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marky4l · 3 years

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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yuzukult · 3 years

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i’m bad too 15 || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, word count: 1.8k warnings: none !! a/n: a “leading” chapter, before something actually happens! so, not the most exciting, but... yeah. :D

please let me know if anyone wants to be tagged! taglist: @wownajaemin @crescent-iak @ncttboo @byunbaekby @jinfizz @doyoungyoung @ahgayeah0305 @doyobun @sexualitaeyong @mrkleelvr @m1ss-foodi3

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If it’s one thing you’ve learned about yourself, it’s that you hate when Ten chews his food with his mouth open. He chomps it like a cow munching on grass, and sometimes, he even makes those weird wet sounds if the food is soft and squishy enough.

But after laying in a hospital bed for a week, unable to speak, you’re missing the ability to call your big brother ‘disgusting’ across the table, toss something in his direction, and him opening his mouth to show the contents of his dinner inside.

“Are you fucking insane? You let her go into hellfire, knowing damn well she wasn’t protected?” The voice is familiar, loud, and straining, like they’re on the verge of tears but too instilled with anger to let the sadness seep through. “I thought I said to keep her fucking safe if you wanted to work together.”

“I don’t work in the field, Ten. I don’t control what happens at the moment.”

“Yeah, but you set the commands. You give the orders. She’s fucking on her deathbed, Taeyong—“

“Don’t fucking say my name in public,” he hisses through his gritted teeth. “Listen. If it’s not her, it’s me.”

“I’d rather it be you.”

“You need me, Ten. Who is gonna do the dirty work for you? Look at those pretty fingers. You wouldn’t hurt a soul. But your sister—you know damn well she’s got potential to be more. This is just a hurl she’s jumping over. When she recovers—“

“You’ve got to be fucking insane, you think I’m gonna let her go back out there when you put her in harms way?”

Before the conversation could continue, you hear the door click shut, and the shuffling of flat shoes tapping against the cold tiles, reaching to your bedside. You can’t see, your body won’t let you fully awaken, and you can’t speak with this tube lodged in your throat. But the whiff of the cologne that comes hits your nostrils is a familiar one. It’s Doyoung.

He sighs, like he’s been troubled and you can’t even blame him. You told him not to worry, that you’d stay safe, and here you are—unable to move, unable to wake up, unable to breathe on your own, and unable to talk.

You hear his moments; the scuffing of his oversized denim jacket against the leather seat by your bed, browsing through the drawers with each push and slam until he finds what he’s looking for, and when you hear the television turn on, you could only assume it was for the remote.

“I wonder if they have Marvel movies playing,” he says, seemingly to no one in particular until you realize he’s speaking to you, in spite of the fact that you’re very much in a deep sleep. “I know they’re not your favorite, but you tolerate it. I never got to ask what kind of movies you liked. I… I guess I was being a little selfish when you gave me attention that I never considered to ask.”

You wanna tell him that you actually don’t even like movies, in fact, you prefer sitcoms in spite of your very evident opposite personality. If you could, you would tell him that you watch those superhero movies because he’s into them, that if you get to see that pretty little smile on his face, it makes you forget all your problems and… the moment is worthwhile.

Warmth reaches your fingers, and you could only assume that it’s Doyoung holding your hand. It’s a familiar feeling of home, like you’re meant to be here with him, except the current setting isn’t necessarily favored.

“Do you like Spongebob?” He asks, as if you could even respond. “Mm. Doesn’t really seem like your thing, but I feel like you’re the type to not look like you enjoy it, but you actually love it because it’s annoying.”

He’s… right. You want to laugh, genuinely laugh because Kim Doyoung is spot on with his prediction. He knows you better than he gives himself credit for, because he doesn’t change the channel and watches the TV with you.

“I bet you like sitcoms,” Doyoung mentions randomly, eyes still on the screen. “Like maybe not Modern Family, but maybe like… Parks and Rec. You don’t seem like you’d enjoy the Office too much, maybe Michael Scott is too much of a character but Andy Bernard looks like a guy you’d scare to the point he’d piss his pants, but you’d like him.” Again, you think to yourself. Because Doyoung got it right yet again.

He’s quiet for a bit, letting Spongebob play in the background and you could hear the conversation between Spongebob and Patrick. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s actually happening, but the feeling of being with Doyoung like this, hand in hand with something stupid playing on TV is your favorite.

It’s casual. No missions, no guns, no family business—just you and Doyoung.

Doyoung doesn’t say much on the day you finally wake up. With a tube wedged down your throat, it’s difficult to have a two-way conversation anyways, and seeing you like this probably breaks his heart, so any word that leaves his mouth might be with a stutter and a sob.

Spongebob plays on the television for another hour before Doyoung eventually breaks the glass of quietude, letting out a soft chuckle at something Patrick said. “Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, glancing over at you. “Wasn’t sure if you liked Spongebob.” Although you can’t speak, the soft squeeze of his hand gives away your approval, and a gentle smile tugs on his face.

There's another moment of silence, just before Doyoung lowers the volume of the TV before gathering enough courage to talk. It takes a lot to get himself to speak up against you, someone he sort of feared yet at the same time had strong feelings for.

“I know what you do,” he announces, eyes never leaving the flickering screen with cartoon characters under the deep blue sea do stupid things, unmatching to what he wants to say next. “I can’t say that I totally get it, because I don’t. I’d be lying if I said I did, but… you do those things, and I’m not a hundred percent sure what to make out of it, but I get why it was hard to confess… those things.” He runs his fingers through his greasy locks, accumulating in oils from how long he’s stayed here without going home to shower. “I kind of thought I was going to date someone really simple one day, yaknow? Settle down with a girl who has a job, sweet and kind, with the same end goal in mind. Get married, have kids… all that fun stuff.”

Your nose twitches at that. Because you’re definitely not that.

“But then I met you, which is… well,” he lets out a faint laugh, “... the complete opposite of all of that. You’re dangerous, cold, and oftentimes, I’m left hanging by a thread, confused on what we are and what I actually mean to you.”

If you could, you’d interrupt him right then and there. Tell him your sorrys, belatedly confessing your true feelings for him, let him know you’d be better for real this time, but truthfully, you’re not sure if he’ll believe you anyway.

“And I could just drop everything right now. Just get up, leave, move on. Tell you that I don’t want this anymore, that whatever you’re in, I don’t wanna be roped in and get involved in your baggage.” It’s like you could hear the cracking of your heart as it falls into the depths of your stomach because your chest feels empty when he says that. The worst part is when you can’t defend yourself, tell him that it’s not like that, but in the end, Doyoung does it for you.

“Yet, I’m still here, right? Because I don’t get you, I don’t get whatever it is you got yourself caught up in, but… after knowing, it oddly makes me… trust you more. So, I’ll stay.”

“Fuck,” Ten curses underneath his breath, getting slightly frustrated with the wheelchair being caught on the steps of your home again. “Fucking shit, nothing here is disability accessible.”

It’s still hard to talk, but a weak laugh escapes from your lips.

“Don’t laugh, you’re the one in the wheelchair not doing shit.”

When he gets you through the front door, and into the hallway, you can’t help but stare at Ten curiously. He furrows his brows at this, hands at his hips with a gesture of his chin. “What’s in your head?”

“Uh,” it’s straining to speak, but if not now, it’s never. “I overheard a conversation when I was asleep. I-I don’t know if it was a dream or… I don’t know. But I heard you talking to someone, uh, someone particularly… with a reputation.”

His body goes rigid.

“Right,” you state, feeling more confident that the discussion was definitely not a dream. “So this entire time, you’ve been working with the organization?” Ten only sucks his cheeks, unable to formulate a proper rebuttal, so you take advantage of this. “This whole time, you let them constantly probe and ask me to be part of them—”

“I told him not to—”

“Well, he’s been asking, Ten, and he hasn’t stopped. I got contracted to be part of them temporarily, not permanently. This was supposed to be a one and done deal, you realize that, right?”

He scoffs. “You think that anything you do with Lee Taeyong could just be easily brushed under the rug? Hell no, you have to be insanely rich to pay off that guy. He thinks you’re talented, you know? What do you think this is?”

“I could just get up and leave—” “In your fucking dreams, kid,” Ten lets out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. “I agreed to work with him before I knew that you were already contracted with him. There’s shady people in the business. There’s so many messed-up dudes who would bend the laws to get what they want. I don’t want that, but I have to protect myself.”

“But—”

“Wanna hear something, kid? Taeyong doesn’t think this accident,” Ten gestures to your wounds, heart tightening at the sight of you in pain. “... this accident, is just… it. He calls this an obstacle. He thinks this is just a bump in your progress, something you need to overcome before you hop back into the field and start training all over again. He’s not gonna let this go, doesn’t matter if I’m his client. Fuck, kid, he has a shit ton of clients.”

Uneasily, you grip onto the wheels of your seat. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“It’s your loss, kid. Either kill Taeyong and take his seat or you gotta work for him.”

#doyoung smut #doyoung fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #doyoung x reader #gyukultfics #doyoung #kim doyoung

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drabbles-of-writing · 3 years

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Reverse Au! Dump

Don’t mind my idea dumping here. Brain decided to have fun while I was at work and I have too many wips as it is, so… Thought I’d ask before I dumped, experience. Used morningmark’s comics as a base, so if you want reference. Now this isn’t all that well compiled, but here it goes.

Magic in the Other World is varied as it is crazy. So many styles over the generations and not a lot of organization. There are some that try to categorize it all, but that works as well as you’d expect. Some were lost, some erased, some weren’t passed down/recorded because “the power is all mine! Ahahaha!” It took a lot of time and collaboration, but eventually a sort of system was installed to help out. Still a lot of work to do, but its a step forward. Nowadays the term Wild Magic is generally reserved for those that aren’t all that well documented and understood.

Some Magics are very powerful and desirable, but also tend to be very high risk/high reward, kinda pass/fail, pretty literally Do or Die most times. So not a lot of people can use those or are even willing to. Story says this one guy named Odin hung himself on a massive tree by his own spear for nine days, no food water or rest in constant pain before he could unlock the secret of Runes. But it’s also said he gouged out his own eye to drink from the Well of Wisdom so…

There are lots of different ways to channel magic too: wands, staves, jewelry, certain gems, familiars, potions, enchanted armaments, chants, scripts, etc. Each tool has its own advantages and disadvantages and play into a Witches’ style. Every Witch has at least two methods of spellcasting. Only children have one. Haven’t thought of how Luz gets her Palisman though. Maybe its one of those magic Artifacts like Dr. Strange’s cloak, Elder Wand, Thor’s hammer, or a Green Lantern’s Ring. Something that can’t be recreated because the secret is lost, materials no longer exist, too hard/dangerous to make, accident that can’t be recreated, etc. Happens more often than people like.

Camilla is sometimes called the Blue Witch. She’s a healer by heart and trade, but push her and she will become a one Witch Battleship. Bismark who? Aaaaand she just deleted a whole battalion. And the fortress behind them. Hide me. There are the very rare occasions, like count on one hand rare, when someone near and dear to her heart is in trouble that she takes up her other job. She’s especially terrifying when she decides to torture, those who know how to heal the body know best how to break it. Many shades of Blue, some are very close to Black. She doesn’t necessarily hate Humans exactly, but doesn’t have the highest of regard from past experiences.

Luz has training and is a proficient Witch for her age. Camilla and her father were adamant about having a general knowledge/skillset alongside her specialized skill. Jack of all trades and a master of none, still better than a master of one. She has gone through the system for her magic with varying success. Oracle magic? Zero talent. Bard classes? She can play an instrument, but can’t sing at the same time. When she does sing she tires too hard and messes up. It’s only when she doesn’t try, like absently singing along with a song or playing by her heart, that she’s good at it. Beasts? Can use them, but would rather play with them. Bleeding heart and all that. She does have a good handle on healing magic partly due to Camilla drilling necessary skills into her and partly osmosis. Her father arranged for some CQC lessons from an old friend of his which the girl loved. You get the idea. It wasn’t until she discovered Glyphs that she found her niche and her skills took off. Glyphs are one of those ‘eccentric’ or 'archaic’ styles since they haven’t been used in so long after being lost and are barely understood. She still has a long way to go, but she is on her way.

Luz never really had much in the way of friends, partly cuz of high profile parents which leads to certain pressures and a target on her head, partly because of her magic style and personality, and partly because of the trouble been going on. Luz grew up her whole life with this tension of a group of anarchists trying to burn society that’s just trying to do the right thing. The anarchists started small, but have been a growing problem the past few decades with talk how to 'reshape the world’ in not a good way. Anyone with critical thinking skills can tell this is a bad idea, but they are too brainwashed to notice. They harass anyone who doesn’t follow their rhetoric and attack anyone who even questions them. Luz’s parents put a real kink in a lot of their plans for years, which makes Luz guilty by association.

Luz got caught in one of those sudden larger scuffles and was accidentally chucked/blown through a portal created by an attempted tactical retreat that went off course. Hence why she can’t go home because she hasn’t learned how to do portals yet. Those are high level anyway so how did these guys pull it off so easily? Luz has a hard time blending in obviously. Learning how to use a phone was a fun endeavor. Internet was a trip. Luz is amazed how these people can do all this cool stuff without magic. Keep a low profile sure, she can pass off as a weird out of town kid. Keep the beanie on, underperform in gym and stuff because some things don’t change, like genetics. Someone sharp eyed will see discrepancies. The Beanie has a small Glamor spell built in that covers her witchy traits but she forgot the ears which is why it sits like it does. Luz can erase memories in case she has an accident, but it’s less of a 'remove my face from this picture with a scalpel’, and more of a 'lemme just hack off the past hour or three from your brain with an axe.’ If she tries to take any more then she starts burning into some more dangerous territory and those Wiped are groggy and disoriented for a while after already. Then the magic attacks start happening and her heroic instinct/anti-bystander complex kicks in and there goes that. It runs in the family so Camilla isn’t surprised in the slightest when she finds out.

“Oh titan, why did you curse me with another me?” “I’m right here Mami!”

Eda has a shack very akin to Grunkle Stan. Lots of junk that Lilith can’t believe that people are dumb enough to buy. She’s also involved in some not so legal dealings on the side. Well, Eda isn’t actually hurting anybody and the tax dollars she should be paying would only go towards some politicians’ next yacht or another pointless overseas 'investment’ instead of where it’s supposed to go so. Eda does give some good intel on occasion and a place to vent so Lillith overlooks her. Lil’s more of the secret police for witches and a petty crook isn’t part of her job anyway. Eda understands Luz’s predicament and is willing to help. The cover story is that Camilla work in hospitals and has to work crazy hours while her dad passed away so is living with Eda for a while. King is that kind of critter that grew up weird and acts like ten different animals all the time.

Gus is the nerdy kid who infodumps on everybody, even if they’re not listening. Loves anything fantasy/sci-fi related and plays Minecraft too. A good kid at heart, but needs some social skills. Keep him away from anything more sugary than tea. Luz learned a lot listening to him. Not all of it is entirely useful, but still. Some of his ramblings give her some good ideas for magic and stuff, like putting Glyphs on cards.

The Blights are the cool rich kids obviously, and have some discipline and social issues. Big family name makes them intimidating for normies and a meal ticket for the unsavory. These kids need real friends. They decided to act out to get some attention from the parents who then decided to ignore them. “If you’re going to act like a child tantrum, get treated like one.” Ed is perfect for Drama classes, if he were allowed to partake. Can’t decide what Em is great at, hacking perhaps? Amity’s car is an inheritance from the only family to treat her as such Twins aside, even if she’s too young to remember it. She only remembers that she has feelings surrounding the car. All three of them were pretty impressed with Luz for standing up to them, calling them out on their shit, and not giving a crap about their family name. Being treated like a normal person is pretty weird. Can we get her to do that again?

Amity tried dating Boscha once, didn’t work out very well. Boscha is still hurting over Amity’s comment of “I’d rather go date the new weird kid (Luz) than go back to you.” It’s one of the reasons she goes after Luz. She has that kind of Bud personality from Spider Man, feels lesser and so acts out so much.

“Wow, this new Witch is amazing. Not as cool as the original Witch.”

“What is it with the Witch with you?”

“Oh, she’s a hero. Looks out for the city and the little guy. She inspires me. Makes me want to be a bigger person. *sees Luz* What’s up Luz-er?”

And that’s what I got right now. I know there was more, but it’s lost to the void right now. Might come back later, maybe not. Lemme know what you think.

............

DAMN you weren’t lying when you said you had an info-dump this is *chefs kiss* you got me intrigued now

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callboxkat · 3 years

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Those Long, Lonely Nights (part 1/6)

Author’s note: This is a retelling of the story These Deep Dark Woods, but from Roman’s perspective, plus a few new scenes. I recommend reading that story first, but this can also stand alone. Please read the warnings!

Summary: Roman, a knight, insists on accompanying his best friend Logan, a potion maker, when he decides to head into the notoriously dangerous woods bordering their home to find some rare herbs and minerals for his apothecary. They find much more than they bargained for when they encounter Remus, a bloodthirsty giant. Logince. Angst with a happy ending.

Warnings: food mention, blood, injuries, death mention, killing mention, gun mention, mild body horror (it’s Remus), disturbing imagery (it’s Remus), character death, temporary/believed character death, kidnapping, guilt, attempted self sacrifice, talk of giants, vampires and other monsters. Very unsympathetic villain Remus.

Word Count: 1764

Part 2

Ao3 Link

Writing Masterpost!

...

Roman bounded down the bustling street, waving to familiar passerby as he went. He knew he was easy to pick out and very recognizable, in his white knight’s uniform. Despite the early morning, many people were already up and about, setting up for the day, but the street lamps still glowed—a recent installation, they actually ran on electricity! Roman still didn’t quite understand how that worked, but he was proud to see his settlement prospering, and it was fascinating, how much light came from them, just from a few little wires and some glass. Perhaps there was some sort of enchantment involved.

“Good morning, Sir Roman,” a shopkeeper called.

Roman tabled his nerdy thoughts for the time being. He put on a bright smile and approached the shop, where a woman stood sweeping clear the welcome mat. “Good morning to you, Maryanne!”

The woman put aside the broom and dusted her hands off on her apron. “Would you like a pastry? The peaches just arrived from Mellow Valley, and they are simply delightful in a fruit tart.”

Roman hummed consideringly. “Oh, that’s very tempting, but I’m afraid I’m in a rush this morning!”

“Some other time, then. Perhaps you could even bring that handsome young man you’re always with.” She winked.

Roman really hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Of course—you know I love your treats.”

Roman was on his way to his shift guarding the outer wall, an imposing structure built of shining gray stone that protected the citizens of his home from the monsters that roamed the forest beyond. It was an important job, entrusted to the expertise of the knights, and one that Roman loved doing; but it wasn’t always the most exciting prospect. Their settlement, Old Haven, was one of the longest standing, enough so that most of the monsters had known since generations past to stay well away; and between the few times that things truly got exciting... they could be terribly dull.

But, before Roman went to his shift that morning, he had a stop to make, and this he was definitely looking forward to.

The apothecary was located just a couple of blocks from the main square, in a small, warmly colored cedar and stone building with windows filled with neatly arranged bundles of colorful herbs and evenly spaced rows of bottles of medicinal powders and potions. A hand-painted sign read, Please come in, in neat, white letters, in an only slightly decorative script.

Roman reached the shop just as the door opened, the bell overhead chiming. A customer stepped out, dressed in a dark robe with the hood up. At first glance, he seemed to be clothed entirely in black, but on closer inspection, his robe was actually a deep plum color. He clutched a bottle of pomegranate juice in one pale hand and a neatly sealed packet of herbs in the other. Dark bangs poked out from under the hood, but his face was cast in shadow. Roman frowned slightly noticing the dark, grayish veins in his hands as he stepped back to give the man room. He hurried past Roman and disappeared down the street. Roman stepped inside the apothecary once he was gone.

The apothecarist, Logan, stood behind a counter within the shop, wearing an elegant, navy colored coat and his usual pair of spectacles. He was pushing together a pile of coins on the counter. Copper and bronze coins only, Roman noticed. No silver.

“Got a lot of vampire clientele?” Roman asked, leaning (or perhaps posing) against one of the display cabinets.

Logan looked up, the warm lamplight making his deep blue irises glitter in a way that never failed to make Roman’s heart skip a beat. He glanced back down and finished tucking away the money. “Six,” he said honestly. “Seven, most likely, although she has not personally shared that information with me, and if she is, hers appears to be a mild case.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Ah… they’re a little too similar to monsters, for my taste.”

“It is a monster-derived affliction, that is true, but with modern treatments, most of those afflicted with vampirism can lead nearly normal lives.”

Roman shrugged dismissingly, waving him off. He hadn’t come here to talk about vampires. “I know, I know. Anyway. How’s my favorite nerd this morning?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Logan sighed.

“You know you love it.”

Logan did not deny it, Roman noticed with a small smile. Instead, he adjusted a few already perfectly positioned potion bottles on the counter, before saying, “I am well, although rather busy.”

Roman glanced around the room, noticeably empty of customers. “Ah yes, this is a very busy time for your shop, I see.”

“A customer did depart only moments ago,” Logan pointed out. “Although, no, I was not referring to customers. I’m preparing for an outing.”

“An outing?” Roman was interested, now. “Finally taking a little vacation, are you? Good on you. Where are you going? And more importantly—can I come?”

Logan wanted to smile, Roman could tell. But he didn’t. The guy took himself too seriously. “Not that type of outing. I require materials to restock my shop.”

Roman sighed dramatically, making it a full body motion. So much for a vacation. And the hot springs in the hills of northern Old Haven were so nice this time of year. “So? Just put it on the list for the traders. Mellow Valley should have most of your things in season by now. Did you hear the peaches arrived? Maryanne, that baker on Lilac, promised me some of her delightful pastries. We could go get some, when I’m finished with my shift on the South Wall this morning.”

Logan shook his head “Mellow Valley won’t have everything I need; and besides, the costs are considerably lessened when the materials are personally collected.”

Roman furrowed his brow. “Collected where?”

“Outside.”

“You mean outside, like, as in the park, right?”

“In the woods,” Logan sighed, beginning to sound exasperated.

Roman opened his mouth, then closed it again. The woods. The veritable ocean of dense trees beyond the settlement’s walls, filled to the brim with monsters, held back from advancing only by the strength of the guard and broken only by the occasional human stronghold and the heavily protected trails that linked them. Generally, only knights and the traders they accompanied ever ventured beyond the walls—this was, in fact, why Roman had become a knight in the first place, to get to see some of the world that most only saw through pictures and stories. Citizens were allowed to leave—they weren’t prisoners—but it was very rare, and highly discouraged. Many who went unprepared—or even those who did—never returned; and sometimes even those who did return were not the same as when they left—like the vampires who apparently frequented this shop, or at least one or more of their ancestors. Vampirism could be tricky like that. Sometimes it cropped up randomly, somewhere down the line.

Logan had begun sorting through some of his supplies, acting for all the world as if he hadn’t just announced he had a death wish.

Roman shook off his distracted thoughts of vampirism and knightly missions, and focused on the most important thing: “Please tell me you aren’t planning to go out there alone.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Logan sighed. “I will have my dagger, and I will go no further into the woods than required.”

“Oookay, first of all, why am I just now hearing that you’ve been hanging out in the monster-filled woods by yourself?”

“I would hardly call it ‘hanging out’.”

“And second of all, you are absolutely not doing that.”

Logan gave him a dry look. “Yes, I am. My herbs will not pick themselves.”

“Get a garden like a normal person.”

“You know I have a quite extensive garden.” Logan paused, looked confused. He shook his head, going back to counting bundles of tiny black seeds. “Some of these herbs do not naturally grow within human settlements, let alone ours, and my attempts to recreate their preferred environment have in many cases proven thus far unsuccessful. Besides, I cannot ‘get a garden’ to form mineral deposits, several of which are required in even non-specialty potions.”

Roman still didn’t quite see why Logan wouldn’t be able to get all of this stuff using a trader. Knowing Logan, it was less about the money and more about needing to personally ensure that he received the correct materials. Surely, though, even the least-versed in medicinal resources could get him what he needed, if he described them well enough.

Also knowing Logan, though, he would not be dissuaded from going.

Roman pulled himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest and putting one hand on the protective-charm engraved hilt of his sword. “Alright, then, I am coming with you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming to collect herbs? Can you even tell wormwood from hemlock?”

“I’m not going to find your nerd plants, I’m going to protect you.”

Logan scoffed quietly, clearly believing Roman’s very generous and heroic offer was unnecessary. But he sat down on his stool, finally, and looked at Roman without busying himself with his apothecarist duties. He glanced Roman up and down, apparently trying to decide how serious Roman was. “Alright, then, if you insist.”

“I do!” Roman nodded firmly. He relaxed his posture. “So, when are we going?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes?”

“I—” Roman groaned, looking up towards the wooden beams of the ceiling. “Fine. It’s a little short notice, but fine.” He worked his jaw, then mumbled, “I’ll need to cancel a couple days… maybe Sir Leo can cover? Hm.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, adjusting his spectacles and watching Roman’s dramatics. “I am not forcing you to come.”

You are, though. “Well, I am.”

“Alright.”

A beat passed in silence, Roman feeling triumphant, before Logan gave the knight a slightly amused look. “I thought you had a shift on the wall?”

“I—right. Yes.” Roman had gotten a little distracted. He took a couple of steps back. “So, you, me, tomorrow, woods. Great.” He turned towards the door, stopped, and turned around. “About those pastries?”

Logan hummed. “I can take a break two hours after noon, which is when your shift ends, if I remember correctly. I suppose I would accept one then.”

“They have fruit in them,” Roman encouraged. “That makes them healthy!”

“I do not believe that is entirely correct.”

Roman grinned and left the shop.

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awanderingdeal · 4 years

Text

In which Sirius takes back Halloween

My fic for the fabulous fic -o-ween! This is not even remotely scary and is basically a big fluff ball. I hope you enjoy your Halloween as much as Sirius and co!

A big shout out to @ais-for-alex for being my beta for this fic. I did make a couple of changes as I was re-reading this morning (who can resist) so any mistakes are most likely my fault.😂

And finally, a massive thank you to @lumosinlove for lending us these wonderful characters to play with. They really have been a massive part of my lockdown sanity.

Rating: G

CW: Food mentions

“Do you think I should sell this house?” Sirius mused, tapping his long fingers against the rim of his mug.

Remus looked up slowly from his tablet, from which he’d been reading the daily news. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just so big, you know,” Sirius shrugged, taking a second to formulate his thoughts into a coherent reply. “I kind of just brought it as an act of rebellion when I got my first pay check. We’re never really here and even when we are, we use what, maybe five of the rooms.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing his hair back off his face. “It just feels so soulless,” he finished, glancing at Remus to gauge his reaction. His boyfriend was as impossible to read as ever, not giving an ounce away until he opened his mouth to speak.

“So, give it soul then.” Remus said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Like you said we’re never here. But we could be. We can make memories here if you want to,” he smiled gently at the thought. “Maybe, we could start with me officially moving my stuff in here?” he added, biting into a doughnut casually. If Sirius didn’t know Remus better he would have thought that the monumentality of the question had bypassed him.

Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus's waist pulling him close, smiling into his curls at the memory. It had taken place two years ago now and of course, Remus had been right. Sirius couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now. A crunching sound interrupted his thoughts. He shook his head, but didn’t comment on his boyfriend’s breakfast, a leftover toffee apple, knowing from previous experiences that it would only encourage him to make worse choices.

The conversation in his memory had been the reason that he’d first thrown his annual Halloween bonanza, a tradition (if something that had only been done twice could be called a tradition) that was quickly becoming infamous. It was a family affair with all the team bringing their loved ones to enjoy what was quite frankly, an outrageous display of wealth. Each year, Remus and he turned their back garden into a fete with, pumpkin carving, a hay maze, apple bobbing, spooky cupcake decorating and face painting to name but a few things. No expense was spared. But it wasn’t about the money really.

A soft kiss to his jawline pulled him out of his thoughts again. Remus sighed contentedly and leaned into his chest, body warmth radiating between them. Sirius glanced down at the shorter man, giving him a reassuring smile. Remus could always tell when he was in his own head.

“Just thinking about last night,” Sirius hummed, his eyes flickering to the giant corkboard on the wall. It was currently monopolized by the polaroids that had been taken the previous evening. The collection showcased exactly what the party was all about.

It was the photo of Logan, his teeth clenched around an apple, sticky liquid dripping down his chin and eyes glimmering with competition. Next to it, the photo of Katie Dumais hugging a huge, black stuffed dog, almost the same size as her.

“Logan won me a new stuffie!” she had beamed as the photo was taken. Logan, much to Katie’s distain, ruffled her hair and told her, “N’importe quoi pour vous.” Anything for you.

It was the image of a frantic James declaring, “I have lost my child!” Olli and Timmy laughing in the background because they could see a tiny Harry dressed as a pumpkin toddling around behind his father.

It was the one of Talker, for once sitting still, albeit in a chair designed for small children, his eyes closed but his mouth moving. Across from him, Noelle’s expression was fondly exasperated as she tried to finish painting his face. Another photo evidenced that she had been successful; there were two matching skeletons (Thomas and little Xavi) with faces warped by laughter.

It was the collection of photos towards the top of the corkboard. Reg and Leo. Reg and Celeste. Reg and Jules. And his personal favourite, Reg and Remus.

“I love this one,” Sirius said aloud, his fingers reaching out to brush the picture he was referring to. Even now it still baffled him to see his brother interacting with his boyfriend so casually. At this point the two men had their own relationship outside of Sirius, founded on nerdy things that he failed to understand. His heart swelled as he took in the image of the two most important people in his life.

“It’s a great photo,” Remus agreed. He and Regulus had their heads close together, hands waving as they enthusiastically discussed something. Remus had a smug expression on his face, Reg looked disgruntled. The photo captured their personalities fantastically. “I think this is my favourite,” Remus added, pointing out a different polaroid.

This one was taken inside. An entanglement of blankets and sleeping children. Smitty’s youngest, Noah, had started it. He’d crashed around 9pm after an almighty sugar rush, and his father had laid him down in the quiet of the lounge to sleep. Katya Ivanov and Katie Dumais followed soon after. Harry had put up a valiant effort not to join them. In fact, there was a photo a little to the left of Sirius rocking his godson who was fighting his drooping eyelids. Never the less, he ended up in the pile too.

“One day, we will have one of our own to add to that pile,” Remus smiled, giving Sirius a squeeze.

“One day,” Sirius agreed, wiping a thumb across Remus's lips to remove a trace of toffee. "We better go and wake those two up. Marcie will be here soon – she won’t want to clean around them,” Sirius declared, his head inclining towards the lounge. Remus chuckled in response, spinning in Sirius’s arms and taking his hand to lead him to the other room. Sirius allowed himself to be led, picking up the camera from the counter as he passed.

The camera flashed and pushed out a photo with a click. Sirius grinned, shaking the small square whilst it developed. Slowly it revealed two men curled into one another, the taller of the them had his arms wrapped around the smaller. They looked peaceful. Remus tried to wake them up gently, but apparently the small shake to Kuny’s shoulder was enough to startle the pair. A string of Russian – almost certainly profanities – left Kuny’s mouth as he pulled himself away from Nado. Sirius noted the blush that spread over Kuny’s cheeks as he realised how entwined they had been.

“Right boys. I hate to kick you out but my housekeeper will be here soon and she does not need to be subjected to your hungover asses,” Sirius said, although he didn’t sound regretful at all.

Nado grumbled, showing Sirius his middle finger and sweeping his hair back of his face. “Come on Koon, I’ll drop you home.”

Leaving Remus to deal with their two unexpected guests, Sirius wandered back into his kitchen to pin the photo he had just taken with the rest. There wasn’t a lot of room left, but he managed to squeeze it between a photo of Natalie and Kasey holding their carved pumpkins, and a particularly sweet one of the cubs. Finn’s lips were pressed against Leo’s nose, red from the cold. Logan cocooned between them, resting his head on Finn’s chest. Sirius couldn’t help but smile as he realized that none of them were wearing the same sweaters they had arrived in, seemingly having swapped them over the course of the evening.

Remus came back soon enough, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh. Sirius didn't want to know. “They'll be gone soon. We should pick up. Marcie isn't paid enough to deal with…this" Remus said, gesturing towards the chaos of the kitchen. Sirius looked around, a grimace forming on his face before he nodded his agreement. The floor was littered with costume parts, either lost or removed as games were played and alcohol was drunk – devil horns here and iron man’s mask there. There was a stain on the rug where a bowl of perfectly spiced pumpkin soup had been spilt. Toilet paper had managed to make its way into the craziest of places, casualties of the mummy competition. Popcorn crunched under his feet – the impromptu viewing of ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ had happened two rooms over - how popcorn had ended up in the kitchen, Sirius did not know.

Despite it all, Sirius would do it all again tomorrow. Growing up, Halloween had been characterized by loneliness and jealousy. His overly religious parents had declared the holiday heinous and banned even mentions of the event. In the supermarket, they snatched offered candy out of his hand and Sirius had listened on wistfully as the other children spoke about their hauls. The memories made him a little sad, but it was okay now, Sirius had reclaimed it – Halloween was his again.

#sweaterweater #coast to coast #fic-o-ween #food mentions #slightly edited 24/02/21

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aster-aspera · 3 years

Text

Just a short chapter I wrote for new year.

CW: child abandonment, homelessness

Pairings: romantic/platonic DLAMP, romantic anxceit

Happy New Year everyone, I hope you have a great day/night and I hope 2021 brings everyone better tidings <3

Masterpost

Janus ignored the urge to straighten his bowtie before walking up the small path that led to the house. As much as he wished he could make some final adjustments to his look, his hands were currently full, with flowers on one side and his cane on the other. He figured dropping either to fiddle with his bowtie would be a rather ridiculous look.

It would be fine, he told himself. It was just a small celebration at their house, it didn't matter how he looked. They loved him, they wouldn’t judge him.

And oh, those words. They loved him.

The thought made him simultaneously want to leap with happiness and run for the hills as fast as he could. It was so terrifyingly new and at the same time it felt so comfortably familiar. The phone calls that lasted way longer than they should. The bad days when all of them came over and baked him bread. The banter over the comms when he was too tired to join in on patrol. They loved him.

A raven haired head popping itself out the door distracted him from his brooding.

“Dude, are you just gonna spend the whole evening standing in our garden or are you gonna come in?” Virgil asked.

“I was just admiring the flowers,” Janus drawled.

Virgil raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Come in, everyone’s waiting for you.”

He stepped inside and handed Virgil the flowers.

“Aww, are those for us? How sweet,” Virgil cooed.

Janus definitely didn’t blush. “It’s polite.”

“It’s romantic,” Virgil teased.

“Virgil,” Janus sighed, trying to sound exasperated but only managing to sound fond.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. Come on, I need to start frying the gulab jamun.”

“You’re making gulab jamun?” Janus asked, pleasantly surprised. They were apparently a famed treat in this household.

“Yeah,” Virgil stopped when he walked into Roman.

“And now he shows up,” Virgil snarked “Here, go put these in a vase, I have dessert to attend to.” He shoved the flowers into Roman’s hands and quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

Roman beamed at Janus.

“Hello darling,” He purred “You look absolutely stunning.”

“You are not allowed to use that nickname, it’s mine, I licensed it,” Janus protested.

“Oh, but I just love the way it flusters you, darling.”

Janus could feel the heat creeping all the way from under his collar up to his cheeks. Roman was definitely getting back at him for all the times Janus had flustered him in costume.

“Roman, stop,” Janus sighed as he gently pushed his shoulder.

Roman just chuckled and led him into the living room, where Logan was arranging some snacks.

“Guess who arrived!” Roman announced to the entire house.

Logan looked over and smiled brightly.

“Hello Janus, you look good.”

“As do you,” Janus complimented as he walked over to shake his hand. Logan ignored the proffered hand and pulled him into a hug.

Well, okay. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

Of all four of them, Logan was the least keen on physical contact. Patton and Roman were always going in for surprise hugs and even Virgil would frequently rest his head on Janus’s shoulder. But Janus had only ever seen Logan hug his boyfriends. And that one memorable time when Janus had nearly drowned and Logan had cuddled him to keep him warm, but he really prefered not to think about that.

“Will you be joining us for patrol?” Logan asked when he pulled away.

“No, not today.” Janus lifted his cane a bit to illustrate his point.

Logan nodded understandingly. “We’ll be happy to have you on comms for tonight.”

Janus made his way into the kitchen, where Patton was sliding something into the oven as Roman bothered him.

“You can’t bake something at 1800 degrees, Roman, that’s not how baking works.” Patton sighed. He noticed Janus entering the kitchen and beamed at him.

“Dee!” Patton smiled at him. “I’m so happy you’re here. Food’s nearly ready. ”

“Why not? 10 minutes at 180 degrees equals 1 minute at 1800 degrees. That’s how math works.” Roman interjected.

“Well, it’s not how ovens work,” Virgil groaned, from where he was bent over the frying pan, a little closer to the hot oil than was probably safe.

“If you guys would just listen to me, food would be ready in a minute,” Roman sighed.

“Virgil’s right, sweetie, that’s not how ovens work,” Patton said.

Virgil stuck his tongue out.

“Very mature,” Janus laughed.

Eventually, when all the food had been baked at an acceptable temperature, they gathered around the table.

“So, does anyone have any new year’s resolutions?” Patton asked them.

“New year’s resolutions are just a festive way of lying to yourself. Nobody actually keeps them,” Janus said.

“See! He gets it,” Virgil said triumphantly.

“Come on,” Patton pleaded, “humour me.”

Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes, but Janus could see the fondness in them.

“Well, my new year’s resolution is to take more time to read books I’ve been meaning to read. I have a whole pile of interesting paperbacks,” Logan went first.

“Of course you would choose something so nerdy,” Roman teased, “My resolution is to spend as much time as possible with you, my loves,” He swept a grand gesture over the room and Janus tried not to think about how he was somehow included in that, “and I vow to give you all the kisses and hugs you deserve.”

“Well, next year I resolve to make better bad decisions and to remember to write 2021 instead of 2020,” Patton chimed in with a bright smile, “but in all seriousness, I hope to spend more time writing next year and maybe sign up for some art classes.”

“That’s a great idea, Pat, I might join you for those,” Virgil said.

“See, now you have some new year’s resolutions too.”

“What about you, Janus?” Logan questioned.

“Well, I guess if I have to, I resolve not to kill as many people this year,” He answered sarcastically.

Patton shot him a look. “Try again.”

“Fine,” Janus sighed, “I resolve to read more books, I guess.”

“Splendid resolutions, my dear lord of the lies,” Roman praised.

“Are we going to eat now? We have to patrol in a few hours,” Virgil complained.

“As always, you really have your priorities sorted, Virgil,” Logan said teasingly.

Logan shrugged himself into his costume with precise movements and fastened the cloak at his neck.

“You know, I really don’t get the cloak. Isn’t it awfully impractical?” Janus asked him from where he was draped against the door frame.

“Maybe, but I distinctly remember it coming in handy when you nearly died of hypothermia. How would people say it? It saved you ass?” Logan answered smugly.

“That was one time, you can’t tell me you wear a ridiculous cape,”

“Cloak.”

“Whatever, because someone might fall into the harbour. How often does that even happen?”

“More than you’d think. Also, Batman wears a cloak.”

“Batman is designed by nerds who don’t even know how to throw a punch, it’s a wonder you haven’t tripped over it yet when vaulting over rooftops.”

“Unlike some people who don’t need a cloak to trip when vaulting over rooftops?” Logan asked, voice full of faux innocence.

Janus growled exasperatedly and punched his arm, in the friendly way.

“As much as I love hearing you two bicker, we do need to start patrol,” Roman interrupted.

“Bye, Dee!” Patton hugged him and gave him a quick kiss on the nose before bustling out the door.

Roman and Logan followed in quick succession, pressing kisses to his cheek and forehead. They sauntered out of the room, leaving him reeling with the ease they had done that.

Virgil smirked up at him from where he was sitting at the computer, looking over some police reports.

“What?” Janus asked him.

“Nothing,” Virgil replied with a shit eating grin, “You just look awfully cute when you blush.”

“I’m not cute,” Janus snarled.

“Whatever you say,” Virgil replied as he walked past him. He stopped for a moment, staring into Janus’s eyes. His look didn’t bode well for Janus. He placed a gentle hand on the back of Janus’s neck and then pulled him close.

“Is this okay?” He asked, his eyes drifting to Janus’s lips.

“Very,” Janus managed, his voice a little rough.

Virgil leaned forward and pressed a soft but insistent kiss on his lips. Janus felt himself leaning into it, the sweet taste of honey and saffron overwhelming his senses.

After what felt like a mere fraction of a second, Virgil pulled away. Janus made a small noise of protest and Virgil chuckled.

“Later,” He promised, “I have to go patrol now.”

He walked out the room, leaving Janus feeling lightheaded and wondering if the others were as good at kissing as Virgil. He sincerely hoped so.

Patrol was surprisingly uneventful. Generally, the statistics indicated there was a rise in crime around the holiday period. New year itself was always quite a hazardous day, with the large crowd of people out at late hours and the fireworks masking any sounds that could give you away.

Yet this year, Logan had found himself inexplicably looking out to the new year. Maybe it was the fact that a certain former villain had enthusiastically agreed to come over and celebrate.

Whatever the reason, the city had decided to grace them with a calm night and Logan sat on a rooftop ledge, watching Virgil teach Patton a back handspring on the adjoining rooftop.

“Can you do one of those?” Janus asked him over the comms as they watched Patton fall onto his back for the third time.

“They’re not too hard.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, nerd,” Roman chimed into the conversation from where he was checking out an alleyway somewhere.

“I’m sure I could manage it,” Logan sighed.

“Like Patton’s managing this one?” Virgil quipped as Patton landed on the ground once more. Logan was incredibly grateful for the shock absorbent breastplate he wore.

“I nearly got that one!”

“Sure, pat.”

“Shit,” He heard Roman hiss through the comms.

“What?” Janus’s voice was immediately on edge and Logan heard the familiar clicking of keys, telling him Janus was probably pulling up the live feed from Roman’s mask.

“Oh,” He said.

“What’s going on?” Patton asked, righting himself from the wet rooftop.

“A kid,” Roman gasped.

Logan felt his heart clench.

“Is he hurt?” Virgil asked.

“No, not as far as we can see, but he does look malnourished,” Janus explained.

Logan got up and quickly swung down from the rooftop, the others right behind him.

They entered the alleyway, where Roman was crouched in the corner, whispering quietly.

He looked up and gestured for them to stay back. They obliged, Patton sitting down against a wall as Virgil walked a bit further back to make sure no one would enter the small street.

Logan leant against a dumpster bin, trying not to look too threatening.

“It’s alright, we won’t hurt you. Could you just tell me your name?” Roman asked gently.

“My mom told me never to give a stranger my name,” The kid deadpanned.

Logan smiled, if the kid was quipping back, he couldn’t be in too bad a shape.

“Touché” Roman chuckled, “you can call me prince.”

“Like the singer?” The kid asked with an audible chuckle.

“No,” Roman sighed and Logan heard Patton giggle.

“Well, you probably should have chosen a better name then.”

“Probably,” Roman said, “At least give me something I can call you, if you’re not gonna tell me your name.”

The kid thought for a moment. “Fine,” he drawled, “You can call me J.”

“Ok, well J, that corner doesn’t look all that comfortable, if you would come with us, I’m sure we could find you more suitable lodgings.”

“No!” J snapped, fear colouring his voice.

“Why not?” Roman asked, clearly taken aback.

“You’ll just stick me in the system and... they don’t want me there.” J choked up a bit and Logan saw Patton’s eyes fill with sympathy.

“No, we won’t,” Roman promised.

“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do with me then? Nobody wants some abandoned street rat.” J sighed bitterly. Logan ached at how he seemed to have given up any hope of someone caring for him. The poor kid had clearly been through too much in his life.

“Do you really have no one left?” Roman asked.

“Do you think I’d be sleeping on the streets if someone still cared about me?”

Roman looked back at them helplessly.

“Isn’t there anywhere he could stay on short notice?” Virgil asked.

“I have people,” Janus interjected quietly.

“Dee, no!” Patton exclaimed, “we’re not going to drop some kid off with those thugs you work with.”

“Not like that,” Janus sighed and Logan could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose, “I know someone who works for me who’s really good with kids. He and his partner have fostered kids before. I think they could help him.”

“Really? You think he’d just be okay with it if we rolled up with a kid?”

“I’d have to discuss it with him first, but I’m certain we can find a home for J, if not with this guy, we’ll definitely find someone else.”

“I could ask my moms,” Patton conceded,” I don’t think they’re up for another kid, but they might know someone who wants to take care of him.”

“And what for tonight? We can’t really show up at someone’s house and just drop him off.” Virgil said.

“Take him to our home,” Logan suggested.

“Are you crazy? That’s a huge security risk,” Virgil burst out.

“We can’t just leave him in the cold to freeze,” Patton protested.

“I have a safe house near where you are, just take him there,” Janus interjected.

“Is that settled then?” Roman asked them from where he was still crouched in the corner, the annoyance clear in his voice.

“Yeah, I think so,” Patton replied.

“Okay kid, let's get moving. We’re taking you to a safehouse near here,” Roman told him.

“Did you explain everything to him?” Logan asked, he really hadn’t heard Roman say anything.

“Of course, you guys were too busy bickering to notice.”

J still regarded them warily and Logan was vaguely worried he was going to bolt the moment they got out of the alleyway.

“Hey,” Logan said, trying not to sound too awkward, “we’re not just going to abandon you to the system. We're heroes and that means we’ll find a way to help anyone.”

J just looked up at him with an unimpressed expression. “Right.” He shouldered past Logan, heading to where Virgil was waiting.

Patton quickly caught up to them, probably because Virgil was looking at the kid like he wanted to flee to the nearest rooftop.

“So you’re really not gonna tell us your name?”

“No.”

“You guys want me to head to the safe house too?” Janus asked, ignoring their chatter.

“We’d love that,” Roman beamed, “We might even be just in time for the new year.”

They got J settled on the ratty couch in the squalid safe house. It wasn’t a terrible safe house, it was actually quite clean. It just clearly wasn’t used for much except the occasional emergency.

Janus arrived quickly, dropping a bag filled with what Logan presumed was food.

J froze when he saw Janus. “Deceit?” He asked and Logan felt his stomach plummet. Of course the kid would be afraid, they had trapped him in a small space together with the city’s most notorious crime lord. It didn’t matter that Janus had never and would never harm a child, his reputation was terrifying enough.

But inexplicably, the kid’s shoulders relaxed and he seemed moderately more at ease.

“You know, most people don’t look so at ease in my presence,” Janus said, clearly also puzzled by the reaction.

J shrugged. “You’re not that bad, you’ve helped a lot of my friends, gave them jobs and places to stay. You do more for the street kids of this city than these heroes.”

Roman gasped in mock offence. Logan shrugged. It made sense, they didn’t have the resources or connections to help kids like J, but Janus had been putting an effort into helping the worst off in their city for years. It seemed his efforts hadn’t gone as unnoticed as they had previously assumed.

Janus grinned at them, his expression smug and then grabbed something from the bag.

“Here,” He held out a soft sweater, “this is for you, it would be a shame if we went through all the trouble of getting you here and then you died from hypothermia.”

“You could just invest in a space heater for this place,” Virgil complained.

“Sure, because this space is used so often. It definitely isn’t a waste of money to purchase heaters for all those safe houses I barely use,” Janus snarked.

J ignored their bickering and sauntered over to the window, pulling the sweater over his head.

“Hey, guys,” Patton interrupted, “I think it’s time.”

Logan looked at the time on the corner of his display. He was right, the clock told him there was only one minute left of this year.

They all gathered round the window, looking out over the city.

“To new beginnings,” Patton announced.

“To new beginnings,” They all replied. J just rolled his eyes.

Logan felt Patton clutch his arm and Janus loop an arm around his waist as bright fireworks exploded over the city skyline. He looked over at his friends, how they stood gathered together, their faces awash with the colours of the fireworks.

And he looked at J, the young kid who was staring at the fireworks as if they were something magical, his hands tangled in the sleeves of his sweater.

Logan promised himself he would do everything to get him a good home, he deserved so much more than the world had given him.

New beginnings, it was a fitting sentiment.

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obxdrewseph · 4 years

Text

Hard to Love - Rafe Cameron

Description: Pushing away people came easy to you. You pushed away your friends when they urged you to get out more and you pushed away your family when they urged you to eat more. You felt like a burden to everyone and you didn’t want that. You were hard to love with your harsh attitude and pickiness. Once Rafe Cameron, your new friend and classmate, tries to convince you to give him a chance, you wonder what it would mean to be a girlfriend-- someone who gives love and receives it... you wonder: are you even capable of being loved?

so this is sort of a continuation of High Maintenance, but also can be read as a standalone? I thought it would be interesting to explore the romantic relationship that didn’t get to develop in that fic ... so here ya go! :D

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Being your friend was hard, but being your boyfriend was much harder (not that you had one yet, just for future reference).

Being your friend was hard because you cancelled plans last minute because of chronic pain/aching or because you were going through a depressive episode that made you unable to socialize.

No one talks about the mental side of physical pain.

Trust me, you wouldn’t be nice either if you were hungry half of the day and in pain the other half.

You didn’t want your diet to define you, yet it was like you revolved your entire life around your meal times.

You pushed your friends away who wouldn’t do enough research on your condition. You obviously didn’t expect them to look up everything about it, but when they gave you food you couldn’t eat or asked you to go on hikes you couldn’t trek without feeling dizzy (or even fainting), you couldn’t help but distance yourself.

You didn’t want to share all your negativity with them; they didn’t deserve that.

You were used to being the rock of your group; not exactly the mom friend, but the happy, funny friend everyone went to for a laugh or to have fun. You weren’t the one with problems. You didn’t get to be that person.

You didn’t want to be that person.

“I’m a fucking idiot!” You shouted at no one in particular.

“We know!”

You glared at the girl standing in the hallway who happened to be your best friend and your house mate. You and 3 other girls decided to stay in apartment together for your freshman year and you never regretted your decision. You could never live in the dorms with people making noise all day and night.

You were already agitated all the time.

“Go away, Ames.”

The girl sighed.

“I made some rice krispies. Do you want some?”

Yes.

“No. I’m not hungry.”

That was a lie.

“Ok, well then why are you so upset today?”

You paused, wondering if you should confide in her. Despite you guys being best friends, you never truly felt like you could confide in anyone. It was a fucking miracle that you spilled so much to Rafe Cameron, a boy you never thought would become one of your best friends. You honestly thought he would leave you the second you got off that wooden bench, yet you two hang out all the time.

You decided to give her a lighthearted version of what you were feeling.

“I’m not it’s just... random question: am I high maintenance?” You asked finally.

The girl snorted.

“Yeah, everyone knows that.”

Your heart sank. You were starting to hate that joke. You knew you had a lot of dietary restrictions and people had to work around what you ate, and before you didn’t mind that, but now you hated when people did that for you.

You just wanted people to stop asking you out to eat or asking you to hang out. You just wanted people to leave you alone.

“Fuck you.” You said laughing, it was fake. But she didn’t need to know that.

“Whatever, is that all you wanted to ask?”

“Nope, I wanted to ask are you still having your bachorlette party next Saturday?”

“Yup, you better be there! No ditching me for whoever old lady author you wanted to see.”

You bristled at her harsh tone and flinched when she slammed your door shut so that you couldn’t argue with her.

You heard her soft footsteps fade away which allowed you to slip back into your negative feelings.

All you could think about is that if your best friend didn’t even want to deal with you or fully understand you, how could anyone else?

---------

“Hello~ Earth to y/n?”

A black line skitted across your face, snapping you out of your trance. You swatted at the pencil floating in front of your face with an angry look.

You were currently in the library, working hard on your essay that seemed like it would never end.

“What do you want?” You snapped.

You were in the middle of focusing your attention on a small dot at the back of the room. You did this to try to take your attention off of the discomfort in your stomach. You wouldn’t exactly call it pain, but it didn’t feel great.

The poor boy’s eyes drooped at your anger.

“Um, sorry you just were spacing out.”

“Well, don’t interrupt my space outs.”

“Got it.”

Why were you being so mean? You never were like this before you got diagnosed. You were so irritable all the time and felt anger build up in you faster than expected.

It wasn’t fair to the boy sitting across from you.

Rafe Cameron.

The boy was dedicated, you could give him that.

You didn’t expect much from the obviously Southern boy who sat next to you in a Shakespeare class. You felt like you were sitting on pins and needles until Rafe started talking to you; you didn’t know why you took a male-dominant class. You weren’t used to talking to guys so often, but you wanted to push yourself. Get out of your comfort zone you embraced so much in high school.

After he apologized for being a dick about eating standards, you easily started to fall for him a bit more.

But that didn’t matter.

His feelings wouldn’t last.

They never did.

“Um, are you okay?” Rafe finally said. You wanted to snap at him once again, but when you saw his concerned blue eyes, you lost your bite.

You forced a smile. “I’m fine, just a bit tired.” If you had a nickel for every time you gave that excuse, you’d be a billionaire.

“Oh, then we should finish here.”

“No!”

You said abruptly. He lifted a brow.

“No?”

When he saw your face turn a soft pink color, his eyes lit up and he softly bit his lip. He knew what he did to you.

“Um... no, it’s ok. I can still study. I’m ... I’m mostly just upset because I wanted to go to this book signing that’s like a week from now, but I have to go to my friend’s bachelorette party. I really love this author, but I won’t get to see her and she rarely goes on tour... But it’s fine, I’ll get over it and studying helps me keep my mind off things.” You shrugged.

Yes, your friends were getting married that young. You simultaneously loved and hated your friends. You seemed to always be dropping things you loved for them, but you knew they wouldn’t do the same for you.

Your friends were great to live with, harder to be friends with. Plus, two were avid bakers and another was an aspiring chef. You hated all of the temptations of their baked goods.

He laughed at your nerdy confession which rubbed you the wrong way. He stopped laughing when he saw your dark expression.

“Sorry, I was only laughing because I totally get that. There are some authors that just leave an impact on you and you would die to meet them. And plus, those parties are lame. All they do is drink and drink and drink, which you can’t do because it’s not on the low fodmap diet.”

Well, boy definitely did his research.

“Exactly! Finally, someone who understands.” You turned your head away so he wouldn’t see you blush-- it wasn’t because you were shy, but it always happened when you got excited about something.

He nodded and saw your head wobble. A sharp pain fluttered through your head. You probably needed to eat something.

“Are you... hungry?” The boy said hesitantly.

This got you in the mood to be mean again.

“No, I’ll tell you when I get hungry, Rafe.”

The bite in his words made him move away from you. You hated this. You wanted someone to comfort you, but you pushed everyone away.

Self-sabotage was your middle name.

--------

You felt a warm hand softly tap your shoulder.

“Library closes in less than 10 minutes.” Rafe whispered to you.

Shit, I fell asleep.

You lifted your head and saw the once full library empty out.

“Shit. I fell asleep.” You said your thoughts.

Rafe chuckled. God, you loved his laugh so much.

“Yeah, I know. You look cute when you sleep.”

You smiled, but can’t believe you fell asleep in public. You weren’t the type to let your guard down so easily. When did you get this tired? When did you become this weak?

You felt your stomach rumble silently, signaling your hunger.

“Um, do you wanna get out of here and get some food?”

You began to say no, but he stopped you.

“Ok, let me ask that once again, do you want to get out of here and I can cook you food?”

You felt anxiety build up in your chest. You never trusted other people to cook for you. You had this irrational fear that people would deliberately try to sabotage your meals, but truly people just didn’t know what you can and can’t eat.

“Uh... you know.”

“Yes, I know, strict diet. I’ll look it all up to be safe.”

You were going to say no, but you wanted this so badly. You just wanted to hang out with a really cute and nice guy without feeling abnormal. It was almost 11pm, but you weren’t going to pass up the chance to hang out with him.

“Ok, take me to your place.”

-------

His apartment was dark and organized. You tried not to laugh at the display of books on the ground... you definitely needed to get him a bookshelf.

“Do the books feel better on the ground or something?” You teased.

“Yup, they need their sleep too.”

He nudged you on the shoulder to let you know he was joking.

“Oh, and watch the hiking supplies. I went last weekend and haven’t had time to clean it up since I’m going on Sunday again.”

Hiking...

“You like to hike?”

The boy nodded, his face brightening. “Yup, I’m an outdoorsy kind of guy. Love hiking, going to the beach, sports, all that jazz.”

You nodded, not relating to any of that.

You looked around, but realized there were only two doors, and one leading to the bathroom.

“Oh, you live alone?”

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt nervously.

“Yeah... is that ok?” He asked softly.

Yes, yes, it’s more than ok.

“Of course! It’s just I don’t know many sophomores who live alone.”

What you meant to say is you didn’t know many sophomores who could afford to live alone. JJ always joked about Rafe being rich, but you weren’t aware of the extent of his wallet.

He chuckled. “Yeah well, it’s easier to focus on my studies this way. No distractions.”

You nodded. You would live alone if you could afford it.

“Got it. Perfect for the ladies too, right?” You winked.

Rafe choke on air. You enjoyed flustering the usually confident Mr. Cameron.

“God, um, I don’t know how to respond to that.”

You shrugged. “Can’t deny the facts.”

He gave you a gentle look. “Y/n, you’re the first girl I’ve had in here since my last girlfriend.” Your jaw dropped.

“Really? You haven’t had a single girl in here for... a month?”

“Unless you count my little sister, then yup.”

“How does a guy as hot as you not bring a single lady friend here for over a month?” He let out a strangled laugh.

“You think I’m hot?”

“I know you’re hot. And you know you’re hot.”

The pink blush that formed on his face made you want to run over and kiss his cheeks.

But friends didn’t do that.

“Well, I guess... I guess I’ve been waiting for the special girl to come along.”

He gave you a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Yes, I’m the most special girl in your life, right?” You teased, trying to be nonchalant about the tension in the room.

He just smiled at you.

“So! What are you cooking?” You said, changing the subject.

This distracted him. “Well, I have leftovers from yesterday... I have rice noodles with chicken broth--”

“Um, I can’t eat pre-made chicken broth.” You interrupted before he could get too excited. Thankfully, you hadn’t gotten your hopes up about eating much at his place. People could rarely accommodate to your needs.

“Oh don’t worry, I made the chicken stock last night with... a real chicken. So it’s not out of a box.” He opened his fridge and you saw a cooked chicken that was sitting there. “See?”

You paused and evaluated the situation.

“So... you made chicken pho?” You said blankly.

He blushed. “Yeah, yeah I did.”

You thought back to that night. That night when you confessed to him your deepest and insecurities.

You yelled at him about how you basically only ate Asian food exclusively.

“Did... Rafe... Ok, if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you expected me to come over today. Unless you just happened to have IBS friendly food.”

You were joking, well half-joking. You guys always met on Thursday nights to study, so he knew you would be hanging out then. You hated the excitement and fondness filling in your chest; it would be only a matter of time before you pushed him away. Or until he left. Whichever came first.

His face was red now. “Um, I may have anticipated it.”

Oh God, your heart was so full right now. You didn’t even want the food anymore, you just wanted him.

But he had put great effort into this. You had to eat it.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

He shrugged off your words. “It’s no biggie, I know I see you Thursdays and we always study pretty late.”

You set the table while he dipped the noodles in water to cook them. He made two bowls, one being larger than the other. He remembered that you rarely ate big meals.

As soon as he set your food down, you realized he had to watch you eat. And you had to make conversation while eating. You hated talking and eating.

And you got a lot of gas while you ate. Shit. This was a bad idea.

You pushed those thoughts aside and took a sip of the soup.

It was amazing.

“This is really good.”

He smiled widely. “Thanks, I tried my best.”

Thankfully, you didn’t have to talk much while you ate. The TV served as a good distraction to that. When you finished your bowl, you waited for the pain to hit you. You felt your stomach gurgle around and you clenched your fists to avoid the pain.

You had good and bad stomach days. Some days you could go the whole day without feeling any pain, but then you had days where you ate any food and felt a mild discomfort and had to lay in bed.

You felt a mild discomfort, but it faded quickly enough. Thank God, a good stomach day.

After you both finished eating, Drew put both the bowls in the sink. You tried to do the dishes, but he wouldn’t let you.

“Thanks for the meal again.” You said, anxious to leave.

It wasn’t eating that was the worst part of IBS, it was the anxiety afterwards. You were always nervous that your stomach would flare up hours after you eating, which it sometimes did if you ate something not IBS friendly.

“You’re always welcome here.”

You checked your phone. “Um, it’s getting late. I should go.” You turned to leave, but he caught your wrist softly.

“Wait, y/n.”

You stopped and turned to face him. He looked nervous as he was still holding your hand gently.

“Yeah?” You tried to say casually, but you were now extremely anxious for a reason besides food.

He let go of your wrist to brush his fingers through his hair. You loved his messy hair.

“Um, ok, well... ok I’m just gonna say it.”

“Say it then.” You said out of habit. He glared at you, but you knew he didn’t mean it.

“Fine, well, you’re... you’re really fun to hang out with. Do you want to... go out with me sometime?”

“We go out together all the time.” You said stupidly.

He let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah but... like ... as a date.”

Your heart stopped.

“A date.”

“Yes, a date, if you want.”

A date? What could you both possible do on a date? You hated eating at restaurants, you can’t go hiking or backpacking because who knew when your symptoms would pop in and you were stuck on a mountain with no bathrooms and nowhere to sit. Not to mention, you didn’t eat much so you got lightheaded easily. You weren’t compatible. You would just be a burden to him.

“y/n?” You almost forgot you were in the middle of a conversation.

You looked up at his pretty blue eyes that were full of hope. You couldn’t do this to him. You couldn’t hold him back like that.

“I... I’m sorry, Rafe... I can’t.” His face fell. “You’re an awesome guy, I swear to God you’re the best guy I’ve ever met. But... you just... we’re just... we’re just different.”

That was a cop out answer and you knew it.

“Different.” He echoed.

You nodded.

He paused, like he was wondering whether to keep talking to you or just kick you out. You wouldn’t blame him if he chose the latter.

He then laughed bitterly.

“That’s bullshit, y/n and you know it.”

His harsh answer stunned you.

“What are you talking about?” You bristled. Now you were irritated.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I like you, and I know you like me. You can’t ignore what we have.”

“We’re just friends, Rafe. Just friends.”

“But I want more.” He said sadly.

You were on the brink of tears too.

“I do too.” You blurt.

“Then why-”

“Because Rafe! You want to go out and do things. You want to treat your girlfriend like a princess-- you’ve said that to me before. And you just can’t do that for me because it’s not possible.

He scoffed. “What do you mean by that? You think you’re undeserving of love? Are you trying to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?” He was angry, and he had a right to be. You were running him in circles and you felt bad.

“That’s not it! I just--” You felt your legs becoming weak, you could never stand for too long, especially in a heated conversation like this.

“Y/n? Do you need to sit down?”

You nodded as he was already guiding you to his couch.

“Finish what you were saying earlier.” He said softly. God, you hated how kind he was to you even during an argument. You were trying to push him away!

“Right, well, I don’t think I’m undeserving of love, but it’s too hard to love me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, you don’t know how to love me! You can’t take me on dates-- I hate eating at restaurants which is a normal date, so you can cross that off your list of fancy dinners or whatever. I can’t go hiking because what if my stomach starts to hurt on the mountain? And you just fucking saw me getting woozy standing and talking for you too long while arguing. I’ll just be a burden to you.”

He grabbed my hands and forced me to look at him.

“Listen to me. You will never, ever, be a burden to me. Got that?”

His voice was low and pained, like it hurt him for you to think about yourself like that. You didn’t need his pity so you pulled away from his hands.

“You don’t deserve someone who can’t do all the things you love.”

“Relationships are all about compromise, y/n. I can do those things with my friends.”

You shook your head.

“Rafe, you’re a great guy. Too good if I might add. And I’m so picky about everything. When I’m mad at you one day and you want to make it up to me, you can’t buy me chocolates or ice cream or whatever. For anniversaries, you can’t just take me out to a fancy restaurant. There might be a day where you run out of tricks and you’ll realize how hard it is to love me.” You laughed bitterly.

“I can learn what makes you feel good. I can learn how to love you--”

“You can’t learn how to love me! I don’t even know how to love myself!” You shouted.

A deafening silence washed over the room.

I don’t even know how to love myself.

The honesty in your own answer made you cry.

How could anyone love you when didn’t even know how to love yourself? You didn’t even know how to make yourself happy. You didn’t know how to spoil yourself. You lived your life just to get by.

How sad.

“I’m sorry Rafe, I just can’t do this.”

This time, he just nodded.

He’d already given up.

----------

Around two weeks had gone by since Rafe asked you out and you embarrassed yourself. You had never been the type to be so negative or so insecure. You hated what you had become.

You hated how you felt some sort of relief when Rafe let you go. He grabbed you an uber and you went home.

You both were ignoring the obvious conversation that needed to happen, but it was better this way. You were back to being the chatty girl in his English class and he was back to being the guy who laughed at all of your jokes. Normal. Everything was back to normal.

“Sup, y/n, how’s it goin’?”

You tried not to look surprised as JJ Maybank said hi to you.

You two weren’t exactly friends, but you were friendly to one another. Yes, he could be a dick sometimes, but he was clueless about it.

“Oh hey, it’s going good so far. How about you?”

“He and his ‘girlfriend’ got into a fight yesterday and needs advice.” Pope blurted. You tried not to laugh at the bluntness of his friend.

JJ hit the boy. “Dude!”

“Hey, she was going to figure it out soon enough. You can’t shut up about it.” Their banter was always fun to watch.

“What are you guys talking about?” Rafe asked when he sat down.

“JJ got into a fight with his ‘girlfriend’”. You made sure to use the same air quotes like Pope.

“Yes, thank you for embarrassing me further.” You shrugged.

“It’s not like Rafe knows her.”

JJ sighed and adjusted his hat to hide his tired face.

You grew soft on the poor guy. “What kind of advice do you need, JJ?”

JJ looked at you with sad eyes, but hopped right into his story.

“Well, so this girl I’m into, she’s this big city girl. Grew up in Los Angeles, and you know me, I grew up in a small town in Alaska. We’re just so... different. She likes doing all this city girl stuff like going to the malls and just walking around a crowded town which is so different from me who didn’t even have a big mall where I was at and you could walk miles without running into another person.

“I just don’t know how to keep up with her all the time... and she’s rich so she has to go to these fancy events. She told me I had to dress up if I wanted to meet her parents.

“And she doesn’t like to be on the water ‘cause she gets seasick. And I practically lived on the water when I was in Alaska! What should I do?”

You paused, taking in his situation.

You heard Rafe scoff.

“Dude, it’s fucking obvious. Man the fuck up and buy better clothes and learn how to hold all of her shopping bags. Isn’t it obvious?”

JJ nodded, like this made sense.

You nudged Rafe harshly. “What are you talking about? JJ, you guys sound really different, you have to ask yourself: do I like how I have to change myself to be with her? Am I ok with that? Am I ok with sacrificing things I love to be with this girl?”

JJ nodded, soaking in your words.

“Relationships are about compromise.” You rolled your eyes at these familiar words. “If you really like her, you are going to be willing to change.”

“You shouldn’t have to change for someone else.”

“Everyone should change, it’s good for the soul. Staying static is boring.”

“Guys, guys,” JJ stopped you and Rafe.

“Ok, I get both points. But, I do really like her. I’ve been pining after her for a while now and... and I don’t know, I just want to win her heart over. She’s already starting to push me away because she also doesn’t want me to change who I am. But I’m willing to put in the extra effort.”

“See? Putting in extra effort to impress the girl he likes, that’s what you should do.” Rafe commented.

You grit your teeth.

“I agree, JJ, you should always try to be better in a relationship. If she’s pushing you away because of her own fears, that only means you need to work harder.” Pope noted.

“Or maybe she’s right, maybe you shouldn’t push people to make them feel like a burden to you. Maybe she just wants the best for you because she obviously knows you very well!”

“Maybe he wants to challenge himself because he wants her to feel safe and comfortable around him!” Rafe raised his voice.

“Maybe he just wants to do that because of his ego.” You said with an equally angry tone.

“Or maybe he wants to do that because he loves her!” Rafe slammed his hands on the desk and suddenly the room was silent.

“Um... are you guys good?” JJ whispered, his problems now forgotten.

--------

Because he loves her.

Loves her.

Love.

Was Rafe still talking about the hypothetical JJ in this situation or was he talking about himself?

Because you knew you were talking about yourself.

Was he doing the same?

You sprinted out of that classroom once your professor dismissed you.

“Y/n, wait.”

You paused outside the door. If you left, it would make you look mighty suspicious. If you stayed, then you could pretend everything was ok and that the “argument” you just had wasn’t about yourselves.

You decided to make a run for it.

Unfortunately, Rafe jumped in front of you before you could leave.

“Y/n, please. Talk to me.”

“What? There’s nothing to talk about. JJ can make his own decisions. What a handful of a girl, right?” You tried to step around him, but Rafe kept blocking you. “Move-”

“We need to talk and I have a class soon. Meet me at my apartment when your classes end, ok?”

You hesitated, but the desperation in his eyes made it hard for you to say no.

“Ok.”

-------

Rafe’s apartment wasn’t too far of a walk from campus, plus you took the bus for part of the way. You secretly ate a bowl of rice with beef and broccoli before going just in case he didn’t have any more pho left at his apartment.

You felt your heart beating out of control as you plucked up the courage to knock on his door.

“C’mon, you can do this.” You whispered to yourself. You raised your hand to knock, but the door flung open.

Rafe had been back for a while since he was a morning person and finished his classes before noon. You on the other hand, finished classes at 5pm. No hate in the game, this was college.

You took in his appearance and looked him up and down.

He was wearing gray sweatpants with a white tank top and a red flannel over it. He looked too good right now for being casual. Fuck.

You gulped. “Hey.”

He gave you a tight smile. “Hey.”

You both stood there awkwardly.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh shit, yeah, of course.”

As you stepped into the well-lit apartment, you noticed he was sweaty; it seemed like he just got done with working out. All you wanted to do was to take off that flannel and see what he was hiding underneath.

“Did you just come from the gym?” You asked nonchalantly.

He raised a brow at your random question, but nodded. “Yup.”

You both stood in silence for a hot minute, the tension filling the air. You noticed his eyes trailing down your body; you knew you wore tighter clothes up top to try and impress the boy. You didn’t think it would work... but it did.

“Oh fuck it.” You spat. His eyes grew confused at your sudden outburst, but when you took 3 large steps and grabbed his face, they widened.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered.

“Please.”

And then you kissed him.

His lips were soft, but his hands were rough on your body. He pulled you close enough so that your chests touched, making you groan at the contact. He deepened the kiss, teasing you with his tongue.

“Rafe,” you chanted. You didn’t know what you were asking for, you just wanted him.

He smiled, moving to kiss you all over your face and your neck. He smoothly pulled you into his bedroom.

His bedroom was bare; only a bed sat in the middle and one desk to the side of it. You didn’t care, as long as there was a bed in there, that’s all that mattered.

Except you happened to miss a large box near the side of the bed that almost made you hit your head on the wooden floor.

“Oops.” Rafe caught you before you fell.

“Sorry, I forgot to move those.”

Before he could move them out of sight, you noticed something familiar looking.

“Wait... are these--?”

“Wait-”

You picked up the box before he could stop you. You grew confused staring down at the object inside of it.

“Are these... what I think they are?”

He ruffled his hair and nodded, trying to hide his red face. “Um, yeah. It’s... yeah.” He finished lamely.

You looked down and gently traced your fingers across the extravagant book covers. When you looked inside, they were all signed by your favorite author with a cute message. You felt tears well up in your eyes.

“You went to the book signing.” You said numbly.

He nodded hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how you would react. “I did...I wasn’t sure which book you liked from her so I got all 3.”

He played with the bottom of his flannel, anxiously waiting for your next move.

You set the books down and pulled him in by his shirt.

“Kiss me.”

He paused, but only for a moment before he stripped off his flannel.

Yes, finally.

He laughed. “You’ve been waiting for this to come off?” Shit, you said that out loud.

He wasted no time pressing his lips to yours. You clung onto his neck, not being able to get close enough to him. Kissing was great, it was fantastic even. But you wanted more. You gently lifted your hips to meet his, rocking back and forth experimentally.

He groaned at your movement. “Baby,” He whispered.

You thought you would hate that pet name.

You didn’t.

“Yes?” You teased, planting little kisses on his neck, his collarbone, right under his ear. When he didn’t answer, you tugged him back down to you by his hair.

You’re sure you had been making out for at least half an hour at this point when suddenly he lifted his head up.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

And you meant it.

-------

You woke up in the morning with the best sleep you’ve had in years. You immediately turned to your side and saw Rafe still fast asleep. You saw his bare chest move up and down, up and down. It was hypnotic.

You gently moved your fingers across his chest, soaking in the smoothness of it. The feeling of soft pleasure woke Rafe up. He smiled when he saw your mischievous look.

“Good morning, gorgeous. How’re ya feelin’?”

“Hmmm, alright.”

He gently kissed your shoulder blade. What a tease.

“Only alright?”

He tried to pull the blankets down to uncover your naked body, but it was the morning and you were still shy.

You laughed at his attempts to turn you on.

“Stop, Rafe, you horny ba-”

He then leaned in closely to you and whispered in your ear.

“If I knew getting you books would get me laid, I would’ve done it years ago.”

You laughed.

“You didn’t know me years ago!”

He gave you a crooked smile.

“Plus, my love language is receiving gifts, so you got lucky.”

He shrugged, but his eyes softened when he stared at you longer.

He pulled you down for another soft kiss. You wanted more, but he pulled away before it could get too racy.

“Told you I would learn how to love you.”

#outer banks #rafe cameron #obx #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx writing #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron scenarios #this is the most dialogue ive written i think #this was the most challenging fic to write LMAO #hope u like it ! :D

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Dancing in the moonlight

Summary: Dean has it all. The looks. The money. He’s the most popular guy on campus. You are all he’s not. Shy. Nerdy. A loner. One day a pair of green eyes land on you and your life changes…

Pairing: Student!Dean x Student!Reader, Student!Sam x Student!Reader (platonic/best friends), Student!Sam x Jess, Meg x Jimmy Novak, Cassie Robinson, Lisa Braeden, Tyson Brady

Warnings: angst, language, shy reader, bitchy college girls, bullying, the reader is nerdy and smart, protective Dean, comforting, fluff, mentions of violence, talk about sex/oral sex, virgin reader/Dean, Dean is a virgin and not afraid to admit

A/N: Sequel to: Water under the bridge

Around four months later…

“Gosh…Sweetheart. That’s… fuck me. I can’t hold it any longer. Am I even doing this right?” Snickering you correct Dean’s position, but he won’t stop cursing.

While Sam and Jess followed your orders for the next yoga position without any problem Dean looks like he’s going to die or something.

“You look awesome in those shorts…” While Dean falls onto the mat, cursing under his breath, Sam laughs about his brother’s clumsiness.

“Shut up, bitch! That’s more complicated than it looks. I never did this before…” Grumbling Dean tries to get up, but his left thigh starts to cramp and he whines, calling for your help.

“Dean, relax.” Gently massaging Dean’s thigh, you give him a dirty look when he groans every time you get too close to his crotch. “Forget it. Do not relax that much!”

“Sweetheart…” Dean’s eyes meet yours and you sigh heavily. “You’re the perfect masseur.”

“I know, Baby now let me take care of you.” Jess nudges Sam’s side as you press your lips to Dean's forehead. “Does it still hurt?”

Dean hums silently, only wanting your attention, so he lies to feel your hands on his body and your lips pressing soft kisses to his face.

“I think Dean should train more before he tries another yoga session with us.” Sam snickers and you give your friend a dirty look.

Defending your boyfriend, you gently rub his thigh. “He never did this before, Sam. Go easy on my Deanie Beanie…” Now Sam starts laughing and his brother calls him bitch once again. “Do not make fun of my pet name for Dean. He loves it…”

“I can imagine he loves it…” Giggling Jess looks at Dean who gives her a dirty grin. “You do?”

“My girl can call me anything she wants to. Now, how about we stop training and get to the relaxing on the couch part?” His best puppy dogs’ eyes focused on you Dean pleads for mercy. “Please…”

“I will order a pizza; Sam can get the cold beer out of the fridge and you can take care of your injured boyfriend.” Jess orders as you help Dean to get up.

“Sweetheart, you are such a good girlfriend. You are one in a million.” Swooning Dean limps toward the bedroom you share for two months.

Sam, Jess and you found a nice house four months ago and Dean suggested moving in together. You agreed that you will share a room two months ago.

You spend your nights with cuddling and making-out but so far, you didn’t take the last step. It’s not that you don’t want to have sex with Dean, but your doubts won’t let you relax enough so far.

“I can run you a warm shower and rub some ointment onto your thigh, Dean.” While Dean sits onto your shared bed he watches you prepare everything to make him feel better.

“Can I tell you something, Y/N?” Poking your head out of the bathroom you nod, smirking as Dean knits his brows together. “I…I was thinking about eating you out…”

“Dude!” Flustered you run toward the door to close it. “You can’t drop such a bomb!”

“I mean we fingered, and you gave me a handjob. I want to make you feel good, Sweetheart.” Dean eyes you up and down, lazily licking his lips as you bite your finger.

“Uh—wait…when?”

“This weekend Sam and Jess are away, and I thought I can go down on you and give it to you good.” Still unsure you step closer to sit onto the bed next to Dean.

“Dean what if I’d like to have sex with you?” Dean’s eyes widen and you can see his cheeks heat up, just like his ears.

You love that the tough guy your boyfriend is still can be embarrassed like a schoolgirl.

“Sex, like…sex…sex?” Dumbfounded Dean bites his lower lip, not knowing if he’s prepared to finally take the last step. “What if I am bad? God…what if I hurt you?”

Crawling onto Dean’s lap you press your lips to his temple. His hands cup your face and press your lips softly to his.

“I know you would never hurt me. How about we do this ‘eating me’ out thing this weekend and talk about what you like, and I want to try before we take the next step.” Nodding Dean pecks your lips and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Love you, Y/N.”

“Gosh, maybe I love you too, Winchester.” Rolling you over to land on top of you Dean starts tickling your sides and you laugh, fighting his hands. “Okay…okay…I love you too…”

“Damn right, Sweetheart. Now let me have this shower to relax my thigh and we can watch the movie you wanted to see.”

“Dean, it was you wanting to see Titanic, not me! Do not lie.” Grinning cheekily Dean give you a disapproving look.

“Fine. If anyone asks it was my idea. You’re such a softie.”

“HEY! I still want to know why she didn’t change position. She let him freeze his ass off, selfish girl.” Humming you pat Dean’s cheek as he keeps on talking about the most annoying movie you ever saw.

“Baby, he wanted to save her.”

“Yeah…but why not saving the guy too? I wanted a happy ending and that was just crap! Marrying someone else and dying to meet him again…Idiots…”

“Aw…” Peppering kisses all over Dean’s face you enjoy he chuckles as you ruffle his hair. “You’re such a sap, Dean Winchester. Now up and have a shower, Mr. Softie and we can watch the movie…”

“You can bet your cute ass on that. Make a sad face if Sam wants to watch something else. He can’t say no if Jess or you do so…” Pecking your lips Dean snickers before he leaves the bed to run toward the showers.

“Did you fake you are injured?” One shrug later Dean enters the showers and you fall onto the bed, groaning. “Little cheater…”

“Love you too, Sweetheart.”

While Dean lies on the couch to shelter his ‘injured’ thigh you lie on his chest, not interested in watching Titanic.

Sam made fun of you and Jess for wanting to watch the movie – Dean defended your choice. The little shit grins widely as he exclaims Jack could be alive if Rose would’ve been more like you.

“Aw…Sam. Dean is such a sap sometimes.” Jess swoons while you roll your eyes. “I bet Dean and Y/N would’ve saved each other.”

“Only if he doesn’t have to share his pie. You should see him hog the last slice. I have to fight dirty if I want to get a tiny piece…” Snickering you nudge Dean’s side while he’s engrossed in watching the last scenes of the movie.

“I always share.” Grumbling Dean looks at you, a dark look on his face. “I gave you my last chocolate bar last week.”

“It was a tiny piece and you had it in your mouth before I had the chance to eat it!” Bickering about pie, chocolate, and pizza you barely realize the movie is over.

“That’s it, guys. You are officially the perfect couple.” Sam smirks as you throw a pillow at him. “You feed each other with food. It’s disturbing sometimes!”

“Love is not disturbing, Sammy.” Pursing his lips Dean gives his brother a wink. “Rather cute and adorable if it comes to my girl. She loves to hide sweets under her bed…”

“It was you stealing my sweets?” Grabbing Dean’s ear, you narrow your eyes. “I accused Jess! Dean Winchester!”

“I thought you would share with the man you love.” Shrugging Dean smiles as you pat his chest.

“This means the last piece of pie is mine, Winchester.” Whining Dean looks at the fridge. “No discussion.”

“My girl gets the pie,” Dean grumbles but he gives in to make you happy.

“Maybe I’ll offer you a small bite.”

“As I said, disturbingly cute…”

Walking through the hallway with Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist still feels odd sometimes. He still is popular, but for over four months he refuses to talk to his old clique.

Dean cut ties with all of them after what happened that day. Brady felt Dean's fist collide with his face until he had a broken nose and could barely speak.

Cassie and Lisa, well your boyfriend didn’t hit them, he would never hurt a girl, so Jess and Meg did the job.

You still have the video someone made of the ‘ultimate catfight’ between your friends and your archenemies. Dean couldn’t stop laughing as Lisa started to cry as she broke three fingernails.

Jess and Meg were relentless. While Jess fisted the girl’s hair, Meg punched their noses, kicked their shins until the self-declared queens of Stanford were reduced to little girls crying for their mommy.

The guy pushing you toward the car got arrested and will have to face the consequences of his doings, just like the other guy grabbing you.

Most of the time, Lisa and Cassie leave you alone. There are moments you feel their boring looks or hear insults leave their lips but you learned to ignore those people trying to drag you down.

“You look beautiful today,” Dean whispers in your ear as he leads you toward your favorite tree on campus.

Sam, Jess, Meg, and Jimmy love to sit there with you and Dean. Sometimes Meg brings her guitar to play a few songs while Jimmy tries so hard to sing.

“Dean Winchester, you little charmer…” While Dean sits under the tree you place your bag and books next to your boyfriend's stuff. You have an hour off so you will spend it with your boyfriend and friends once again.

“Come here and sit with me, Sweetheart. I want to tell you something.” Leaning your back against Dean’s chest you smile as he moves his arms around your waist. “Love you.”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me, Winchester?” Smiling you let Dean press his warm body closer to his.

“I want my parents to meet you officially. I know you were at our house a few times before and that they know about you but…”

Clearing his throat Dean smirks as you turn around to search his face. “I want them to get to know my girlfriend, not Sammy’s best friend.

“Dude. Mary loves me like a mom and John even kicked your ass once as you used a bad word.” Brow's furrowed you look at Dean and he sighs heavily.

“Damn, girl. I want this whole ‘I introduce my girl to my family thing’.” Dean insists and you nod before you press your lips to his.

“AW…look at this Lis. The holy virgin learns how to kiss a boy. Do you think she knows how a dick looks like?” Cassie snickers standing too close to your favorite place for your comfort.

“Nah, Cass. I bet she can’t satisfy a hunk like Dean. Maybe he’ll get bored soon enough. Someone like Dean needs a woman, not a toddler by his side.” Cassie sneers and Dean wants to jump up, but you hold him back.

“Fuck off, bitches!” Meg warns already storming toward your archenemies. “Didn’t you get your ass beaten enough last time?”

“We can give you more, bitch!” Jess adds and you snicker at her pissed attitude. She even snapped her fingers.

“You better leave now. We want to have a nice time without someone bitching around.” Sam clenches his jaw as Brady dares to look you, a dirty grin on his lips.

“No one wants a boring girl who can’t satisfy you, Dean. Why do you waste your time with a virgin?” Now Dean jumps up to bump his chest against Brady’s.

He’s silent for a moment before he meets his former friend’s eyes. “It’s not a shame to be a virgin and wait for the right person to sleep with for the first time.”

“Sure…” Lisa snickers. “I bet you prefer not having sex at all…”

“Yes, I do.” Dean retorts and your gasp at his next words. “To be honest, I am a virgin too! I waited for the right girl and Y/N is the right for me. I am not ashamed to admit I did not waste this special moment at someone like you or Cassie.”

Everyone falls silent. Sam looks at his brother like he got slapped. Jimmy turns pale while the girls cheer for Dean for being man enough to admit he’s ‘innocent’.

“Dude! I am proud of you…” Sam chokes out while you hug Dean tightly. “I don’t know if I ever was prouder, Dean.”

“How can you be a virgin?” Cassie blurs out. “You are hot and all, not like your girlfriend…”

Jess waited for her chance and here it is. Her hand collides with Cassie’s cheek with a loud thud and Meg snickers as tears well up to Cassie’s eyes.

“This has nothing to do with being hot or not. I wanted to wait for the right girl and now I found her. This is my body and my decision! No one tells me if it must happen with eighteen, sixteen or thirty. If I want to wait till I danced with my girl in the moonlight it's none of your business." Dean grunts.

“Exactly, you loser. If you wasted your virginity to a random douche it’s your fault.” Meg grins devilish. “We all know it was during a party and you don’t even know who the guy was. For me, it was my Jimmy.”

“Now fuck off and let us have fun. We don’t need spoilsports or assholes around.” Jimmy deadpans as Brady wants to say something. “Go ahead if you can live with the consequences.”

After watching Cassie, Lisa and Brady walk off, you cup Dean’s face to press your lips to his. “I am so proud of you, Baby. I love you.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart.”

“Gosh, your kids will be as cute as hell.” Meg claps her hands looking at Dean and you. “Now little love-birds let Aunt Meg tell you everything about flowers and bees…”

Tags will be added in the reblog.

#college au #dean winchester #Student!Dean x Student!Reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #angst #smut #fluff #spn fanfic #spn au fanfic #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader au #dean winchester one shot

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lethargic-caterpillar · 4 years

Text

Let’s try this again (SFW)

Gender Neutral Shadow monster x Gender Neutral! Reader

I went a teeny weeny bit off script but it’s still a nervous reader that is reluctant to fall for another monster after their last rejection.

@exxo-potato

---

Your cat had been acting rather strange as of late. Keyboard seemed to be rather sad, despite treats and some snazzy new toys you could not get him away from the window. He wouldn’t even get up for your best friend, who was his best friend.

“Maybe he’s reflecting your mood,” she had said when she came over for a visit. “Like that whole thing about animals being like their owners. You have been a little out of sorts since...”

You stop her with a look, Paisley falls silent and takes another sip from her water bottle. You knew already that you were off, you just didn’t know how to stop. How to go back to normal after the whole anthropophilic naga incident.

It was pretty common for a human and a monster to be in a public relationship nowadays, but there were still some naysayers. You were alive during the protests that used to happen when the government had finally legalised monster human marriage.

You thought that your workplace was safe from that kind of discrimination, but the naga you used to crush on proved that theory wrong. Her words had stung worse than any bee, not only were you rejected, you were also insulted by the personal comments she made. The slump that the situation had put you in got so bad that your boss gave you a week off in pity as it had resulted in non-efficiency.

Of course your boss didn’t know why so eventually when you go back she’ll be there too.

"You should get a cat behaviour consultant," Paisley suggests as if it's the most normal thing ever.

"A who and a what now?"

"Oh yeah, there's this totally legit consultant that I hired when Jordan started eating socks," you snort, you'd forgotten about that whole ordeal. Paisley had never told you how the problem stopped, but a cat behaviour consultant seems as likely as anything when your cat is swallowing socks.

Paisley gives you the website as well as the business card she kept in her overflowing wallet. You look at Keyboard, who was still sitting in the window, and pull out your laptop with a sigh.

It's a pretty legit, local company. It also says that this is a side profession though, what an odd choice. This person must really love cats. The only sketchy thing was that there were no pictures of the actual consultant.

After having an argument with yourself, before going to sleep, you called the number provided in the contact section the next day. Every few minutes, you look towards the digital clock on your oven to see if it had suddenly become 3 o'clock.

"Keyboard, you silly kitty, I do these things for you and you alone." you point at your orange tabby and give him a look when you hear the doorbell ring. You aren't sure what exactly you were expecting, but this definitely was not it.

They were shorter than you by about four inches or so. At first glance, you'd assume they were a slime monster, but with a closer look, you saw that shadows were coming off of their matte skin. Definitely not slime. The little spots drifted towards the floor and disappeared immediately. Their hand was unusually warm, bordering on hot, but the shadows that transferred from their fingers to yours were cool.

"Hello! I'm here to see Keyboard?" the voice of the monster sounded like it was actually three voices. They hesitated when they said your cat's name as well, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

"Yes, he's on the windowsill and has been for nearly a week," you step aside so that they can walk in... or glide in? "This is embarrassing but, I don't actually know your name?" There was a name on the website, of course, you knew that you would have butchered it six ways from Sunday if you tried to pronounce it though.

The Eldritch horror like being laughed in that strange voice, and it sounds like a weird Snap chat filter. "You can just call me Chess!"

When Chess knelt down next to your stationary cat, they took off their square-framed glasses and their eyes started to glow purple, eyes that were not previously visible. You shivered a bit, feeling oddly drawn to the light.

Keyboard obviously felt it as he stood up and stretched, mewing softly. He stood on the lap of Chess, his little paws sank a little bit into the shadows collected there. The consultant puts their glasses back on and their eyes become little semi-circles. They must be smiling.

“What a pretty kitty,” Chess rubs under your cat’s chin and between his ears. “He’s giving off some very… unhappy energy. I think it’s his stomach that’s bothering him.” you nod, unsure of what to say.

“May I see what food brand you buy?” They set down Keyboard and stand back up from their position. You rush into the laundry room that doubles as the station for all of your cat's needs. The bag of food sits in the same cupboard as the kitty litter, it wasn’t anything fancy. It was the same cat food that you fed him for nearly his whole life.

You show the bag to Chess and they hum, which is just as weird as any other noise they make. “This one is quite fine, though it is dry… How old is Keyboard?” they look up at you and you look at your cat, the eye contact makes you feel warm.

“I think he’s 17? I can’t remember,” you laugh awkwardly, and Chess’s semi-circles return. They pass you the bag of cat food.

“Then perhaps it’s time to switch to a senior cat formula,” Chess says and looks towards the cat who is still purring in the windowsill, but instead of looking outside, he’s looking at you both. The grin on his face is contagious.

Chess gives you the name of a brand to try and you schedule another appointment in a week. They tell you that they’ll send an invoice, and you close the door behind them with a sigh. You sit down and pet Keyboards head when he comes to say hello. They were so nice and weren’t too bad to look at, sort of cute in a nerdy, cat-person way.

NO! No, no-no-no. No feelings. Not for a good long while. Especially not for a monster. You did that one too many times.

You had stopped yourself from focusing on them until Thursday came around, you were taking back the open bag of cat food as the store you had gotten it from a program for returning opened bags. It was a nice way to get rid of unwanted or unused food.

You’re standing in front of the wall of cat toys, thinking it would be nice for Keyboard to have a new friend. His favourite had dropped it’s last feather last month and you’d meant to find a replacement earlier. You pick a green and pink mouse with a feather tail that looks durable enough and without looking, you turn around to walk to the checkout.

You bump into someone and drop the mouse. A familiar voice apologises and an equally familiar, shadowed hand picks up the cat toy. “Sorry about that!” they say cheerfully and pass the colourful mouse back to you.

“Oh, no. It’s my bad. Should’ve looked where I was walking,” you push out those words, your face feels really warm and you know that you’re ruby red. Chess wobbles and you think that that was them shaking their head.

“I’m a little hard to spot,” their hand gestures to the bit of height difference between the two of you. You chuckle, but you also notice that they seem even smaller than the first time you met. You brush it off, it must just be your imagination.

“Still though,” you shrug and Chess grins, their eyes, which are visible, becoming half circles. ��Have a nice rest of your day, see you in a few days!” you let out a breath and turn on your heel, home time. It was such a long day of actively avoiding the naga at your work and the rumours about your rejection that were travelling at light speed around the office.

“Wait! I’m so sorry, and feel free to say no, but… do you think maybe we could meet before then?” Chess’s eyes dull and their shadows expand out a bit, to hide, you assume. “And not to talk about your cat, unless Keyboard came up of course then I would totally talk with you about him. Such a nice kitty,” they start to mumble, spacing out a bit. You bring them back to reality.

“Yes. Yes, let’s go out,” you smile at them, feeling a great weight being lifted from your chest.

---

They were supposed to be some sort of shy eldritch horror with an ability to attract cats (and sometimes people), and feel the energy that certain things give off (mostly just cats). I think that this does a fine job. Might just expand later.

My posting will slow down even more due to some personal problems that don’t have a real or permanent solution at the moment. However I do have some ideas and will try to get them set up for the future, perhaps as less of a short story and more like headcanons: A Worn-Out Caterpillar~

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #monster s/o #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster imagine

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

Text

The Princess & The Hacker

Hacker! Sihtric x Sex Worker! Ealhswith (Modern AU)

Chapter (1): The Ice Cream Shop

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Excuse the very idiotic title, and I also want to put a disclaimer that this is one of of my first time writing a character x character fic, and I hope you won’t hate it!

I also want to thank @volvaaslaug, who has helped me a bit through the initial creation of this fic and who has heard all my annoying talks about this pairing, so special thank you to you (and I hope you won’t regret not lowering your expectations!).

I do think that there’ll be more chapters, if you like it, so please make sure to let me know so that I can see if people are interested about sequel!

Feedback is always welcome, in any way shape and form: it makes my heart beat stronger and my fingers write faster

SUMMARY: When Eahlswith is a victim of a revenge porn scheme, she is given a rather interesting contact, an hacker, that might solve all her problems, and do much more.

WORDS: 4,3 K

WARNINGS: Mention of Sex Work, Revenge Porn, Sex, Mention of Past Child Abuse, Hacker, Incorrect Techonology Knowledge.

Ealhswith had thought that that day wouldn’t have been different from the previous one.

And the one before that.

It’d be just another client, a simple lousy fuck she’d fake enjoying for the sake of finishing early and go back home earlier so that she could work a bit more on her final thesis and then go to bed to a nice time.

The dude hadn’t been the best of her clients for sure, excessively rough.

Although she was a professional in the sex industry, this didn’t mean that she wanted to be tossed out like a doll.

Just buy a plastic one, if that’s what you like.

It’d be cheaper.

And when the he had officially finished, he had been even more horrible to her, insisting that the agency for which Ealhswith worked would have received the money, and not her.

Which was an option, but this way she wouldn’t have had any kind of tip and seeing all the effort she had done to make that prick raise…

… she felt like she deserved it.

But she was already a bit late on her own time plan and she had just flipped the guy off in her mind, pushing her clothes quickly on and setting up a reminder on her phone for the agency to have them blacklist the guy so that he wouldn’t harass any of the other girls.

She also insisted that he hadn’t paid her, yet, preferring to settle it with the agency.

So, they had to torment him in case he didn’t pay by the end of the week.

She was thankful for the agency, although they were quite tough and took most of her earning, she felt more comfortable, since they’d run check on the clients before sending the girls and were some kind of legalized organization, which meant that she paid taxes but she didn’t risk getting arrested.

And the agency was very private about both towards the clients and both towards the girls and the boys working for them, which was great because although Ealhswith wasn’t ashamed of her work, she didn’t want her family to discover it.

She had started with modelling, but then moved quickly on the sex industry since it’d get her enough money to continue on studying and keep her apartment, meanwhile she finished her studies, without having to weight on her family, since they already had their own problematics.

Many who had discovered her profession had commented about why she couldn’t have a normal job, like a bartender or a waitress, but the truth was that those jobs didn’t make enough money for her to take care of everything around her and involved much more groping than many thought.

And if she had to be groped on a daily basis, she preferred to be paid for it.

In the end, it was just a job like another.

And this meant that she didn’t tolerate any disrespect on her job.

So, when the client of that afternoon had texted her, right when she had come back from a small trip to the grocery store for some comfort food, she had been ready to tell him that he had to contact the agency to set up another problem and this number was to be used only after having set up the appointment.

But she had been soon horrified to discover that he hadn’t meant to book another appointment, but he instead had sent her a video and for a moment she had thought he had sent it to the wrong number.

And then she had downloaded it and played it.

And she had been happy to have closed the door behind her before.

It was a video of her… and him… doing what they had done that afternoon.

And her entire life fell down onto her, heavily.

He must have set up an hidden camera to record her, and she hadn’t checked since she had thought that the agency wouldn’t have allowed something like this to happen.

She had never heard any of her colleagues comment about such a situation.

And then another message had come up.

A blackmailing one.

‘Let’s meet again and this time free and if I am satisfied, I won’t share this on the whole internet’.

Her heart sunk because although he had no idea who she truly was, it was her face, the one in the video and although it wasn’t anything more than a badly made amateur movie, it would have ruined not only her career had it been published, but also her life.

Her parents would have disowned her.

She had tried to calm down the man, already feeling her heartbeat increase at the thought of that video being sent to any other people, but the man confirmed that she was the only one who had received it…

… and would remain the only one, had she allowed him to take advantage of her.

Something that she refused to do.

But had she truly any chance to refuse him?

A thing such as this could ruin a normal person’s life, but it would have been so much worse for her, since she was sure that if this got out, it would have tainted her image, not only in everyone’s eyes but also in agency’s ones.

The agency wanted their workers to have a clean and discreet façade and a video like that might have ruined that.

She hadn’t known what to do, who to talk to.

She didn’t know how to handle all of this.

She hadn’t so much technic knowledge to know whether this treat was true or not.

And eventually she has settled on calling Christine, a fellow friend who worked also in the escorting industry something that made her think she might understand and be discreet about it.

But she hadn’t certainly expected what Christine had told her after knowing about the blackmail.

“…it happened to you too?!” she seemed almost not surprised that such a thing was possible and then went on explaining that she had something similar happening to her, with a client taking photos of her meanwhile she was in the bathroom, also claiming to publish them in case she didn’t comply everything he asked of her “… sadly it is much more common than you might think”.

“But… I thought… the agency would run some checks and…” she was panicking, but the knowledge that someone else had been in the same situation helped her quite a bit.

Christine insisted on explaining much more as she came over to Eahlswith’s house, something for which she was thankful, not wanting to be alone in such a moment, and Christine was quite a relief, explaining fully her story and how scared she had been, but she had managed to solve it as she had passed Ealhswith a phone contact.

‘… he is a hacker… a good one’ she explained, calmly since Ealhswith was looking like a frightened animal “… he took care of my problem, after a girl from the agency heard about it. He is clean and not too expensive, but most importantly he does the job amazingly”.

‘Is it… is it seriously this common?’ she asked softly to her friend, once she had come down from the scare.

‘Oh sweetie, don’t you ever browse porn sites?’ a tight expression of annoyance appeared on Christine’s face ‘… revenge porn is the literal most popular shit on there, sadly’.

The following day, after assuring her blackmailer that she agreed to his ‘deal’ she had come to see the hacker that Christine had suggested her, coming to stop at a small apartment, the place where Sthric, the hacker’s name, had told her to meet him.

She had almost expected something more… sketchy, although Christine had explained her that he was ‘one of the good guys’.

But that apartment looked quite cozy and small, although it seemed every inch of an ex-fratboy’s mansion, with a few decorations hanging from a small balcony, that looked horribly misplaced, but she thought that the last thing she could do was comment on his choosing in exterior design.

She moved to the door, having been told to ring the doorbell and ask for Sihtric, but she didn’t need to do much, because right after the doorbell had been rung, a tall guy was in front of her, looking very much unlike the nerdy hacker she had expected.

He looked actually handsome and for a moment she doublechecked the address, but it was right and the guy sent her a quick look examining her, before muttering a tight:

‘… you must be Ealhswith’ the way he spoke was measured and attentive, as if he didn’t get many chances to talk, but his voice had a pretty sound to, definitely reassuring ‘… can we walk a bit, meanwhile we talk about your problem? My house suddenly is… full’.

The way he said it told Ealhswith that he wasn’t in the slightest happy of that situation.

She just nodded, surprised by the fact that he didn’t look further than her face, focusing his gaze onto his own shoes.

That was strange since she knew for sure that men whenever they were informed of her profession wouldn’t stop looking at her body as if they could already see her naked.

The previous night she had sent Sihtric a small text, explaining him her situation, wanting to know whether he would be able to solve her problem or not, to which he had answered that he’d have to see and preferred to talk with her about it, if she was free the following day.

She had expected the ‘come on’s and some flirting pick-up lines, but he had just stayed professional, not saying a word more than he needed.

Something that was echoed with the way he moved, carefully, almost as if he wasn’t used to his body’s shape, having suddenly grown into it in one night.

They had moved onto the road, him moving by her side, with a lengthy distance, so that she could have her own privacy but at the same time, she couldn’t help but have this feeling that he was observing her, although Sihtric kept his eyes on the ground

Something she was used to.

But Sihtric seemed attentive not to be caught.

“… I was on a job…” she didn’t know why she felt suddenly ashamed of admitting that she worked as an escort, although she wasn’t for sure embarrassed of it.

But she hadn’t said much, if not nothing, to anyone that wasn’t in her same business, so suddenly speaking about it made her nervous, although she didn’t have nothing to hide.

“… a client took a video without my permission of us…” was she seriously blushing about it?

“… do you know with what he might have taken it?”.

She was glad for Sihtric’s technical question and not focusing on her ‘job’, but she was extremely worried of answering negatively, thinking it might have been important, so she simply shoook her head, adding:

“I do think that he had a secret camera, since he pushed his phone on the bedside table to check the hour…” she explained trying to remember the previous afternoon, as she scanned the room in her memory “… but I didn’t notice anything”.

“Technology sadly has become more and more discreet…” explained Sihtric “… so sadly I don’t blame you for not noticing that something was wrong”.

And although she hadn’t realized it, what he said made her feel a bit less guilty for the thing that had happened, the previous afternoon.

“… can I see the video?” this certainly got her to blush “… just to see if I can detect the model of the camera”.

Easlwith nodded, although she couldn’t help but be a bit skeptic about it.

Was he doing it because he needed it, or he wanted to try to catch the glimpse of some free porn?

Still she showed it to him, without the audio, and again Sihtric surprised her with simply checking the first scene, involving a simple exchange of curtesy between her and a client, and then paused the video

“… it is a camera, but nothing professional, which will make it easy to track down” he explained softly, before he asked if he could take the phone in his hands getting out his own and for a moment Ealhswith was scared shitless that he would have forwarded it to his own phone, but Sihtric simply clicked an app on his own phone, where a list of technology materials appeared and he searched through them, finding one and then pushing a few more buttons.

And Ealhswith didn’t understand much, although she thought she was good with her own computer, but Sihtric seemed to do it like it was the most common thing.

As if it was something that he definitely did daily, quickly clicking a few more apps, eventually settling himself up in what looked like somebody’s else computer and then with a click the video disappeared from her phone.

And Sihtric closed all the apps he had opened, before muttering as he dragged lazily his thumb on the screen as if it calmed him:

“I should have finished with this” and only five minutes had passed “… I am not sure that he doesn’t have copies saved on external pieces, but I have installed a virus in case he try to download them in the computers that will immediately delete them and will threaten of denouncing him to the police”.

Ealhswith truly didn’t know what to say, unable to grasp the fact that that thing that had been truly bothering her from last night, making her panic completely and worry for the worst was now… solved and finished.

And she’d never have to hear about that asshole.

Sihtric nodded, scratching lightly the back of his head, almost as if he didn’t know what to say, eventually again settling on his phone, as a notification appeared, and he simply shook lightly his head, although a small smirk appeared on his face.

A small handsome smirk.

“… how much… how much do I have to pay you?” she asked already ready for whatever sum might come her way.

Although she got paid quite well, she knew that hackers undoubtedly risked so much that they got paid quite well for doing it, but as Sihtric finally raised his head to meet her eyes, he simply shook his head.

“… don’t worry about it”.

She had expected him to ask a big sum of money, maybe enough that she would have to maybe consider pawning a few of her family jewels.

She had expected him to ask of being paid in a natural way, asking for her body in exchange for having saved her ass.

But she certainly hadn’t expected him to simply dismiss it as if he hadn’t probably committed a few federal crimes to avoid a revenge porn vide of her getting out of some asshole’s phone.

“Se… serio… seriously?” she now felt like the quiet one, as Sihtric did nod his head, almost as if this was the usual thing, and he put again the phone in his pockets, giving her back her own one, meanwhile she wondered where the trick was.

Had he saved a copy of the video on his phone?

Did he expect her to fall in love with him, after saving her as some kind of modern Cinderella?

Men, no matter what, always wanted something from women.

They thought that simply because they paid for them of paid things for them, they owned them and they could do whatever they wanted with them, no matter that they were in 2019 and there was a Third Wave Intersectional Feminism that worked towards erasing that concept.

So, Sihtric couldn’t be different.

She knew it

“… actually…” here comes the advances and the requests “… there is an ice cream place nearby, you can offer me an ice cream there, if you feel like you owe me something”.

She was surprised and not solely because of the fact that he wanted eat ice cream in full winter, but she hadn’t ever been treated with such kindness in and outside of her line of work by a man.

And she couldn’t help but be somehow fascinated by it, almost as if she was walking on a tightrope and although it was dangerous, it fascinated her with the beautiful view that it offered, two mismatched eyes holding a shyness in them that locked in everything they might have said.

She hadn’t had a big crush on everybody since for ever, but she couldn’t deny that Sihtric certainly was an interesting type.

And yet she wouldn’t have fallen for the knight in shining armor.

She didn’t trust those in the slightest..

But she was undoubtedly curious about what made the man in front of her.

“… then show me the way to the ice cream shop”.

The ice cream shop was cutsie place where she hadn’t certainly thought of meeting the smart hacker, his black clothes completely mismatched with the colorful place which Ealhswith appreciated.

There she was finally able to breath as she realized she was free.

She wouldn’t have been blackmailed anymore for that video.

And she wouldn’t have risked her whole career disappearing just because some man decided that he wanted more than she allowed.

… and it was all thanks to the dork in front of her playing around with his spoon in the ice cream cup he had chosen.

His cheeks were a bit brightened by the presence of sugar now in his blood, although he had already talked a bit during their trip to the ice cream parlor, alongside her.

And strangely not about her line of work.

Ice cream had been the main topic and almost as if they hadn’t just met each other that morning, he had teased her for liking vanilla, meanwhile she defended her beloved flavor with all heart, insisting that although it might have been plain… it never disappointed.

‘… you almost convinced me’ he uttered lightly, with a bright smile and for a moment she had thought of having witnessed a miracle, something that had probably taken all the energy he had in his own body, because he had stopped talking there and then.

She had offered the ice cream, and he had welcomed gladly the gesture, already choosing the flavors with big eyes of a child that had been denied a treat for so long.

And that was when she understood that he had also known poverty.

If not something worse.

But she hadn’t asked anything about it.

They had sat down in a corner, as Sihtric moved like he could map out this entire place with his own eyes closed and she followed him calmly, settling herself up in front of him, as she herself started munching on the top of the straw in her milkshake.

Vanilla flavored, indeed.

Again Sihtric seemed to want to shrink in himself again, and some part of Ealhswith, a math major with a pedagogy course in her system, couldn’t help but think that it must have been some gesture that he had started doing in infancy and kept on doing as a coping mechanism.

A defense mechanism.

“… I don’t think I have said it” she commented as a few of the last clients move outside, giggling happily “… but thank you for doing what you did, I truly appreciate it”.

“… it was a pleasure” although she didn’t notice any change in his voice, but he seemed almost to perk up at the comment, almost as if he hadn’t expected it.

“… and thank you for not judging me… I know that what I do isn’t the best…” she didn’t know why she had to say that, but all her life she had felt like she was guilty of something, although she had never admitted it.

She was comfortable having sex with men, simply for money and she was comfortable with knowing that, but strangely she had always felt like this should have made her feel guilty of some obscure and horrible secret.

… and it had indeed horridly impacted her thoughts and mental health, although she refused to admit it.

“… listen I have a friend who is a sugar baby, so believe me, I don’t judge you, in the slightest” his tone was low key calm, but there was sprinkle of humor in his mouth, not against her but she couldn’t help but feel a bit calmer… and more at ease “… I am glad to have helped you”.

“Can I… can I ask you what programs you used? To delete the image… ” the question was both out of curiosity and both because you wanted to be sure that the photo hadn’t been simply hidden or such, although you were relieved by the fact that that asshole didn’t have it anymore on his phone, you didn’t want any traces to have been left on Sihtric’s phone “… I don’t know much about computers, although I did a course or two…”.

And she was low key impressed by Sihtric’s ability.

“… oh it’s mostly through remote control it’s a…” and he seemed truly surprised when she named a computer program for it, but it wasn’t the ‘my male ego was wounded by your comment my sweet maiden’ surprise.

It was honest surprised.

Almost as if he seemed a child happy of having someone who wanted to play with him.

“… you have certainly done more than one course to know that name” he mumbled “… didn’t you think about solving the problem on your own?”.

He seemed truly enthralled by Ealhswith’s knowledge and she blushed under that mismatched and intense stare, almost unwanted and uncontrolled, as if he hadn’t noticed he was staring at her that strongly.

“… I just… I know the basilar things, not the… you know…” and she lowered her voice with a conspiratorial tone “… hacker stuff”.

He giggled at that comment, a truly boisterous laugh that made her smirk a bit.

And he then proceeded to explain to her what he had done, the honesty in his tone confirming the truth behind his words, but also the way he explained it to her, was extremely proper and as if he knew all about those things.

Showing her that he truly knew his job.

‘… how do you know all this stuff?’ she had once asked him in the middle of his explanation, and he had seemed almost ashamed of it, lightly backing away as if he was scared to show himself, having taken an uncertain forward step.

‘… internet’ he simply stated, but Eahlswith sure it wasn’t the entire truth.

But didn’t push further.

‘… what about you?’ he tried to shift the attention away from himself “... interested in computer sciences?”.

“Kind off… although… I actually study math” she explained “… I want to become a teacher… I always… I always had this horrible… horrible math teacher. He always said that girls… girls weren’t logical enough to study math… and little eight-year-old me wanted desperately to prove him wrong”.

A soft smile appeared on Sihtric’s face at that, almost as if he had been told the same and could relate to that.

“… he seems like a very horrible teacher”.

“I don’t want any girl to feel like they don’t have a chance to learn math, simply because they aren’t logical enough” she muttered tightly “… I want them to believe in themselves”.

“That’s very very cool”.

Sihtric’s tone was honest and impressed.

She blushed a bit, realizing about how much she had blabbered about her life to a complete stranger, although he had been the first one to listen without adding anything or any judgement which made him easy to talk to.

But Ealhswith wasn’t truly convinced about his intentions.

But the atmosphere grew much more relaxed and calmer, and by the end she was finished with her milkshake, just as Sihtric had ordered one of his own.

She couldn’t help but almost dread the thought of leaving him behind, although she didn’t have any other reason to stay.

She wanted to honestly to try to make him stay longer, maybe invite him out.

But men weren’t much different among themselves and in the end when they discovered what she truly did, they’d try to make her to stop and then fetishize her situation till it got ‘too boring’, discarding them with the excuse of ‘not being pure enough’ for a true relationship.

Good enough.

She had gone through it multiple times when she was younger, and then she had stopped dating.

And she didn’t want to ruin the nice image of Sihtric she had in her mind.

“… I have to go…” she commented in the end, knowing that she had to send the part of her thesis to her relator before tonight.

But her body didn’t seem to cooperate instead pushing itself to remain seated in front of Sihtric, who raised his head surprised before again his gaze became focused on everything but her.

“… I do understand it” he replied, and then he seemed to have an almost conflict with himself, before he bit down roughly on his lip, taking a decision “… I… I teach at a small course… on computers… nothing truly illegal, but if you are interested in deepening this I… you have certainly the brain for it”.

She was full on blushing now and she didn’t know why she nodded, but she did.

And now strangely she had a reason to see that strange hacker again.

And her heart fluttered at that.

And she wasn’t sure it was a good thing.

---

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wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 137

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle go to the premiere of Early Man.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

‘Just stay close to Tom when you are together and when he goes to sign a few things, I will stay close to you, alright?’ Luke instructed as he tried to reassure Danielle, who was nodding nervously. ‘This is a small event, it will be fine, a lot of smiling and a few photos, you will be fine.’

‘You rarely smile.’

‘I am a nobody in the background.’ He pointed out.

‘No, you’re not, you have your own fan pages and everything.’

‘We will not reference them.’ Luke stated firmly, causing Danielle and Tom to laugh slightly. ‘You just need to not rise to them and remain calm. Be prepared for anything.’

‘Like mentions of certain people?’

‘Amongst other things. I don’t need to tell you to not give them anything, they want to make you something interesting. If you don’t give it to them, they get bored easily, but that will not be tonight. You are, after all, going on your first official outing together. You will also be accused of being pregnant, just ignore it.’

‘I would do well to hide it in this dress.’ Danielle laughed, looking down at the small belt around her waist.

‘Yes, it is not for the expectant mother.’ Luke chuckled. ‘It is, as you have done so before, a wonderful and classy ensemble and as before, you look very much the part.’

Danielle looked at him and smiled. ‘You’ll have me blushing and ruining my makeup if you are not careful, Luke, don’t be bold.’

Tom looked at her and smiled proudly as she tried to brush off the compliment with a joke. Danielle could never take a compliment and he loved seeing her try and dismiss it. ‘The car will be here in a moment.’

‘Okay.’ Danielle nodded, inhaling deeply, rubbing her hands together.

Tom instinctively put his hand on hers, noticing how clammy it was. ‘It’ll be alright.’ He soothed. ‘I want you to do something for me, Elle.’ She looked at him worriedly. ‘Actually, I want you to do two things, we will start with the first question and go from there. Do you truly want to do this?’ For a moment, Danielle’s mind told her that this was Tom’s way of telling her he had changed his mind and that he did not want her there with him, something he caught immediately. ‘No, stop that, I am not asking for any reason other than I want you to answer me honestly. Please, tell me truthfully Elle, do you want to do this?’

‘Yes.’ Her answer was hardly a whisper but she nodded as she spoke.

‘Okay, I will have my hand in yours or my arm around you for a lot of it. If you are finding it too much, I want you to squeeze my hand tightly twice, or tap my back twice with your finger, alright. If you do that, I will have Luke bring you inside and away from everything, or if I am too busy, tell Luke, okay?’ Danielle swallowed and nodded. ‘Don’t push yourself too far for me. Do what feels right for you.’

‘But you….’

‘This isn’t about me, not this part. Today is about this movie, the movie I am in, yes, but you, your happiness and comfort are not and will not be dictated to by this. If you feel like you need to get into the theatre and away from everything, I would never be anything but accepting of that. I will never scoff at or dismiss your feelings about that. I have to stand in front of those cameras, you do not.’ He stated, looking directly into her eyes. ‘I know this is terrifying and like nothing any normal person should have to endure.’ There was a knock on the door, causing Danielle to look at it cautiously. ‘We better go.’

‘Where are the dogs?’ Luke asked, looking around, only then noting the severe lack of canines.

‘We put them into the kennels for the evening, with a premiere, you know how you can get delayed. Bobby is only able to hold it six hours and that’s at night when he’s asleep, if we get any bit delayed he will go back in his training, this way, he’s looked after fine and we can do as we please knowing that.’ Tom explained.

‘Good plan.’ Luke acknowledged.

They got into the car and drove through London, watching the streets go by, all the time, Danielle just focused out the window. It was Luke that noticed her breathing increasing first, and gave Tom a warning glance. Tom took her hand in his again, noting she went from being clammy to having actually sweaty palms. She looked at him apologetically but Tom simply smiled lovingly back. ‘You’ll be alright.’

‘How do you do this?’ She asked.

‘It’s my job.’

‘Rather you than me.’

‘You get used to it.’ She said nothing in return.

When they arrived, the car came to a halt and Tom looked at Danielle, who was clearly forcing herself to remain calm, with limited success. Her nostrils were flared and her eyes showed her fear but she inhaled deeply and nodded her head slightly. Tom exited the car first to the sound of women shouting his name but a moment later he turned and extended his hand to Danielle, who took another deep breath and stepped out after him. There were a few different noises that caught her attention, a gasp or two and a few more shouts from the fans but she focused on looking only at Tom, who was giving her the most loving and supportive smile. He put his arm around her waist as soon as she stood straight, supporting her as she tried to adjust to what was going on around her. There were people yelling both of their names, the photographers were all desperate to get their photos. This was their first time seeing the pair at an event together, and they were adamant to get their money’s worth. Tom kept his gentle hand on Danielle and urged her forward towards the carpet, Luke taking up the rear.

When they got towards the fans, Tom turned and looked at Danielle again, but she just smiled. ‘Will you be alright?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’ll be fine.’ She assured him with a sincere nod.

Tom took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. ‘I will be back in a short time, just relax, alright?’ She nodded and smiled slightly, taking a slight step more towards Luke before watching Tom leave.

‘You’re doing alright.’ Luke reassured her.

‘Who in their right mind elects to do this for a living.’ Danielle commented out of the side of her mouth, ‘It’s a circus.’

‘Tom does this.’

‘Once a blue moon, people do this as their everyday lives, it’s bonkers.’ She whispered, ensuring no cameras could see her lips move.

‘I know, there’s a reason I have a certain calibre of person as my clientele.’

‘I don’t blame you.’ Danielle commented, earning a chuckle from Luke.

Tom kept an eye on Danielle as he did photographs and autographs, a few of his fans saying to tell her that they loved her coat or other such things, Tom smiling and thanking them for their kind words as he posed for pictures and whatnot.

When he was finally done, he turned to see Luke coming towards him. ‘Where’s Elle?’ He asked quietly.

‘Inside with Redmayne's wife.’ Luke assured him. ‘You, however, need to go over to the rest of the cast.’ He ushered Tom along.

‘Fine.’ Tom was unhappy to have to ignore some fans, but with Danielle waiting for him to do what was needed, he did as required.

After another ten minutes or so of photos and talking, he walked into the cinema and looked around. He found Danielle in a far corner, speaking with Hannah, the pair clearly laughing at something. He walked over immediately. ‘Are you ladies okay?’

‘Yes, just laughing at how we both ended up with two men with the career they have when we are not inclined to enjoy such attention.’ Danielle laughed as Hannah joined in.

‘I think we need to start something of a club.’ Hannah added. ‘Who else is a member?’

‘Sophie, she’d be here too.’ Danielle commented. ‘Why do we put up with ye?’ She smiled playfully at Tom who was relieved to see her be jestful of the whole situation.

‘I better go over to my husband. I need to sit down and he will take forever if I go in before him.’ Hannah declared, saying her goodbyes and leaving.

‘How are you?’ Tom asked immediately after she left.

‘I’m fine, that is….how are you not overwhelmed, everyone was screaming your name.’

‘I block a lot of it out.’

‘I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Are you alright though?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I was scared but I did not fuck up.’

‘That is something, I suppose.’ Tom jested, putting his arm around her and gently guiding her to where they were required to go. ‘Let’s see what you think of this.’

Tom watched as Danielle laughed at the movie, but mostly, she just looked at him when Lord Nooth spoke and giggled, enjoying his accent as the character as well as the silliness of it all. Tom watched her reactions and the way she looked at him, as well as thought about how she had been with the situation in its entirety. When the movie was done they sat for another minute.

‘Well?’

‘I don’t think you ever had as much fun with a character.’ Danielle laughed.

‘I must confess, it was an incredibly fun time.’ He chuckled. ‘You liked it?’ She nodded. ‘Good.’

Danielle was unsure why she even did it, she knew there were others around but at that moment, she didn’t care, she leant over and gave Tom a chaste kiss. For his part, Tom was slightly shocked, having never thought she would do such a thing. ‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’

‘Sharing this with me.’

Tom’s brows furrowed. ‘I think you have it the wrong way around.’

‘I disagree.’ She smiled. ‘So, what is next?’

‘Afterparty.’ He grinned.

‘Which entails?’

‘Food and drinks.’ Tom smiled cheekily.

‘You are going to have a few whiskeys and get frisky aren’t you?’

‘Yes to the whiskey, but not here for the amorousness, that is for as soon as we get home, I may be a little amorous then.’ He grinned.

‘Luke will appreciate that.’ Danielle smiled.

‘Yes, he will.’ They looked to the side to see Luke giving them a warning glare, both looking at him as innocently as they could but failing.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #i hate you i love you #wolfpawn #chapter 137

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emybain · 4 years

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The Mall

im not gonna lie i lowkey based this off of my own (very few) experiences going to the nasty old mall in the next town over with my friends. lets just say: very worried parents, sticky atmosphere, and great people watching but also pedophiles left and right sksksks. the movie is also based on a movie I saw with friends when I was thirteen, but I saw it at the nice, trustworthy outlet mall closer to my house lmao. anyone else ever seen the boy? anyway, enjoy me projecting my awkward young teen experiences on the AU where Nova’s parents live. this is unedited as well:)

Part of the Nova’s family lives AU***

Masterpost of all my Renegades Fics

Nova was practically vibrating with happiness. She bounced up and down in the passenger seat of her mom’s car, leg jiggling in excitement. Only half paying attention to the radio, she hummed along to the music playing. Today was a new day. A breakthrough in Nova’s thirteen years of life.

For the first time ever, after countless hours and years of begging, Nova was being dropped off at the mall to hang out with her friends.

Her parents were what most would call overprotective. By this point, Nova was used to it, but it was still annoying when she had to miss out on fun activities just because Mom said no. They never even gave a clear answer when she asked why, too. It was always “Because we’re the parents and we say so,” usually followed by them telling Nova to go clean her room or entertain her siblings. Even with this new experience, Nova hadn’t been completely honest when her parents grilled her on the details. As far as they knew, Nova was just seeing a movie with a few friends and would not be venturing into the main mall. They were under the illusion that Adrian Everhart, Nova’s best friend and the only boy her parents trusted, was going to be the only male present. Not that it mattered much, anyway, seeing as Nova had expressed her attraction to girls as well at dinner one night about a year ago. Still, according to her parents, adolescent boys were trouble. All except for stupidly perfect Adrian Everhart. He was the kind of kid that everyone and their mother couldn’t help but be friends with. The kind of boy that, after leaving someone’s house, the mom would say “I always liked him. Good kid.” The same couldn't be said about Nova, his partner in crime since they were six and seven years old.

Her mom parked the car along the curb outside the movie theater entrance of the mall. Leaning back from the wheel with a heavy sigh, she looked over at Nova. “Just a movie, right?”

Nova nodded firmly, hand already reaching for the door in her hurry to escape. She could see the silhouettes of her friends, waiting in line for tickets.

“Hold on there, young lady.” Nova heard the clicking of the lock and groaned. “I want you to text me once every hour, okay? Stay with Adrian no matter what. If anything happens, call me or your father immediately.” Nova inched toward the door again, this time trying to unlock it subtly. Her mother still noticed. “Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know.”

Nova felt an evil smile creep onto her lips. “But what if they’re selling candy?”

“I mean it, Nova Jean.” She swore she saw the flash of fear in her mother’s eyes. “No funny business. You know how I feel about leaving you, and here of all places.” She gestured to the building before them. “Be on your best behavior. There are-”

“Eyes on me at all times, I know.” She rolled her eyes, thinking back to all the times those words had been repeated to her whenever she went anywhere. When she was younger, they confused her. But now, Nova knew her mom meant the media and how the older Nova got,

the more people watched her every move. After all, her family had a reputation. “Can I go now? Adrian’s already coming over here.”

Closing her eyes, Tala Artino nodded. She reached for Nova’s hand when her eyes reopened, now soft. “I love you, sweetheart, Be safe. I’ll pick you up at 10.”

“Love you too, Mom.” Reaching over, Nova pressed a kiss to her mom’s cheek. Then, she was finally allowed to exit the vehicle. Adrian, waiting outside, greeted her with a hug. Nova couldn’t help but notice his growth spurt in recent months. She had always been the short one, but there had been a time once where she didn’t have to tilt her head up to look at him. Now, her neck stretched more and more each time she saw him. She should’ve seen it coming; his mom had been tall, and he was a spitting image of her.

“Hi, Mrs. Artino.” Adrian waved as the passenger window rolled down. All traces of a stern parent vanished from her mother’s face when she waved back.

“Hi, honey. You’re going to make sure my daughter doesn’t do anything she’s not supposed to, right?”

“Mom!”

But Adrian laughed and simply nodded, putting on his dumb charming smile that won over every parent. They said bye to her mother. Nova watched until the car had disappeared from view before turning to face her friend.

“Where should we go first?”

Adrian frowned. “Are we not seeing the movie? Everyone else already has their tickets.”

“They can see it if they want.” Nova wrapped an arm around Adrian’s and pulled him forward. “But it honestly looks boring. All horror movies are the same.”

But Adrian didn’t look convinced, and while Nova wanted nothing more than to explore the mysterious place her mother hated with a passion, she could tell he wanted to see the movie. Well, the movie was only an hour and a half. And it was only 5 in the evening right now. They had plenty of time.

Nova let out a sigh, then pulled Adrian in the direction of the ticket line. “Fine, but you’re staying in line with me to buy a ticket.”

Adrian snorted. “Just as long as you sit next to me in case I get scared so I can hold your hand.” He seemed almost shy in saying that, despite trying to be nonchalant and joking. Nova glanced over at him and noticed how his cheeks and neck had darkened. A flutter twirled in her belly, but she pushed it aside. Those feelings were nothing new by now. But for whatever reason, she only felt them when she was around her best friend.

———-

“That movie was terrible!” Nova said as soon as she exited the theater with her friends. A few people glanced over at her, shooting disapproving looks before recognition dawned on their faces and their eyes flitted between her and Adrian and the linked arms between their bodies. Nova had to refrain from making faces at them, remembering her mother’s warnings.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Ramona said with an eye roll. “At least it wasn’t the same as every other horror movie.” Ramona was a Renegade, like Nova and Adrian. She had been chosen by Nova at the last trials a few months before to be a part of her team. Usually, the Council didn’t let the younger Renegades participate in the trials other than to watch, but they gave Nova an exemption at the ripe age of thirteen. Why, she wasn’t fully sure, especially when Adrian’s dads were on the Council and still wouldn’t let him create his. She suspected her parents had a bit of a pull in that, as well as the Council recognizing the amount of time Nova put in every day for the organization. After all, she was dedicated to righting the wrongs her uncle had done in the past. Her team couldn’t do much anyway. Patrols were too dangerous, so they were forced to stick to duties inside headquarters, something that quickly grew boring but at least helped Nova’s team bond.

Benton, Nova’s other recruit, shook his head. “No, I’m with Nova on this one. Possessed dolls? C’mon, it’s been done like, fifty times already.”

Nova headed the group as they ventured into the main part of the mall. The aroma of pretzels and stinky children pierced her nostrils. Nova hadn’t been inside a mall for some years. Her mom tried to avoid the place as much as possible, as it wasn’t the cleanest place on earth. Usually, if they had to go to a store in the mall, they would spend time only in that store, parking near an entrance by the store in order to spend the least amount of time in the main mall as possible. Tala had practically drilled Nova every single day leading up to her mall escapade on what to do and what not to do, as well as reminding her of the dangers of the media and of course, the splotchy-faced pedophiles who camped out in the food court all day watching teen girls pass by in crop tops and cut off shorts.

“Okay, but you have to admit the creepy dude at the end was a surprise,” Adrian countered, pushing his glasses up over his nose. Nova bit back a smile; she had promised not to make fun of his scratchy, changing voice. Even if he did squeak every other word. “Living in the walls?” He shuddered. “Spying on her that entire time?”

Ramona muttered something under her breath in Spanish. “No wonder his parents left. I honestly would’ve left sooner if I were them. Screw his feelings.”

“Yeah, he was weird, but that kind of came out of nowhere.” Benton ran a hand through his blond locks. “The plot holes are endless. Why didn’t his parents just up and abandon him? What was keeping them there? Why was he in the fucking walls to begin with? Why didn’t they get him mental help sooner?”

Nova gasped, quieting the group. She had spotted one of her favorite shops, a small store that sold band and other nerdy merch. Her mom wasn’t a big fan, seeing as they sold goth and emo type stuff, and their workers were ‘scary looking’. She grabbed Adrian’s hand in her excitement, missing the way his gaze widened at the gesture, and tugged him in the direction of the shop.

“There’s a shirt I’ve had my eyes on for the longest time,” she explained to him as they halted in front of the wall lined with band t-shirts. Benton and Ramona trailed off from them, drifting over to the racks and cubbies of fandom merch.

Adrian hummed in understanding. “The West Side?”

“East Side,” Nova corrected, glaring at his teasing shit eating smile. “If you’re going to their concert with me in November then you better learn their name at least, you asshole.”

Adrian bumped her shoulder lightly, but helped her look for the shirt after she gave him a brief description. Just when she was beginning to think they didn’t have it, Adrian let go of her hand to reach forward and to the left. When he turned back to her, he had the shirt, and in a size medium, just as she liked it. The baggier, the better. She grinned and accepted the shirt, wrapping an arm around him in a loose hug.

That’s when she saw a flash in the corner of her eye.

Flipping around, she saw a girl a few years older than her, the phone in her hand dropping awkwardly. Her group of friends all giggled and whispered to one another. Based on the way they were dressed and were acting, Nova could tell they had followed her and her friends into the store.

The girls entire face turned beet red, but that didn’t stop her from tearing her gaze from Nova to look at the photo she had taken. Before Nova could even open her mouth to ask her to delete the photo, the group of girls was gone, flocking out of the store quickly as if they hadn’t even been there.And that was when Nova noticed the hidden phones of quite a few shoppers. One was held in crossed arms as the lady pretended to look at a pair of shoes, another behind a clothing rack. One didn’t even try hiding their camera, or even bother to whisper to the person beside them.

A chill ran through Nova’s body, and suddenly she didn’t feel very well. Well, her few minutes of freedom were fun while they lasted. She closed her eyes and practically leaned against Adrian, jaw clenched as she pressed the shirt back into his hands.

“Shit.”

#renegades #supernova #archenemies #nova artino #Adrian everhart #nodrian #Oscar silva #danna bell #ruby tucker #tuckva #osby #anarchists #my writing

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sonicrainicorn · 4 years

Text

A New Kind of Stupid

Part of the Berry Done AU

Words: 2631 Desc./Prompt: Patton had always been too good at lying. TW: Infidelity, alcohol, slight descriptive make out scene

Get ready for an angst fest, folks

///

The veterinary field was a woman-heavy space. In Patton's work, there were only three men: Thomas Sanders, Alec Williams, and himself. Alec was a veterinarian. He was engaged to a beautiful woman that Patton had the pleasure of meeting a few times. She was very sweet. Thomas was the receptionist. He was currently between relationships. Patton was a vet tech -- a nurse for animals. He was married to Logan and they had two eleven-year-old twins, Roman and Virgil.

One day, another male entered the workforce: Bailey Foster.

Bailey turned out to be another vet. He was single and a huge flirt. Topped with good looks and a wonderful personality, it was almost as if he came straight out of a Disney movie. All the women fawned over him during his first week. Even some of the owners of their patients were captivated by his charm.

Thomas and Alec started a betting pool with each other to see if the ever-enchanting Dr. Foster was "in the closet or straight as a stripper's pole" (in Alec’s words). Whoever won had bragging rights and free lunch for a week. So a lot was on the line.

Patton watched on with amusement as the two tried to prove themselves right. Anytime one of them talked to him, it seemed as if it went in either of their favors. The times they weren't in direct contact with him weren't any easier. He smiled at everyone, flirted with women, and made men blush, but they were determined to have a winner.

It wasn't until they were in the break room one day that they had their answer.

Alec and Thomas were sitting at the table arguing over something nerdy (as was their custom) and Patton was searching the fridge for a tub of what was probably spaghetti that he left a few weeks ago. He needed that tub back. He had been bringing lunch in one of the twins' old snack containers for the past few days.

"Aha! There you are," Patton murmured to himself. He grabbed the tub of spaghetti(?) and closed the fridge. He yelped and jumped back when he saw someone standing where the door was.

Bailey laughed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just came for my water."

Patton let out an embarrassed smile. "If I knew you were standing there I would've gotten out of your way." He took a step back from the fridge. "All yours."

"Was that an invitation for you or the fridge?" Bailey smirked.

The tub almost fell from Patton's hands. He sputtered before remembering how words work, "The fridge." He felt Alec and Thomas's eyes burning into his back. It made his face heat up even more. "That invitation is reserved for someone else."

"Hmm." Bailey opened the door and grabbed the water bottle waiting there for him. "Lucky them." He winked before leaving.

The only sound heard for a moment or two was the beating in Patton's chest. Then Thomas shot up from his seat, scrapping the chair along the floor, and shouted at Alec, "He's gay! He's super gay!"

"I refuse to believe that!" Alec stood up to be even with Thomas. "Have you seen how he looks at Emily? Patton --!" He pointed at said person, who jumped in response -- "final verdict."

Patton floundered. He must have looked like an idiot standing in the middle of the break room with a tub of expired food and a burning face. He felt like one, that's for sure. "Uh, he's definitely not straight."

Alec shouted in anguish while Thomas cheered.

Neither of them was aware of how Bailey made Patton's heart flutter.

Over the next month, Dr. Foster became a favorite among the staff and pet owners. He began talking to Patton as often as possible after their first interaction and it left Patton confused. Bailey always managed to make him stumble over his words or blush and there was no reason he should. He was in love with Logan. He was married to Logan. He adopted children with Logan. There should be no one else he wanted.

So he felt a little guilty when he agreed to go to Bailey's party... without Logan.

"You know I don't mind not leaving the house," Logan said. "But may I remind you the last time you went to a party without me?"

Patton felt instant embarrassment. "Thomas will be with me --"

"That doesn't instill confidence."

"-- and he swore not to drink this time. He even set a reminder on his phone. Plus, the twins are old enough to not want to be tucked in by me so we won't have a repeat of last time." He mumbled that last part of the sentence to himself.

Logan raised a brow and returned to his book. "What time will you be back, then?"

"Late."

Logan peeked at him over his glasses. "I expect you to call me this time -- and not for weird science facts."

Patton grinned. "Sure thing, bumblebee."

~~~

Patton may or may not have been drunk.

It wasn't like he was going to deny the drinks people had worked hard to make -- that would have been rude. If not being rude meant taking countless amounts of shots and a tequila sunrise or two then so what? He wasn't harming anybody.

After an undisclosed shot number, Patton lost sight of Thomas. The last time they were near each other was when he tossed a water bottle at him from the outside cooler. Deciding that was a good place to start, Patton stumbled outside.

There weren't many people out there. There were couples here and there and the occasional trio, but there was one person by himself. Bailey was leaning against the short, back wall overlooking the slope down. There was a great view of the city that Patton became drawn to.

"I feel like I came here to ask you something, but I don't remember," Patton slurred to Bailey.

Bailey raised a brow in a way that was reminiscent of Logan. "Was it maybe some advice on whether or not you should keep drinking?"

Patton snorted and took a sip of... something. He kind of forgot what it was but it was pretty good. "I 'ave a full cape-bility to stop whenever I want." He set the cup down on the wall.

"I hope you don't take offense to this, but I don't believe you."

Patton laughed. "You're probably right." Logan was most of his impulse control.

Bailey gave him a fond smile. "Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful, Pat?"

"Me? Uh, like once in middle school I think." He couldn't recall another time. "Why?"

"Because you are." Bailey got a little closer. "You have the prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen, the most gorgeous smile, and a wonderful mop of hair."

"I think you're too kind." Patton grinned. He grabbed his cup with the intention of drinking some more but was stopped. It slipped from his fingers and splashed onto the other side of the wall.

Bailey pressed their lips together.

Patton pulled away a bit. There was a tiny corner of his brain screaming at him to stop -- to find Thomas and go home to his husband and children -- but the rest of his alcohol-fueled mind was slow to catch up. He stood there and let Bailey connect their lips again.

The kiss was gentle -- loving almost. It was as if Bailey feared Patton would break if he applied any more pressure. Which was untrue, of course. Patton could handle a lot more than his soft appearance gave him credit for.

Bailey put his hands on Patton’s hips. His movements weren’t forceful. Quite the opposite actually; they seemed rather timid. Like he was asking for permission. Patton didn’t turn him down. In fact, he pulled him closer, much to the dismay of the moral corner in his head.

Apparently, Bailey took this as a good sign to keep going because he deepened the kiss. He lowered his hands to Patton’s thighs to lift him up onto the wall.

This caught Patton by surprise. To put it politely, he was never the receiving player in any of the games he engaged in. Though the part of him that was very drunk didn’t mind the turn of events. His husband wasn’t a fan of stuff like this, so they rarely ever did anything passed kissing -- even more so now that they had the twins. It was a rather relieving change to most of him. That annoying corner wouldn’t stop screaming.

Bailey’s hands started roaming and Patton did nothing but bring him even closer. It was turning into a heated make-out session faster than either of them anticipated. Bailey started trailing kisses down to Patton’s neck, searching for that spot that made him take a sharp breath. After teasing and leaving Patton breathless, Bailey slammed their lips back together.

This was what Patton had been secretly wanting for so long. Physical affection is something he thrived under, though he’d rather die before admitting that those needs weren’t always met with his husband. His loving husband. Who loved him very much. A man who loved him enough to push away his own thoughts on weddings just so Patton could have the one he always dreamed of.

Logan.

Oh God, wait.

Those weren’t Logan’s lips. Those weren’t Logan’s hands. That wasn’t Logan’s body trying to get as close as he could. This wasn’t Logan. This wasn’t Logan. This wasn’t Logan. This wasn’t Logan.

Patton’s eyes snapped open and he pushed Bailey away. Then he saw Thomas.

Thomas stood at the open doorway, staring right at Patton. He was frozen to the spot. He looked both horrified and shocked at what must have been a rather compromising scene in front of him.

Oh no.

Patton jumped down from the wall. He muttered an apology to Bailey as he shouldered passed him to run toward his brother-in-law. He grabbed Thomas by the arm and started dragging him back inside the house so they could leave.

Though not before Thomas glanced back at Bailey one last time.

Patton didn’t say anything on the walk to the car. He didn’t say anything when the engine started. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Thomas had to be the first one to speak.

“Patton,” it was like a taut rubber band, “I... I honestly don’t know how to even begin. What, what was that? What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Patton muttered.

“You don’t know?” Thomas laughed. Bitter and flabbergasted. “That’s a great excuse. Are you gonna say that to Logan? ‘Oh, I don’t know, honey, I just started making out with my co-worker. Oops. My bad.’“ He glanced at Patton. “Are you gonna tell him at all?”

“No.”

“What? Patton!” Thomas slammed on the brakes. There weren’t any other cars around. “You can’t just keep something like that from him. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Patton was surprised that those words left his lips at all.

So was Thomas. He stared at Patton in disbelief. His eyes scanned the other’s face as if he couldn’t believe that the same person who cried at humane society ads was still sitting next to him. “Are you serious?”

Patton had to look out the window to avoid Thomas’s gaze. He was too drunk for this. “I-I don’t know.”

“You have to say more than ‘I don’t know’, Patton.” Thomas was pissed. It took a lot to make Thomas angry -- even more to make him pissed -- yet Patton succeeded. “You need to answer me and you need to do it now.”

“I’m sorry --” Patton felt tears coming on.

“You’re sorry? Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Patton. Sorry isn’t going to take anything back. You can’t expect sorry to wipe away what you’ve done.”

He shouldn’t have expected any sympathy. Logan was Thomas’s baby brother, after all. “I don’t.” There was a lump in the back of his throat. It started burning. “I can’t tell him, Thomas, please you have to understand.”

“Why the hell not? You messed up, Patton, he deserves to know.”

“That’s why I can’t!” Patton didn’t care that the tears started coming out -- that wasn’t his main concern. Thomas was pissed at him over a stupid mistake. That’s all it was. It was a stupid mistake. “I messed up. I ruined his trust. I had all the opportunities to stop but I didn’t. I just...” I wanted it. “Oh, God, what did I do?” He covered his face with his hands.

Thomas didn’t say anything for a moment. There was anger flowing off of him in ways it never had before. “I’m going to call Logan --”

“No! Wait! Please.” Patton grabbed Thomas’s arm to stop him from reaching his phone. “I’ll tell him, I swear I will, I just need time.” Now he was a sobbing mess. “Please just give me time.”

The anger began melting off of Thomas’s face, though he still seemed upset. “Let’s get you home,” he sighed.

~~~

Thomas took off the moment Patton was out of his car. Under normal circumstances, he would have waited for Patton to make it safely in the house, but the events of the night seemed like an exception to this. Patton couldn’t even argue with that.

He stumbled his way to the door and dropped his keys a few times before he made it inside. The stupid door got stuck when he tried to close it, making him push on it in order to get it into the frame. The loud shudder made him cringe.

“Patton?”

Patton jumped and spun around. On the couch was Logan. He was rubbing his eyes as if he just woke up -- which he probably had, judging by the state of his, well, everything. One of the TV trays was in front of him with a messy stack of papers. Papers were a bit everywhere in general. He was always messy when he graded tests.

“L-Lo? What, what are you doing here?” Patton dropped his keys into the basket. “Why aren’t you in bed? Or in your office?”

“I didn’t know when you would be back.” He yawned. “You said you would be out for a while, but it didn’t feel right trying to go to bed without you when you might be expecting me.”

There was a pang in Patton’s heart, but he ignored it and brought out a smile. “I wouldn’t have minded, Lo-Lo. If you’re tired, you’re tired.”

“Redundant.” He stood up and stretched. “I assume you drank an unnecessary amount?”

“Why would you assume that?”

Logan raised a brow. A brief image of Bailey flashed in his mind. “You tend to shorten my name when you’re drunk.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Guess I’m a bit easy to read, huh?” That might not have been the best thing to say when lying to your husband’s face.

“Well, I hope you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Patton managed to keep the grin from falling off.

Logan walked up to him to give him a peck on the lips. “You taste like alcohol,” he mumbled as he put his head on Patton’s shoulder. Sleepy Logan was always more affectionate than awake Logan. “I don’t like it.”

Patton wrapped his arms around Logan’s smaller frame and held him close. He wanted to cry again. What was he thinking? Bailey couldn’t hold a candle to Logan. Logan was precious to him. He was smart and dorky and tiny and sweet. There were so many little things that Patton loved -- like the way he pouted when he got something wrong, or how flustered he got when he was forced to ask for help reaching the top shelf. Bailey wasn’t worth it at all.

“Luckily, I’m never drinking again.”

[Part Two]

#so i thought of the prompt #and then angst happened #this has been sitting in my drafts #for two whole years #oh my god #also #anything i touch for a prolonged period of time #turns to angst #and i'm so sorry #this started out as a domestic fluffy au #now look at it #sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #thomas sanders #logicality #infidelity tw #alcohol tw #berry done au

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saveyourblood · 4 years

Text

Prodigy | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: “I find it amusing that we’re all pretending to be normal when we could be insanely interesting instead.” – Atlas.

The one where you're a prodigy, so is he, and he's the only person alive who makes you feel normal.

Notes: IT TOOK ME 20 MINUTES FIGURING OUT HOW TO UPLOAD THAT GIF YALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT I- This is actually an idea I originally had for a screenplay (kind of a modern ‘Doogie Howser’ gender-swap thing), but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how well it would work as a Spencer Reid x Reader fic. So, if you like it, PLEASE, let me know, because otherwise, I'll probably just scrap this entire thing lol.

Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: none I can think of.

Song: Birthday - Gia Margaret

You were out shopping with your friends, like most normal teenagers did on the weekend. You and Idol hit up a few clothing outlets, dragging Jax along.

“Can’t we go somewhere we all like?” Jax whined.

Idol’s arms were already covered with bags. You, on the other hand, had two with only a few items.

Idol turned to Jax, a blank look on her face. “You mean something you like?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms.

She sighed. “Look, we’ve been over this: the first half, I get to do all of the girly things with Y/N. Then, you get to do all the nerdy stuff with her.”

“You guys divvy up the time you spend with me?” you asked, laughing to yourself.

“We have to!” Idol defended.

“You’re so busy with work, we go weeks without hanging out as a team,” Jax agreed. “Hanging out with Idol all the time is boring.”

Idol punched him in the arm.

“I’m sorry, guys, but believe me, I feel the same way,” you said. “Everything’s just been… crazy. Someone just quit, and we’ve been busier than usual. I’m lucky I got these two days in a row off.”

“Speaking of which…” Idol said, linking her arm with yours. “We need to find you a dress for homecoming.”

Jax groaned.

“How about I work on finding a date first,” you chuckled.

“No, no dates! We’re going as a group,” Idol scolded.

You were about to make a witty remark when someone called out.

“Help! We need help!” A frantic woman shouted.

You dropped your bags and started running.

Eventually, you found a bunch of people standing around in a circle. Some had their phones out, others looked around, like Superman would appear out of thin air. You were no Superman, but in some ways, to some people, you were a hero.

You made your way through the crowd, unafraid to shove people aside. Some people made noises or remarks, but mostly, they let you move past. Breathless, you mangled your way to the center of attention.

“Please, please,” a woman sobbed on a man’s chest. He was completely unconscious, laying flat on the food court floor.

“Everyone, back up!” you instructed. “Someone get an AED!”

You knelt beside the man, pressing two fingers to his neck. While you felt for a pulse, you also monitored his chest for breathing. Then, you looked up to his wife. “Please, ma’am, give me some space. I need to start compressions.”

Someone who looked like a family member pulled her aside. Using one hand to stabilize the other, you began pressing two inches deep in the center of his chest. Your movements were fast, and the power behind them came from your entire upper body.

“Who are you?” The wife asked between cries.

“Damn AED is taking too long,” you muttered under your breath.

You stood back, raising a fist about a foot above the man’s chest. Then, in a swift motion, you brought your fist downwards, striking him in the lower third of his sternum.

With a gasp and a cough, the man jolted back into consciousness like he was startled during a deep sleep. “What happened? Where am I?”

You laughed with glee. “You’re in the Pallor Heights Mall; your heart stopped. Clearly, it’s working now.”

A frightened employee stumbled through the crowd, clutching the AED like it was a lifeline.

“We don’t need that anymore,” you said casually. “But, if you could call an ambulance, that’d be great.”

“Who the hell is this girl?” someone in the back of the crowd said.

“She’s our best friend,” Idol said proudly, “the teenage MD.”

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I want an ECG, CBC, and an angiogram done yesterday,” you said as the patient was rolled into the ER. “His heart needs to be monitored at all times.”

“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?” the head of ER, Dr. Cabello, asked.

“Hubert Riaz, 52-year-old male with no previous known heart conditions collapsed at the mall,” you explained.

Cabello pulled you aside. “And you were at the mall because…”

“...because it’s my day off?” you finished. “Look, Cabello, I’d love to chat, but there are some tests I should be running.”

“Actually, you should be at the mall, or at home,” he corrected. “You know why?”

“Because it’s my day off,” you grumbled.

“Go home, Y/N, before you have to stay,” he instructed, before following the paramedics as they rolled Mr. Riaz away.

Before you could do anything, Mrs. Riaz pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried before going to join her husband.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, but she was already gone. That didn’t stop you from smiling.

You looked up to find a familiar face. “Dad!” you called out, jogging to catch up with him. “What are you doing in the ER?”

“What are you doing in the hospital?” He frowned, looking at a chart.

Eli Abner — the best Cardiac surgeon on the East Coast, maybe the entire country. He also happened to be your father. In a weird way, you balanced each other out: he was famous in the world of medicine, you were famous in every other world. People didn’t stop him on the street to ask him about his high school and college career. You couldn’t say the same.

“I asked you first,” you said.

“I was called down for a consult, 50-something male collapsed in the mall,” he recalled. “Your turn.”

You couldn’t fight the grin on your face. “Guess who revived him?”

He raised his eyebrows. “AED?”

“Precordial Thump,” you corrected.

His face morphed back into a frown; it was his default expression. “Percussion Pacing isn’t recommended for out-of-hospital use.”

“How about: ‘Good job, Y/N! You saved a life today, Y/N!’” you said.

As if on cue, Idol and Jax entered the ER.

“Dr. Abner!” Jax called with a smile. She was of course referring to your father — you couldn’t remember the last time someone at the hospital called you that.

“Hello, Jax,” he said, formal as always. “Idol. It’s good to see you both.”

“Sir, could you please tell your wonderful daughter that she’s not supposed to be here on her days off?” Idol asked.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Eli repeated. “Go, enjoy your time off.”

A few hours later, and you were confident your two best friends wished they left you at the hospital.

Rather than going back to the mall, you opted to just go home. Apparently, Jax and Idol weren’t bored of you yet, so they followed you upstairs to your room. Unfortunately for them, you saw this as the perfect opportunity to rant.

“What the fuck is wrong with those two?!” you shouted, pacing across your bedroom. “It’s like they wanted me to go away.”

“They want you to have a life outside of your job,” Idol said. She was laying on your bed, propping up her head with one arm. “Is that really such a crime, Y/N?”

“It’s like they don’t want me to be a doctor,” you corrected. “Cabello couldn’t wait to just swoop in and get the poor guy away from me. Not to mention, he didn’t even call me ‘doctor’ — he said ‘Y/N’, like I’m his kid. Oh, and don’t even get me started on my father!”

“I won’t,” Jax said, playing with a model skull that sat on your desk.

“He didn’t say anything good about what I did. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I saved a guy in a mall food court, and my he criticizes my method,” you continued, ignoring Jax’s remark. “God, what a dick! Both of them! Both of them are dicks.”

Idol sat up with a sigh. “You know what you have to do, right?”

“If you say ‘let it go’, I swear to god, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“You’re a doctor: you should know girls don’t have nuts. Oh, also: you’re a doctor!” She said. “And you’re 17. They feel threatened, Y/N. That’s why they don’t give you any credit! They’re amazing doctors, but they’ll never be amazing teen doctors. Not like you could be.”

“Alright, genius,” you said. “What do I do?”

“For being a prodigy, you can be really dumb sometimes,” Idol groaned. “You be amazing.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Idol,” you said sarcastically. “Thanks for enlightening me. I feel so much better.”

“You didn’t let me finish, bitch,” she said, standing up. “You have to be amazing, and you can’t be afraid to talk about it.”

“You want me to brag about my accomplishments?”

“You’re a good doctor, right?” She asked.

You nodded. “I like to think so, yeah.”

“Then make them know you know,” Idol said. “They only push you over because you let them. Don’t.”

You leaned over to look at Jax. “Do you know what the hell she’s talking about?”

“Treat others how you’d like to be treated,” he summarized. “When Cabello and your dad are being dicks, be dicks back.”

“Good advice. Thanks, Jax.”

“Wow, if only I had thought of that!” Idol said sarcastically before flopping into your bed in exasperation.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You flipped through a few records in your favorite Vinyl shop, The Rusty Spoon. They sold new and secondhand records, all of which you loved dearly. You mostly bought new ones, as your favorite artists were more modern, but you liked to look through and occasionally purchase the classics. You had yet to buy a damaged record, as the store provided a turntable at the register to try any second hand vinyls.

As you thumbed through the discounted albums, you found a cover that was an elegant shade of red. The top corners had intricate golden designs. A thin line of the same color stretched the width of the cover. You pulled it up from the rack to get a good look. An oil painting of a familiar face decorated the front. In a fine, cursive font read ‘The Best of Beethoven’. After a moment of consideration, you tucked it into the crook of your arm, which already held 3 records.

“You listen to Beethoven?” A gentle, curious voice asked from beside you.

You looked over quickly, not realizing someone was next to you. Your eyes trailed upwards to meet the gaze of a young man — he couldn’t be older than 25. His hair was straight and tucked behind his ears, which propped up the frames of his dark glasses. His jawline was square, and his body was scrawny. He had the strap of a bag across his chest, which was covered by a red sweater vest.

His eyes widened, and he took a step back, raising his hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he stuttered out. “My name’s Spencer. I’m sorry.”

You chuckled softly at the idea that he could come off as threatening in any way. You also laughed because he looked cute when he was frazzled.

“It’s okay,” you promised, then offered him your hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

He rubbed his hands on his pants nervously.

Without a second thought, you lowered your hand. “I get it — hands are kind of disgusting. It’s actually safer to kiss a stranger than shake their hand, ya know, considering the pathogens,” you said without thinking. You closed your eyes and laughed in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I actually said that.”

“That’s why I don’t shake hands, actually,” Spencer responded. “Most people don’t understand.”

“It’s a biology class you never forget,” you joked.

“Biology? You must be smart,” he remarked kindly. “What are you going to school for?”

“I want to be a doctor,” you replied after a moment. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t something you wanted to keep talking about, either. Once people learned you were a child prodigy, it was like they forgot how to speak. “What about you? Are you still going to school?”

“I have a doctorate in Mathematics,” he replied.

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. You don’t look old enough to have a doctorate.”

“I was in an advanced program,” Spencer responded.

You knew a thing or two about that.

His eyes drifted to the albums in the crook of your arm. “You listen to Beethoven?” He repeated.

You chuckled, somewhat nervously. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“No! No, I uh, I think it’s great,” Spencer assured, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s a fantastic composer, one of history’s finest.”

You nodded. “I’m sure Für Elise will be on here, but I’ve heard good things about Symphony No. 9.”

Spencer smiled, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. Somehow, they made him look even more charming. “It ends with the chorus to Friedrich Schiller’s ‘An Die Freude’ poem.”

While having a photographic memory made you remember far more than the average person, sometimes, it felt like all the information in your head — useful and not — got muddled together. When it came to passive facts, it sometimes took you a moment to recall. But, when you did, your eyes lit up and you smiled uncontrollably.

“Ode to Joy!” you exclaimed in realization. “Wow, that’s so cool.”

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You fished it out, glancing at the notification. You got a text from your father, reading ‘When will you be home?’.

“I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Spencer asked genuinely.

You put your phone back in your pocket and smiled. “There’s a coffee shop down the street. Can I buy you a drink?”

Spencer smiled.

Sitting in a coffee shop, laughing with a man you barely knew, sipping a latte that was impossible to make yourself… it was the closest you ever felt to being normal.

The two of you talked about everything and nothing. You asked Spencer if he lived in town, he said he was in New York on work. He asked if you had a job, you said you worked at a hospital in the city. He assumed you were an ER technician or a CNA, you didn’t deny. You knew you should feel guilty for lying to the poor guy, but in the grand scheme of the conversation, it didn’t seem to matter. You were able to talk to him freely and easily, and it wasn’t just about your degree or how you completed high school in the span of 2 months.

By the time you looked down at your watch, you realized hours had passed. A waitress had kindly swapped the two of you out for plain, black coffee, and she regularly made her rounds to refill your mugs.

“It’s already 3 o’clock,” you said in shock, looking at your watch. “I promised my friends I would meet them for dinner.”

“I should get going too,” Spencer agreed, somewhat sadly. “Work never does itself.”

You threw down a twenty dollar bill, knowing it was enough to cover the bill plus a tip. Still, Spencer reached for his wallet.

“You said you live in DC, right Spencer?” You asked.

He nodded.

“You’ll pay next time, then,” you said with a smile.

You weren’t sure what made you feel so bold all of a sudden, but clearly, it was working. Spencer grinned and looked down before nodding.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Where were you?” Your father asked the moment you got through the door.

You slung your backpack onto the couch. He didn’t even bother to look up from his laptop as he spoke to you.

“I was out,” you replied simply. “Idol, Jax and I ate dinner together.”

“You said you’d be back from shopping at 3,” he retorted. He wore his glasses on the tip of his nose as he observed the screen sitting in his lap. Your father was by no means an ugly man, but the manner made him appear older.

You shrugged. “Plans change. Public transportation is unreliable on a good day.”

Your dad finally looked up for the first time in the conversation. He observed the gift bag in your hand. “What’s that?”

“A little something from Jax and Idol,” you replied. “They saw it and thought of me.”

“That’s nice of them,” he said before getting back to his work.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “really nice.”

“What’s that, dear?” Your father asked as you walked up the stairs.

“I said I’ll be in my room if you need me!” you lied.

Of course it was nice to get a gift from your best friends. However, it was even nicer to get one from your sole parent. Hell, you’d even accept some acknowledgment.

All you wanted on your 18th birthday was to be seen, and your dad couldn’t even seem to do that.

Once you closed the door to your bedroom, the tears began to flow. In anger, you picked up the ‘anatomically correct’ gummy bear figurine you got last year on your birthday. The clear case was obviously that of a gummy bear, but on the inside was a skeleton and colored organs. It was equally creepy as it was cute. You loved it.

But, in a moment of rage, you picked it up and threw it on the floor. The case popped open and the pieces split apart. The skeleton dismembered, the organs shifted from their place to the floor. You joined them there, curling up into a ball as you sobbed quietly.

You’d put the pieces back tomorrow. You’d do the same with yourself.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Pediatrics wants you back on their floor,” Cabello remarked.

The two of you stood at the front desk, reviewing a few charts. Hospital staff, paramedics, and strangers swirled around you — there was never a dull moment at Carabine Memorial’s ER.

“Everyone wants me,” you said back, flipping to the next page.

Cabello was silent for a moment, which wasn’t his normal behavior. He always seemed to have a reply or a retort of some kind. You smirked in success. Maybe your friends’ advice could get you somewhere.

“Your Senior Resident thinks you haven’t picked a specialty yet,” Cabello continued.

“I’ve been in the Emergency Department for 2 years,” you replied, closing your binder and handing it off to a nurse. You finally looked at your superior. “I don’t want to be a surgeon, I want nothing to do with palliative care or cardio, and pediatrics isn’t my strong suit. The ER makes sense for me: it’s fast, reliant on instincts, and I get to see a little bit of everything.”

“But is Emergency work what you want to do, Y/N?” Cabello asked, leaning against the counter.

“Is it what you want me to do?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “Or are you trying to get rid of me, Jason?”

He moved back in shock. “It’s Dr. Cabello,” he corrected calmly.

You took a step forward. “It’s Dr. Abner.”

Very rarely, you were grateful for a swarm of people to come through the ambulance bay doors. In that moment, however, you were. And apparently, the universe picked up on that, because it wasn’t just paramedics that stormed in — several police officers came in with them.

“Where is the department manager?” One officer called.

Cabello approached, and you followed suit.

“I’m Dr. Cabello, the Director of the Emergency Department,” Cabello declared. “What do you need, officer?”

“We believe this boy — Joshua Parker — is the second victim of a serial offender,” the officer described in a low voice. “I can discuss details later, in private, but for now, I need you to know the basics.”

“Which are?”

He glanced around briefly, before staring at you.

“She can be here,” Cabello said, surprising both you and the officer. “Aside from me, Dr. Abner will be Joshua’s primary physician as long as he’s in this department.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to punish you or not. Regardless, you didn’t object.

“Joshua shows signs of serious trauma and PTSD,” the officer explained. “The only way we got him into the ambulance was by sedating him. Once he wakes up, odds are, he’ll become violent again. You should prepare your staff.”

Cabello nodded, before turning to you. “Go, make yourself useful,” he instructed, “but only use whoever you have to. Don’t smother the poor boy with unnecessary nurses or aids.”

You nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

The police officer was absolutely correct: once Joshua woke up, it was almost impossible to do any work on him. He wouldn’t stop screaming, especially the words ‘let me out’, and whenever someone tried to touch him, he began to thrash around. Once another resident and a nurse managed to hold his arm down for an IV, he began biting at them. It was equally heartbreaking and scary.

After consulting with your senior Resident, you decided the only way to get any work done on Joshua was to sedate him for a second time. While it wasn’t necessarily good for him, neither was the violent behavior he exhibited when conscious. Sedation seemed like the lesser of two evils.

When Josh was unconscious, you and Cabello managed to work efficiently. You meticulously pulled at splinters buried in his skin, while Cabello dealt with several puncture wounds all over his body. Where his skin wasn’t red and blotchy, it appeared to be a faint purple color. The whites of his eyes had gone yellow and the muscles in his legs and arms were atrophied.

“Someone put this boy through hell,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Cabello snapped off his gloves, throwing them in the trashcan by the door. “I’m not assigning you any more patients this shift,” he said. “Joshua is your top priority.”

“Understood.”

Cabello nodded, then stepped out.

Joshua was asleep for at least 3 hours after his second round of medication. You spent most of that time in his room, researching ways to help him once he woke up. Eventually, Cabello came in with a distraught couple, and without saying anything, you knew they were his parents. You decided to give them some space.

“A few agents from the FBI are here,” Cabello said as the two of you walked to the front desk. “They want to talk about Joshua’s condition.”

“I can handle it,” you assured.

“They’re just down the hall. You three can talk in the conference room.”

You stuck your hands in the pockets of your scrub top, walking down the hall with a sigh. Compared to the rest of the department, it was calm; hardly anyone brushed by you, and the steady buzz of noise turned into a faint chatter the farther you walked.

When you finally looked up, you stopped dead in your tracks.

The hair, the sweater vest, the glasses… you’d recognize him anywhere. When Spencer met your gaze, it was clear he remembered you too.

In that moment, you really wished he hadn’t.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

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