would match what he was waiting for. Namely, he heard the footsteps approach by his door, and then the beep of the keycard. And finally, the door opening and shutting quickly. Derek was there, he was back, Spencer got off his perch on the bed in record speed, exiting out to the hall and crossing quickly.

He was about to knock on the door, hand raised in the air, before he slowed himself down. Was this too much? What if Morgan didn’t want to talk to right now? What if Derek thought he was lying and was mad? Oh god, that terrified Spencer. He hoped Derek knew he wasn’t lying, he could run any behavior test he wanted to, but he wouldn’t lie to Derek. Not now, not ever.

Spencer still had his hand raised in the air, standing directly in front of the door. If Derek thought he was lying, he would prove he wasn’t. Nothing mattered right now, Spencer decided as he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Spencer heard movement from inside the room, before Derek opened the door. He looked stressed, the lines in his face were hard set, this was how he looked when he dealt with an unsub. This isn’t how he should be looking on a day off. Derek said nothing as he looked at Spencer, “Can we talk?” Spencer asked him after it was clear Derek wasn’t going to start talking.

Derek nodded. Wordlessly opening the door more, and stepping back to allow Reid inside. He stepped in, Derek’s room was a mirror copy of Spencer’s, simple and small. He had his duffel sat on the floor by the small twin bed provided by the hotel.

Reid stood in the room, Derek moved past him to sit down on the edge of the bed as Spencer messed with some loose thread on his jacket, “I, um... I got your change..” Spencer started, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the wad of cash and coins. He wasn’t sure what to say now that he was inside Derek’s room. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, so he wasn’t sure how to prepare. Derek wasn’t acting like himself, so he didn’t know what would work.

Spencer went to hand it back to him, “Reid, no.” Derek started, causing Spencer to stop in his tracks, holding the money in silence.

“You didn’t come here for that.” Derek motioned to the money with his hand. “No. I didn’t.” Spencer mumbled awkwardly, shoving it back into his jacket pocket, the coins clinking together all too loudly for his liking.

“I’m sorry.” Derek sighed after a moment, “I shouldn’t have ran off like that. It’s just- I couldn’t believe what you were saying.” Spencer nodded, he wanted to say so much to Derek. He wanted to say, “I swear on my mother I am not lying”, he wanted to say “I’m sorry, I should have stayed quiet” he wanted to say “I care about you so much and I don’t want to see you walk away, I don’t want to lose you”. But Spencer couldn’t talk, he wasn’t sure what would come out if he spoke.

“I, uh, I called Melissa.” Derek told him, “After I left. I called her, I asked her if she said that to you, and she said she didn’t say it like that,” He took a breath before continuing on, “I asked her what she meant, because she wasn’t denying what she said. She just was saying the wording was off.”

Spencer found his small, awkward voice, deciding to look down at the floor instead of Derek. He was scared of what he would see. “What did she say the wording was?” He asked Derek, “She said she was harsher than that, told you to back off. Then she tried to explain herself, as if any of what she did was acceptable and could be fine under the disguise of caring for your significant other.”

“Reid, look at me. Please.” Derek sighed, not continuing whatever else he was going to say. Spencer finally looked up to meet his eyes. Derek just looked tired, leaning awkwardly on the couch, as he kept his gaze on Spencer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause this.” Spencer apologized, he had no clue if he needed to. But it felt like what he had to do.

“No, don’t.” Derek shook his head, as if to knock the apology out of his brain. “Thank you for telling me. Thank you. The red flags were there, Reid. And there were so many. I was just ignoring them.”

Spencer stayed quiet, watching Derek as he admitted this out loud; “I just- I wanted to make it work. But the fact she said that to you, and was gonna tell garcia, I just-“ Derek shook his head again, a mixture of defeat and anger simultaneously now instead of a signal for reid to stop.

“It upset me. I couldn’t believe it. So I called her and that happened and... and...” Derek trailed off, sighing simply as if that was the end of the sentence.

“...You broke up?” Spencer asked carefully, not wanting to misjudge. Derek nodded, rubbing his face with both hands. He was stressed. Spencer could tell.

“We did. It’s for the best. I can’t be dating someone who is like that. Especially not to you, or Garcia. That’s the biggest deal breaker out there.” Derek spoke, he was still serious but he was also sort of joking in a way to help calm the atmosphere down.

Spencer didn’t respond right away, instead moving to sit down on the edge of the bed, a few feet away from Morgan to give him plenty space. Derek didn’t like that, pulling on Spencer’s hand and motioning him to sit directly by his side.

Spencer complied, but cursed his face for causing a blush to form. This wasn’t the time to savor the feeling of Derek’s strong grip on his hand. It wasn’t.

Spencer was now sat down next to Derek, he wasn’t sure what else to say, so he stayed quiet. But he knew he didn’t want to leave Derek’s side now. He needed to be here. It couldn’t be easy for Derek.

“I’m sorry I left you at the restaurant.” Derek spoke after a while of them sitting side by side. “It’s okay,” Spencer told him, Derek gave him a sideways glance that proved he didn’t believe what he was saying.

“I didn’t end up having breakfast, though. I was worried.” Spencer admitted. Derek let out a low chuckle, and god, Spencer loved that sound. When was the last time he heard it? It used to be as common as hearing traffic in downtown Quantico, but as of lately; he hadn’t heard it often. Spencer knew in the back of his head, it was probably Melissa. Small things had changed with Derek during their time of dating.

First, it was calling Spencer “pretty boy”, and Garcia “baby girl”. Derek stopped saying it, and as much as garcia was worried about him, Derek had assured her he was okay. (Spencer didn’t mind the nickname stopping, as he finally didn’t have to come up with an excuse every time he blushed in front of the team when Derek would call him that.)

But then, Derek showed up to work looking tired, and sure- the job took long hours and restless nights and way too many coffee breaks. But he looked like he was losing that energy in his eyes. The excitement that made him join the team. He had told Spencer it was originally he missed Melissa. But now, Spencer was second guessing that.

Things had slowly changed with Derek, so small that Spencer didn’t even notice fully. But if you looked at all the reasons why he changed, it could be tied back to Melissa.

Good riddance. Spencer thought to himself. In ordinary situations, he would hate to think that, but today he didn’t; as he heard Derek’s soft, low chuckle. He didn’t want to ever stop see Derek being himself. He wouldn’t stop him from anything, he knew he wouldn’t. All he would want to do is care about him, kiss him, fall asleep in his arms, have a nice dinner with him- things a real boyfriend would do.

He would let Derek be himself, he wouldn’t stop him from working, he wouldn’t want to fight, he wouldn’t want to play games, and god knows he wouldn’t stop Derek and Garcia flirting. That’s what kept them happy, together, and secure.

“I’m sorry you guys broke up, but if it’s any consolation. You belong with someone better.” Spencer admitted, not adding on the last part he always wanted to say. If he could say it, lord knows he would. But he couldn’t tell Derek they belonged together. He sounded insane.

Derek softy bumped shoulders with him in an act of thanks, “Thank you. Now c’mon, let’s go get you some real breakfast, pretty boy.” He said as he stood up, the blush immediately rushed back into Spencer’s face. God, that name would be the death of him. He was seriously going to die like this.

“You still got my change? ‘Cause you’re paying.” Derek joked with him as he turned to pull on his coat, “It’s your money, why don’t I give it back to you?” Spencer asked him, the conversation now changing to a much lighter tone. Derek shrugged, “You paying a cashier will help your people skills. Now c’mon, I saw a good restaurant with outdoor seating that’s by a garden. You can give me plant facts while we eat.”

“...Oh, I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night. I’m the one who makes you laugh when you know you’re ‘bout to cry. And I know your favorite songs and you tell me ‘bout your dreams. Think I know where you belong, think I know it’s with me...”

Derek’s growing love for Spencer Reid was so slow he didn’t realize it until it was bursting out of his chest. It wasn’t obvious, it wasn’t, at least not to Derek. But suddenly it was everything Spencer did, it had his attention and captivated his thoughts. If Spencer was rambling about something, Derek would listen. Even if he didn’t care, even if he was tired, or hungry, or even mad.

To put it simply, it was every single thing that Spencer had ever done for him, suddenly making Derek feel something. It was every little funny thing Spencer did, it was every factoid he spat out to the team at the round table, it was how he was there for everyone in less than a second if needed, it was how Spencer complained about modern television, it was how Spencer grumbled in his sleep when they had to wake him up to get off the team’s jet after a long case. It was everything.

Every one of those instances just made something inside Derek squirm. Before, when Derek was dating Melissa- he was able to hold that feeling at bay. But it had now been months since his and Melissa’s breakup, and he had nothing to stop his mind from thinking about Reid, so the feelings and thoughts about the genius only grew stronger.

He thought about him nonstop. About how Reid was precious, amazing, handsome, smart, and god- he was borderline perfect. And what had originally started as a small inkling feeling inside of him was growing, growing into something almost unmanageable. It took everything in Derek not to just lean over and grab the genius’ hand as he was waving it around when speaking about something he was passionate about, and holding it tightly.

It was getting worse, day by day it was hell at work. But it was the best suffering in the world. Seeing Spencer sat at his desk, deep in thought as he typed reports out, along with emailing scientists and doctors on the side. God, Reid was an absolute genius. Morgan wasn’t sure if he could easily get over that fact anymore as he used to. Now Spencer’s smarts had more meaning, and he wasn’t sure why.

Spencer’s smarts always mattered, and definitely came in handy for the team, saving their asses more than once. But now, his IQ level was something Derek caught himself almost worrying about.

Spencer wouldn’t ever say it, but what if he thought Derek was stupid? The brawn to his brain. Nothing more than a dude to tackle the bad guys and handcuff them down. What if Spencer thought he wasn’t a good person, a good friend?

Now, along with the growing admiration, he also had growing fear. Derek was now going back and forth between doubting himself and wanting nothing more than pulling Spencer into a janitors closet and kissing him until they needed air.

Yeah, Derek was screwed. Work was painful. But he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t. Even if he wanted to, he kept going along, because every day he saw Reid that feeling inside him only grew, and he didn’t have the willpower to stop it, and even if he did- he probably couldn’t. This was the strongest he had ever felt in a long time. It would take an army to stop how he felt (and even then, he might still beat the army).

The night it all went down wasn’t what derek intended it to be, he was pretty much planning on hiding his crush on reid to the grave, not admitting it to anyone ever about how he felt. Because as Derek saw it, Spencer was too smart for him. Definitely out of his league.

Because in Morgan’s mind, how dumb could he be? He had been slowly falling in love with his best friend, all while not even realizing it- and dating someone who was absolutely horrid during that entire process. It was enough to make him smack his head against his wall.

Derek was working late the night it happened, going over this same dilemma in his head as he finished up the last of his reports to turn over to Hotch.

Nothing was happening in the bullpen, and for the first time in forever, Spencer had left before the work day ended. He had been complaining of a stomachache, and Rossi had smartly deduced he was sick, and even though Reid didn’t want to leave- the team all but kicked him out the door, telling him he wasn’t any good working when feeling like vomiting.

Derek had missed him since he left, he felt stupid admitting that, but it was the plain and simple truth. His days were just better with Reid, and there was no other explanation than that. As stupid as it was, Derek had come to agree with that fact a while ago, and now it was just normal, him missing Reid. But thankfully Reid didn’t leave often enough for it to be bad.

That being said, Derek still worried. Deciding to call Reid, it was only 7 p.m., after all. Surely Reid was still awake.

His cell phone ringed as Derek held it up to his ear, twirling his pen absentmindedly between his index and pointer finger as he waited for Spencer to answer.

And he did, he sounded groggy, but he answered; “Hello?” “Hey, Reid.” Derek spoke, a small stupid smile creeping its way into his face. “How are you feeling?” He asked, he heard Spencer shuffling on the other end of the line, then the faucet running.

“I’m okay... just really dizzy now, so I got myself some water.” “Did you eat enough today?” Derek asked him, changing tones from a concerned friend to something more.

“Yes, I did. You don’t need to worry about my eating.” Reid said simply, he wasn’t the type of guy who liked being watched over. Derek understood why, but this was still necessary.

“Reid, c’mon now. When was the last time you ate?”

“11:23 a.m., Garcia gave me a muffin.” Spencer admitted after a beat of silence, “Reid, you’ve been not eating for almost eight hours- no wonder you felt so sick, man!” Derek said into the phone as he stood up, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders, deciding to leave now. The reports were almost done, anyway.

“Well, I’m not hungry so it’s fine..” Reid argued weakly in response, “Oh no, no. Don’t even, Spencer. I’m getting you food and taking it to your place. Now go lay down and take some tylenol, drink that water you got.”

Spencer huffed weakly, but made no move to argue or protest Morgan inviting himself over. “Fine. Please get me chicken noodle soup.”

As agreed, Derek got Spencer some chicken noodle soup from a great nearby deli Spencer had told him about a while ago. Derek was proud of himself for this choice in food, even if Spencer had requested soup, he hadn’t requested where. And Derek felt smart for remembering one of Spencer’s favorite places.

Derek arrived to Spencer’s apartment, the door was left unlocked so he came in, carrying the container of soup in both of his hands, so he pushed the front door shut gently with his foot.

“Hey, Reid. I’m here,” he called out into the apartment, as he made his way to the bedroom, finding a sleeping Spencer on the bed, covered in a few miscellaneous blankets to keep him warm.

Derek sat the container of soup onto the nearby bedside table, next to spencer’s near empty water glass, before looking down at reid.

Spencer was perfect, regardless if he was awake or asleep. But asleep he was so peaceful, so calm. Derek could so easily keep Spencer safe from everything in his sleep, hold him in his arms and help ground him. He knew Spencer got nightmares, everyone on the team did. But he knew if he was there, he could help, he could make it better.

Spencer was breathing softly, his face looked slightly flushed, and his hair was all over the place, some strands had fallen onto his face directly, which Derek gently pushed out of the way to get a better look at Spencer.

“Mmm..” Spencer mumbled in his sleep, a response to Derek touching him, Derek took a sharp breath in. God, he wanted to just tell Spencer right now he felt, he so badly did. And Spencer was asleep, what was stopping him? He could say it and Spencer wouldn’t remember. Because unlike conscious Spencer, unconscious Spencer didn’t remember things.

So before his brain could catch up to his body, he did. “I love you.” He told Spencer softly, it was barely above a whisper. It was so quiet he was sure Spencer didn’t hear it at all, but it was just Derek’s unfortunate luck that Spencer started to stir.

“Hm?” He asked, sitting up slowly, Derek pulled his hand away from where he had tucked the strand of hair away.

“I said, I brought you soup.” Derek lied easily, hoping that “I love you” and “I brought you soup” were interchangeable sounding sentences. Spencer just nodded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes slowly as he turned to look at the container on his bedside table

He didn’t suspect anything, Derek let a breath of relief out internally as Spencer reached for the container. “It didn’t come with a spoon, so I’ll go get you one.” Derek told him, getting up to go back into Spencer’s kitchen and grab a spoon from the silverware drawer.

When Derek came back, Spencer was more awake, holding the container of soup in his hands expectantly as he waited. Derek handed him the spoon wordlessly, before sitting down on the bed next to Spencer. “How are you feeling?” Derek asked him, as Spencer hadn’t tried out the soup yet (he was waiting for it to cool a bit more.) “Tired- sorry I left, by the way.” Reid responded slowly, he still felt the tiniest bit groggy.

Derek shook his head, “No Reid, don’t apologize. Are you feeling any better?” Spencer nodded slowly in response, starting to stir the soup to help it cool down. Derek watched him, the soft light from the only lamp on in the room casted off shadows throughout the walls and onto Spencer. He looked beautiful, even if he was wearing pajamas and his hair was messy and he was stirring his soup while half awake.

To Derek, he looked perfect. And once again, Derek’s body moved too fast for his brain to catch up with. He was suddenly talking; “Reid, can I tell you something?” He asked the tired genius, who just nodded and gave an “Mhm” sound in return as he continued to stir his soup.

Derek breathed in, he couldn’t go back. It was now or never. He turned to face Spencer, and if he hated him after this, so be it.

“I was an idiot, Spencer. When I was with Melissa, searching for a good moment to stay happy about was rare. But the entire time I’ve known you, everything’s been a good moment. Every opportunity I’ve had with you has let me grow and become smarter, and a better person..” he took a second to look back at Spencer, who was now looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

“But I’ve still been stupid. Because the entire time I was with her, I only looked forward to being with you. I missed the best thing right in front of me, and I hope you know that I am not normally this dense... but..” this was the hardest part of his whole speech, how the fuck was he supposed to admit something like this?

“But,” he started again, “I like you, Reid. I really like you. This entire time I was chasing the wrong person and following dead leads, like a rookie on a new case. But I realize the only person that makes me feel anything is you- and... I think, I- no. I am. I am falling for you. And I don’t even know if you like guys but-“ It was by this point Spencer put his soup down back on his bedside table, the soft sound shut Derek up easily.

“You’re falling for me?” Spencer asked, just simply clarifying what he had said. Morgan nodded, standing by it. “Yes. I am.”

Spencer breathed out a sigh of relief, something Derek hadn’t expected him to do. “You aren’t stupid... I- um. I’ve been falling for you too.”

That made Derek light up instantly, “You have?” Spencer nodded sheepishly, staring down at his fingernails instead of Derek. “I wasn’t expecting you to...” Spencer mumbled, as if that was a sufficient enough explanation on his part on why he was relieved and surprised.

“It just snuck up on me. I can’t get you out of my head, you’re all I want.” Derek admitted, more brashly than he would’ve liked to phrased things. But that didn’t seem to bother Spencer at all, as he started to lean forward slowly, Derek leaned forward too, reaching up to put his hand on the side of Spencer’s face to help him stay steady. Their lips were inches apart, but Spencer spoke. “Derek, I want to kiss you so bad. But if I’m sick I don’t want to risk infecting you-“

“Pretty boy, I’m breathing your air already. And I don’t think you have the flu, just low blood sugar.” Derek told him, which quickly shushed Reid up. They leaned forward more, and all the feelings of angst and dread that had built up between the two disintegrated as their lips touched slowly.

It was a soft kiss, a chaste one. But there definitely was passion behind it. Morgan stayed close to Spencer, resting his forehead against his.

“I belong with you...” Derek mumbled, he didn’t care if Spencer heard it anymore. He should hear it, he deserved to hear it. He deserved to know he was the only one Derek wanted.

Spencer pulled back, a small smile playing on his lips the entire time. “I can’t believe it...” he mumbled to Derek after a moment. “You should. You said it yourself, I belong with someone better. And it’s you. I just hope you agree.” Derek told him honestly, not leaving anything he said to chance. Spencer nodded, “Yes- you belong with me. Absolutely, yes. I agree.”

Derek smiled, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind spencer’s ear, before leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on Spencer’s forehead. “You eat that soup, I’ll go get you some more water.”

———————————————————————

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eideticmemory · 5 years ago

Text

EVER SINCE NEW YORK III | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 3! Read Part 2 here.

Soundtrack:

Hate U Btw - Rence.

Phases - Chase Atlantic.

Break From Toronto - PartyNextDoor.

Word Count: 4,647.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, drinking, substance use, a bit of angst.

Spring, Sophomore Year.

South Beach,

New York.

“C’mon,” Claire said, putting her hands on your shoulders. “Give me a smile.”

You frowned.

“Let me see that pretty, pretty smile, [y/n].”

You sighed, rolled your eyes and gave her a toothless grin.

“Okay, that’s about as fake as it gets, but it’ll do,” she shrugged. She began to load up her car, “Just keep it on when Matthew gets here.”

You groaned, “I just don’t understand why he’s coming. Or why he has to ride with us. I’m gonna kill him.”

“Whoa, black mamba, it’s a 30 minute drive — barely. You’ll survive.”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t appreciate the Kill Bill reference, and second of all, 30 minutes is the perfect amount of time for me to not only kill your little boyfriend, but bury the body too.”

“Matthew is not my boyfriend,” Claire shook her head. “He is, however, coming on this trip with us. And you’re gonna be nice.”

“Why grandma, what big teeth you have,” you mocked.

“Shut up,” she laughed, closing the trunk.

Matthew strode up to the car, smiling and announcing his presence, “Hey, hot mamas,” he said, putting his arm around Claire. “Ready to go?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, smiling ear to ear. “Yep, [y/n] and I were just discussing cinema.”

“Oh! My favorite topic,” he beamed. “We can continue it on the way there.”

Matthew broke away to take his place in the car, sitting in the backseat. You glared at Claire, your arms crossed.

“What big nose and ears you have!” She exclaimed, laughing before she could get out the words.

“Oh, God, shut up!” You giggled. “Get in the car, let’s go.”

The way there, you spoke two words to Matthew: “yeah” and “okay.” Despite his best efforts to strike up a conversation, you dodged him at every turn. Just like he had been doing for the past 3 months. Since returning from Christmas break, there’s been no sex, no conversations, not even a dm. If your friends noticed, they weren’t saying anything, probably just grateful the two of you weren’t arguing. But you could feel his eyes on you, watching you from the backseat. All the way to South Beach.

The entire group — all 9 of you — arrived at the same time, admiring the beach house as you pulled up. Claire parked in the driveway, two cars pulling in behind you. You led everyone up to the entrance and used the designated key to unlock the door. Everyone oohed and ahhed at the place. It was spacious, large, decorated to perfection. Not that you expected anything less from your aunt.

“[y/n]! This place is amazing!” Claire beamed. “Holy shit.”

“And it’s all ours for the week,” you chuckled. “There’s 5 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, the kitchen’s through there, and the pool’s out back.”

“Pool?”

“Pool,” you nodded. “Rooms are upstairs, if you guys wanna get settled.”

Claire and you set up your room together, packing your clothes into the dressers and heading down to the living room. Everyone gathered, sitting on the couches. Claire sat beside Matthew, laying her head on his shoulder. John opened all the windows in the space, claiming that he was letting in some fresh air.

“So,” John sighed. “What to do? What to do?”

“It’s a mystery to me,” Matthew shrugged.

“Yeah, well,” One of your friends said, pulling a bag of weed out of her purse. “It’s not a mystery to me.”

You laughed, “Huh, I knew I had this lighter in my pocket for a reason.”

A joint was quickly packed and passed around the room. When it got to you, you flicked at your lighter, but the flame wouldn’t ignite. “What the fuck?” You grumbled.

“Here,” Matthew said, reaching over to you. You held the rolled item between your lips and allowed him to use his lighter, setting flame to the end of the joint. You held each other’s gaze as it happened, probably for a bit longer than needed.

“Thanks,” you whispered, breathlessly.

He leaned back and gave you a smirk. Combine that with the weed entering your system, and you could feel your heartbeat between your legs.

It was a long week.

Lots of alcohol, lots of weed, and lots of sexual tension. Most nights Claire went to bed at 3 in the morning, stumbling in happy and sighing as she fell asleep. She always kissed your cheek first. Everyday was a beach day, or if you all were too lazy to go down to the beach or into town, you hung out by the pool.

Claire thought it was ridiculous that you had bought and packed seven different bikinis, but she had to admit, every single one was cute. You found different hairstyles to wear each day, dolled yourself up in bikinis all different colors of the rainbow, swam until you were walking around soaked. And it was killing Matthew. It was so much fun!

Two days before you were meant to leave, you had on your floral bikini, and you were prepared to bake in the sun at the pool.

“Ow!” John exclaimed, raising his shades from his face. Him and the other guys sat poolside, playing a game of cards. “Damn, [y/n], you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me you like my bikini, John?” You giggled.

“The bikini...the body...” he whispered. “Come over here!”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the group, allowing John to pull you into his lap, “Be my good luck charm.” He smiled. Your crossed your legs over his and watched the game in front of you.

“What are you guys playing?” You asked. You accidentally made eye contact with Matthew, who was watching you and John like a hawk. His eyes flickered back and forth between his cards and you two endlessly.

“Gin!” John replied.

“What? I thought we were playing go fish?”

“Go fish? What the fuck are you? 12?” John laughed. You shook your head and kissed John’s cheek, “Be nice, dude. Go fish is fun.” You chuckled. You got up from his lap and went to join the girls in the pool, stepping into the water.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Claire said.

The group of you mainly stayed by the edge, holding shot glasses and knocking back liquor. By your third glass, the vodka had run right through you and you had to pee. So, you excused yourself and went inside to use the bathroom. Approaching the door, you went to place your hand on the knob, but were stopped by a muffled sound coming from inside.

“What the hell?” You whispered, and stepped in. There you found a very red Matthew, panting, his eyes closed, his hand around his cock and jerking himself off quickly. He halted when you entered, and stared at you, his mouth open in shock.

“I-I-“ you stuttered, trying not to look at his dick. You left, and quickly closed the door behind you.

You went upstairs to your room, locked the door, leaned against the wall and reached down to touch yourself. It was completely unexpected, and so unlike you. But all these memories of Matthew touching you and fucking you came rushing back, and you had to get this nut off before you exploded. You applied pressure to your clit through your bikini, until you were squirming and whimpering, and you came. You swear you almost said Matthew’s name.

The next day, you wore your royal blue bikini. The top tied in the front in a loose bow, and the bottom was lined with gold trim. After a day out shopping, everyone wound up hanging out at the pool once again. You did back strokes in the water, letting the sun shine on your face.

“Oof,” you huffed, bumping into someone behind you. You opened your eyes and turned around, facing them.

“Watch where you’re going. You’re not the little mermaid,” Matthew scoffed.

“Shut up, Matthew,” you spit. “Could you be more of a jackass?”

“Actually yeah,” he nodded. “I could be.” He reached out, quickly undoing your bikini top and watching as your chest was exposed.

You yelped and held your boobs in your hands, “Ah! Matthew!”

“Nice,” he grinned, his gaze focused on your breasts. “Very nice.”

You glared at him as he swam away.

Later that night, Claire was putting on a pair of dangling earrings, and her hair was down over her shoulders, curled to perfection. “You sure you can’t come out, [y/n]?” She asked.

“I’m positive,” you murmured, sadly. “My ballet instructor deciding now was the perfect time to make an online quiz due. It’s gonna take me a while, I’m sorry.”

Claire frowned and sat across from you. Both of you were perched in the kitchen, sitting around the island counter. While everyone was dolled up and ready to go out, you sat in your wet bikini and an oversized shirt. “No, don’t apologize. But after spring break, we’re going to your instructor’s house and leaving a bag of crap on her porch.” Claire said.

You chuckled, “Real mature, Claire.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” she sighed. “And if you do finish in time, give me a call and I’ll run back to pick you up.”

You gave her a smile, “You got it. Now, go, go! Don’t worry about me. You guys have fun.”

Claire blew a kiss to you and rose to her feet, exiting the kitchen and joining the others in the living room. You continued to work on your laptop as they filed out of the house and closed the door behind them. You took a carton of ice cream from the fridge and ate from the pint, mindlessly clicking buttons to complete the quiz.

“Come for a swim with me.”

“Ah!” You jumped, hand clutching your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Come for a swim with me,” Matthew repeated, storming into the kitchen and over to you.

“What?”

“Come for a swim with me,” he grabbed your arm. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Matthew, no!” But you let him drag you away, watching as he grabbed a bottle of rum off the counter. “I have work to do!”

“It’s due at 11:59,” he told you, leading you out to the pool. “So you have...” he checked his phone. “Well over two hours.”

“And I don’t want to spend any of that time with you.” You enunciated, yanking your arm from his grasp.

“Aw, man,” he sighed. “That sucks. I thought you would’ve wanted this.” He held up a metal object, and when you focused your eyes on it, you noticed it was your ballerina. The one he’d given you.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, lunging towards him and attempting to grab the item. “What are you doing with that? Give it here!” You jumped on him, reaching high and using all your might. But Matthew was tall, and holding it way above his head. He laughed at you, keeping the prize far from you.

“Tell me, why do you keep this with you? Must be important.” He teased. He stepped backwards, holding the ballerina up in the air.

“What the hell are you doing going through my stuff?” You shouted, following him.

“Needed leverage,” he shrugged. “You want it?” He removed his shirt. “Come get it.” He stepped into the pool, a loud splash erupting around his figure. But he kept your figurine above the surface.

“This is childish! Give it back, and leave me alone!” You marched up to the edge of the pool, hands balled up in fists at your side.

“Okay,” he shrugged. He walked up to you, the ballerina extended out for you to grasp. You reached out for it, and just before you could take it away from him, you were being pulled forward. Into the pool.

You fell in with a yelp, holding your gift against your chest. You squirmed around underwater until you forced your way to the surface, your jaw dropped and your hands quickly wiping at your eyes.

“What the fuck?” You shouted. You blindly placed your ballerina on land, taking care to make sure she didn’t get lost.

When you turned around, Matthew was right behind you. His eyes were focused in on your lips. His hands were steadily snaking around your waist. And before you could back away, he kissed you. Softly, slowly, holding you close.

“Stop,” you muttered. Another kiss.

“Stop what?” Another kiss. “I’m not doing anything.” You held his face in yours hands and let your lips work together in unison.

“Wait,” you pulled away. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Matthew mumbled, kissing your neck. “We’re so good at it.”

“Claire...”

“Is not my girlfriend,” he stopped, and looked you in the eye. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“But she likes you.”

“I like...you.”

You gulped, “You don’t like me.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! You just like...my...my...goodies.”

He cackled, “You’re goodies? Well...they are good.”

“Shut up!” You rolled your eyes.

“They’re great actually,” Matthew gave you another kiss. “In fact...” A kiss. “I’d like to see some of those goodies right now if you don’t mind.” His hands slid under your shirt and pushed it up your hips, up your waist, until he was pulling it over your head. You were left in your blue bikini, and Matthew nearly drooled at the sight.

He leaned in and kissed your jaw. His lips trailed down to your collarbone, and then to your chest. He gropped your boobs in his hands and placed kisses on your sternum. He caught the string to your bikini top between his teeth, and took long strides away from you. All you could do was watch him, feel the fabric looseing on your body. When he took one finally step, the whole bow came undone and your boobs were exposed.

“Come here,” he whispered, looking intently at your chest. His voice drew you into him, and you let him pull you close and wrap his lips around your nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned. He was so, so good at this. He used the right amount of pressure and suction. His tongue twirled around the bud and his saliva dripped onto your skin. Soft hums vibrated against your chest, and his hand made it’s way between your legs.

“Your tits are so nice,” he whispered.

You looked down at him, then at your boobs. “They’re tiny.”

“They’re perfect,” he transitioned to sucking on the other nipple, and his fingertips rubbed your clit lightly.

When he kissed your lips, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held his body against yours. Your legs latched onto his torso, and he took this as an invitation to push you against the pool wall. On instinct — horny, horny instinct — the both of you reached down and touched each other. You freed his cock from his swim trunks and he pulled your bikini bottoms to the side.

Staring into your eyes, Matthew pushed into you. Slowly at first, and then slamming the rest of the way in. You gasped, and your head rolled back, along with your eyes.

“Fuck,” he cupped your hand in his hands. “You’re so hot.”

He kissed your neck as he fucked you, rhythmically and roughly. The water splashed against your skin, the sound overlapping with your quiet moans. You gripped onto Matthew’s hair, and reveled in the sound of his groans in your ear.

You bit down on your lip, muffling your whines. Matthew took your jaw in his hand and tilted your head down to kiss you. You panted against his lips, whimpering as he your back tapped the wall behind you.

“How long you think we got until they get back?” He mumbled.

You chuckled under your breath, “If my memory is correct, you’re not gonna last that long anyways.”

“Oooooouch!” He exclaimed, suddenly cut off by a breathy moan. He buried his face in your neck, “Not this time, princess. Not this time.”

While you guys were preoccupied outside, the front door to the house opened up. “[y/n]!” Claire sang. “I know you said to leave you alone, but I passed that ice cream place you like and I brought you some. Gube too.” She giggled, walking through the house. “I also — maybe, definitely — wanted to see if you two were ready to come out. Come on, we’re eating at this cute little Mexican place down the street, you should —“

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, Matthew’s fingers pressed against your clit and rubbing in gentle circles.

“Mm, you gonna come?” Matthew purred. “Wow, I’m good.”

“S-shut up,” you stuttered. “Fuck. Fuck, keep going.”

Claire stood in shock, watching from inside and peering through the glass door. She stumbled back into the kitchen, placing the bag of ice cream on the counter. She blinked away the tears in her eyes, and gulped. And she left.

Clueless, you let your orgasm wash over you. Your body trembled, and Matthew pushed his cock all the way into you as you rode it out. The sensation sent ripples of pleasure throughout your body and you fell weakly against him. “Matthew,” you whimpered.

His eyes went wide, and he pushed your hair back. “You said my name.”

“Hm?”

“You said my name,” he repeated. “Say it again.”

His hips bucked into yours and he picked up his pace, his jaw dropping as he watched your face. His nails dug into your thighs, “C’mon please?” He begged.

You looked at him in a daze, tracing his collarbone with your finger and hooking it in his chain. “Matthew,” you whispered. And it was like you were saying it to yourself, convincing yourself this was real. “Matthew.”

The sound of your voice nearly sent him over the edge and he pulled out of you, huffing and puffing. “Wait,” you panted. “Wait, I want you to come.”

He chuckled, “We’ve got some time.”

And you guys made the most of it.

You fished your shirt out of the pool, grabbed your ballerina and headed inside. Once changed into new clothes, Matthew sat beside you as you finished your quiz. He didn’t quite understand how you could be quizzed on matters of ballet, and you didn’t quite feel like explaining so you kissed him to shut him up. Which subsequently led to you closing the laptop and letting him carry you upstairs. Not forgetting the rum.

You wound up on your bed, face down, ass up. Matthew held onto your hips, and pounded into you mercilessly until you were nothing but a puddle of moans. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, feel his body tensing up with each thrust, and you gripped onto the bed sheets tightly. Matthew upheld his promise to make the experience long and pleasure, making you come twice before he even came close. He reached down and slid his fingers into your mouth, which you sucked on willingly. He released himself onto your back, following it with a swift slap on your ass. He used his shirt to clean you off.

With a few more hits of alcohol, Matthew asked you to show him some ballet moves. So, you started with the basics. But when he attempted the movement, he nearly broke his ankle and fell to the floor. You broke out into hysterics.

“You’re druuuuuunk,” you sang, sinking down to the floor to join him.

“So are you!”

“But I can do ballet drunk,” you shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

“Hm,” he hummed, pulling you into his lap. “Wanna see what I can do drunk?”

Turns out, he couldn’t really do it that well, so you had to ride him. It was still good, and you let him come in your mouth. He was ecstatic.

Laying on the floor at 1 in the morning, you finished off the last of the rum and snuggled into Matthew’s side. “Got any gas?” He asked.

“No, I don’t have to burp.” You replied.

He laughed, “I meant weed, dumbass.”

“Weed? What the hell do you need weed for? Aren’t you drunk?”

“I’m...semi-drunk. You knocked most of that back yourself, Jack Daniels.”

“Okay, look, if you’re gonna call me nicknames, can you atleast pick one and stick with it?”

He sighed and shrugged, “Yeah. Which one’s your favorite?”

“None of them!”

“Well, pick one, princess!”

You thought for a moment, silent. “Princess,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Princess is my favorite.”

He smiled at you, but you weren’t looking. “Okay. You got it.”

“Hey, Matthew?” you called, sitting up and looking down at him. He was shirtless, laid out with his necklace glimmering against his skin.

“What’s up?” He replied.

You picked at the carpet as you spoke, “Why...why did you stay tonight?”

“Huh?” He tilted his head.

“Why did you stay tonight?” You repeated. “Why didn’t you go out with everyone else?”

He looked at you, and licked his lips, like he was thinking up a response. “I—“ He was cut off by the sound of a car pulling up outside, doors being shut, loud chatter.

The two of you hopped up at lightning speed, fixing your clothes. You kicked the rum bottle under your bed and Matthew balled up his stained shirt. He rushed out of your bedroom and you stood there out of breath. As soon as you turned around, you heard running coming your way. You turned back to face the door, and there was Matthew, marching up to you. He grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you. It was a long kiss, a nice kiss.

He left without a word, and you crawled into bed with a smile on your face. Matthew made it into his bed before everyone came upstairs. You faced the wall, pretending to be asleep.

“Awwwwwwwwwwww!” Claire exclaimed as she barged into the room. “Look at little [y/n]!”

“Claire,” your friend whispered. “Shh, you’re gonna wake her up.”

“[y/n]’s my best friend, y’know?”

“I know, honey.”

“I love her and...I just hope she loves me.”

“C’mon, let’s get you in bed.” Your friend helped the very drunk Claire into bed, removing Claire’s shoes then laying her down on the mattress and covering her up.

“Goodnight, [y/n]!” Claire shouted.

You stayed silent, clutching your ballerina figurine in your hand.

Sunday morning, it was time for all of you to leave and head back to school. You woke up early and applied makeup to cover the hickies on your neck. By the time everyone was up and packing, your stuff was already squared away in bags. You sat in the kitchen, eating pop tarts, and leaving everything the way your aunt asked. Everyone said hi to you as they passed the kitchen, and they eventually landed in the living room.

“Morning,” A voice called to you.

You turned to see Matthew standing there, smiling at you. “Good morning,” you pipped. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby. You?”

“Also like an infant,” you nodded. “Ready to head to school?”

“Almost,” he whispered. He walked up to you and kissed you softly, his hand holding your jaw.

You sighed happily and pulled away. “Are you ready now?” You asked.

“Hm, not quite,” he shook his head.

He kissed you again, and put his hand on your thighs, dangerously close to your core. “Okay, dude,” you slapped his hand away. “Don’t get crazy. Everyone’s in the living room.”

“So?”

“So...we can’t do anything here.”

“Oh, yes,” he whispered against your lips. “We can. You’ve just gotta be quiet.”

You tried. Tried to be quiet. But Matthew had you sat on the island, shorts and panties pushed the side and his cock buried inside you. He had to cover your mouth with his hand as he thrusted into you. His teeth sunk into his lip, to the point blood was drawn. You could taste it. You tightened your legs around his waist, eyelid lowered in lust. He gave you a questioning nod, and you replied with a slight motion of your head to let him know you were good.

“[y/n]!” Claire called.

You and Matthew quickly broke apart. You hopped off the island, Matthew fixed his pants. You sat in the chair like nothing happened and Matthew left the room through the second exit. Claire came around the separate entrance.

“Hey,” she said. “Ready to go?”

You smiled, “I am now.”

The ride back to school was much shorter. Nothing but music filled the car, Claire being too hung over to talk. Upon arriving at school, Matthew walked the two of you up to your dorm room.

“Need me to help with your bags?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” Claire shrugged. “Talk to you later, Gube.”

“You alright?” He questioned her.

“Yeah. Hangover.” Claire sadly walked into the room, head hung low.

“She’s a lightweight,” you told Matthew. “She’ll be back to normal soon.”

“Right,” he nodded. “So. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Around midnight, he requested to add you on snapchat again. You accepted. His first snap to you was a selfie with one caption:

show me ur tits 🥴🥴

no 😠

please 🥺

You sighed, looked over at Claire who was fast asleep, and lifted your shirt over your chest. Took you five tries, but you took the perfect one. He opened it within 10 seconds. Then he was video chatting you.

“Hello?” you whispered.

“Where’s your face?”

“I took it off for the night. What do you want?”

“I wanna see you.”

“What? No! Go to bed.”

“You can come over. Please. Please. I’m begging.”

“I hear you begging,” you scoffed. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

“We have class tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m tired.”

“Just come let me suck on your tits. Five minutes, no sex, I promise.”

Yeah, right.

You came back to your room — your panties stuffed in your pocket, your hair wild, your lips swollen, throat sore, walking a little funny. You got a good night’s sleep.

Life got easier when you started listening to your body. A lot better, a lot more orgasmic. For the next month, Matthew and you got it in, whenever. Wherever. If you crossed paths on the way to class, you often didn’t make it to the lecture. When out with friends, you’d end up in the bathroom, with you bent over the sink and Matthew holding onto your hips. When you looked up in the mirror, you could see his necklace bouncing against his chest, his head thrown back.

There was something about Matthew that made you unbelievably horny and weak and impulsive. A very dangerous combination. Add that to the fact that he was admittedly not as annoying as you originally believed, and you were having a blast. However, you knew it was a means to an end. That summer would once again separate you two and there was a good chance he’d forget all about you.

When he came to say goodbye to Claire for summer break, you answered the door and had to tell him she left already.

“What?” He replied. “She didn’t tell me she was leaving.”

“Oh,” you hummed. “Um, do you want me to call her?”

“No, no. That’s alright,” he shook his head. “So...you leaving yet?”

“Nope. I leave tomorrow.”

“Cool,” he looked side to side, checking that no one was in the hallway. Then, he focused back on you and pressed his lips to yours. He pushed his way into the room and you let him, closing the door behind him.

Afterwards, he let you lay with his head on his chest, his arm around your waist. You knew it may not be forever. But it was now. And it was nice.

[PART 4.]

#mine #college!matthew #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg #mgg smut #mgg imagine

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